Goodbye, 2009. Hello 2010!

It’s been quite a year for me, folks. This was the year I rediscovered writing, was published for the first time, got paid for my fiction for the first time, started a blog that (strangely enough) people actually read from time to time, opened a Twitter account and connected with some cool (and some flat-out wacked) writers, won a couple of fun blog contests, finally got my engineering degree, became a father for the third time, got promoted at work… and that’s about it. So not much happened, really. It’s kind of disappointing.

Anticlimactic reminiscences aside, there are a few small items of business I’d like to mention before moving on to the obligatory plans and resolutions portion of tonight’s broadcast. First off, I’d like to point y’all in the direction of Calista’s A Steampunk Reverie blog,  She decided to run a steampunk romance flash fiction contest, and I thought, since I’ve never written steampunk or romance, I’d give it a shot. Hop on over there, if you’ve a little time, and give the 9 entries a once-over. They’re posted without author names, so just read, enjoy, and vote for your fave. And—‘cause I’m interested to see if anyone’s pegged my writing style yet—if you think you know which one’s mine, drop me a line via e-mail or on Twitter. Assuage my curiosity, won’tcha?

Second, I’d like to say a great big “Thank you!” to a few people who’ve impacted my blog this year.

• Merrilee Faber was my first follower with Google Friend Connect. Yes, I know someone else might have followed me earlier using an RSS reader, but there’s something about that little icon that says, “Hi, I read your blog and liked it enough to let you know publicly, even if I don’t comment much. Keep it up!” Thanks, Merrilee! And if you’re a writer, and haven’t read her Not Enough Words blog, you’re missing some really great stuff.
• Laurel, to whom I’ve linked a ridiculous number of times, deserves a mention here because she had a blog before I did, and was part of the reason I decided to dip my toes into the blogosphere. She’s a thoughtful reader, a great editor, and a wonderful critique partner. She’s managed thus far to avoid the time-suck of Twitter, and the siren song of the wider blogosphere, but we’ll get her eventually, people. (Now would be the time for an evil laugh, but I’ll restrain myself. BWAHAHAHAHAhahahahahah… See? Restraint.)
• Then there’s Michelle, aka Lady Glamis, whom I ran into over at The Literary Lab blog. After I placed in Nate Bransford’s First Paragraph Contest (yup, still milking that link), she followed me back here and decided to stick around a while. I confess I was quite flattered, as I had (and have) a great deal of respect for the LitLab writers. She’s been unfailingly encouraging in her comments, and I’m looking forward to her return to blogging in the new year. (Honorable mention to Davin, another LitLab luminary, who followed Glam over and has been every bit as encouraging. Thanks, good sir!)
• And last, but not least, there’s Carolina. See, she was the first person to give me a blog award, and though I was a tad ambivalent about it at first (it was awfully girly-looking), I accepted. The next thing I knew, I was meeting all these fantastic, supportive writers at the #amwritingparty on Twitter, and discovering fun, quirky, and downright hilarious bloggers left and right. So my thanks to Carol for starting me on that strange, strange journey. :)

Right, now that we’re done with 2009 (almost), I’ll offer a few brief intentions for 2010. Since this past year was the year of beginning to explore my capacity as my writer, I’d like to see how much I can grow in the coming year. Of course, I want to continue with my experiments in flash fiction, since it’s fun, fast, and marketable. But I shall also—wait for it, folks—I shall also… start a novel. Yeah.

I can’t not write a novel now; it’s been eating at the inside of my head for weeks. And just so we’re clear, this isn’t going to be a fun novel. It’s going to be a wrenching, wretched grind of a novel to write, but it’s the one. It strangled the other ideas and trampled on them when they were down. It needs to be written.

So that’s my new year: flash fiction, a few short stories, and the novel that, if it doesn’t kill me, will probably define me as a writer. No pressure.

2010, here I come.

Cornfields and Colleges (Embarrassment Week Redux)

Through some quirk of Google Reader today, a bunch of older posts from a few blogs were flagged as new, and I found myself skimming and deleting a lot of them. But as I did so, I was fortuitously reminded that Gael, just a couple of days before Christmas, gifted me with another Kreativ Blogger award. Whee! Not only that, but she listed me directly above (numerically speaking) Maggie Stiefvater, whose most recent novel, Shiver, debuted at #9 on the NYT Bestsellers List. Huh? Really?

Not that this means Gael thinks I’m cooler than Maggie Stiefvater, ‘cause I think a bestselling novel trumps a couple of flash fiction publications any day of the week and twice on Sunday, but it’s a serendipitous concatenation, no?

Anyway, a big ol’ “Thank you!” to Gael for the award, which I will place on my groaning mantel next to the other awards, then step back and stroke my goatee in a self-satisfied manner. Once I’m done that, I’ll continue with the post. Hang on…

…

Okay, I’m back. It didn’t take that long, ‘cause I’d forgotten I shaved my goatee off this morning. But never mind about that, I should get on with the sharing, n’est-ce pas? And in that vein, perhaps I should follow through on my prior promise to embarrass myself in public, since  I only posted one shameful story when I was intending a whole week of mortification. Yes, yes, I can hear the shrieks of glee from here, people. You don’t need to be so enthusiastic about it, though. *sigh*

This one’s an oldie, from my initial abortive attempt to garner a college education. Ready? Right. Here goes…

* * * * *

It was a late spring night in western Pennsylvania, and since my friends and I had a weekend off between classes ending and finals beginning, we—of course—decided to go out bar hopping. Never mind that I wasn’t 21 yet, I had a New Jersey driver’s license, and figured that I’d brazen my way past the bouncers by walking right up and handing them my id, expecting that they’d merely glance at it and not try hunting for the date of birth on an unfamiliar card. It worked. Not just once, but at three different bars, which gives you an idea of the caliber of bouncer employed at rural western-PA bars. So we partied like it was 1999 then headed back to campus.

Did I mention it was a dry campus? No? Oh, then I should. It was a dry campus. Still is, presumably, since it’s a conservative Christian college. (Yes, I know you’re wondering, but the reason I went to such a place is a story for another time.) The point is, it wasn’t the kind of place that looked kindly on inebriated tomfoolery, of the kind in which I promptly engaged upon returning to my dorm.

As a less-than avid fan of the college’s policies, I decided, in my drink-addled state, to express my contempt for the administration in one of the dorm’s stairwells, graffiti-style. This, needless to say, didn’t sit well with the RA who came rabbiting down the stairs to catch me in the act. Fail #1.

He really didn’t know what to make of me, the poor fellow. He asked what I was thinking, and I made an honest attempt to talk my way out of it, saying inane things like, “Well, I just don’t agree with some of the university’s policies…” while striving mightily not to slur my words too much. My roommate, incidentally, was trying to hold back his guffaws behind our door as he listened to me try to BS the RA out of calling security. But by now, the more perceptive of you may have guessed that my smooth-talking wasn’t working, and the RA told me to follow him up to his room. Sighing, I started up the stairs behind him.

But then, halfway between the 2nd and 3rd floors, I decided to bolt. I turned around and high-tailed it down the stairs, taking them three at at time (dangerous idea, in retrospect), sprinted down the hall past the shocked faces of my dorm-mates, and out the door into the night. The chilly, springtime, western-Pennsylvania countryside night. In bare feet. And boxer shorts. Possibly a t-shirt too, I forget.

Where did I go, you might ask? Did I run to another dorm, where a friend could put me up for the night so that I could face the music sober the next morning? Did I double back and climb in my dorm room window? Did I run to my secret cache of clothes and money stashed beneath a bush by the chapel in the event of just such an occurrence? Uh, no. I ran across a parking lot, past the theater building, across another parking lot, across a road, off campus, and into a cornfield. In bare feet. And boxer shorts. Fail #2.

I realized after about two minutes in the cornfield that it was a tad chilly to be standing around in my nightclothes.

So then I decided to go to another dorm, where a friend could put me up for the night, right? Uh, no. I walked out of the cornfield, across the road, through the parking lot, past the theater building, through the last parking lot, back into my dorm, and straight to my room. Where security was waiting to say hello and haul me off for a breathalyzer test. Which I failed. Miserably. Fail #3. *sigh*

Not a banner day for Simon. Nope. Not at all.

I never did return to that school (unsurprisingly). I ran out of money, and my grades were suffering due to my social life, so I decided to drop out for a while and get a job. It’s okay, though, ‘cause if I hadn’t done that, I might never have gone to Drexel to finish up my degree, and might never have taken that fiction writing course that started this whole, crazy writing journey. So it all ended up all right. Right? On second thought, don’t answer that…

* * * * *

So there you have it: another of the greatest hits in Simon embarrassment. Feel free to excoriate me in the comments section. I kinda deserve it this time.  : )

Humbling Reminders

I confess that I don’t usually get into the Christmas spirit. For years now, I’ve worked up until the 23rd, had a company Christmas brunch on the morning of the 24th, then packed in last minute shopping in the afternoon, followed by frenzied wrapping and late-night worrying about whether I forgot something or someone. The holiday always arrives to early, and passes too quickly for me to get overly sentimental about it.

But now I have children. My son and eldest daughter are 4 and 3, respectively, and are both awfully excited about the prospect of presents on Christmas morning, and as an indulgent father, I’m happy to encourage their enthusiasm and spoil them rotten to the best of our financial ability. Tonight, though, my son reminded me of the true meaning of Christmas—not in any deliberate, “Daddy-the-Sunday-school-teacher-says-this-so-you-have-to-do-that” kind of way, but in his artless, innocent, 4-year old way.

My wife decided that this was to be the Christmas of crafts, and so our gifts to friends and neighbors were home-made ornaments, cookies, and beeswax candles. I took my son and daughter to our neighbor’s house this afternoon, their little bodies bundled against the cold, the gifts they’d helped their mommy make clutched in small, chilly fingers. The neighbor was very sweet about receiving the gifts, even offering a token present for  each child in return, and the tiny chorus of Merry Christmases was very precious.

It was on the way home, though—as my daughter tramped through the lingering piles of snow on my neighbor’s front lawn, maintaining as she did so a death grip on my first two fingers—that my son turned back to me and said, “Daddy, do we have more presents to give? I love giving presents to people!”

I glossed over it that time, thinking to myself, ‘How cute,’ and going on with the day’s activities. But then this evening we delivered a gift to a different neighbor, and on the way back, again, my son—his hood pulled up over his head so that all I could see was a puffy, jacket-shaped figure taking slow and careful steps on the icy driveway—again piped up with, “I wish we had more presents to give to people.”

I smiled, perhaps a trifle indulgently. But then, after I had some time to reflect, I realized that my son had discovered, with the unaffected wonder of a child, the real meaning of Christmas. It’s not the conspicuous-consumption, guilt-gifting, excess-laden, obligation-heavy, avarice-tinged consumerism we’ve come to expect. It’s about selfless giving and self-extension, family, friends, and fidelity.

This is what my son reminded me of tonight. In his brilliant, uncomplicated, 4-year old mind, he apprehended what we too often obscure with our cynical expectations. The spirit of Christmas has less to do with what we get than what we give. Thank you, my son. Your gift to me this Christmas was perspective, and it’s priceless.

Merry Christmas, all. May your holiday season be filled with light, joy, peace, and perhaps a tinge of the innocent wonder we once knew, back when we, too, wished there was more to give, and more people with whom to share.

Flash Fiction, a la Puccini

“Am I still beautiful?” she whispers.

He leans his forehead against hers. “As the dawn,” he says.

She laughs, a short bark that ends in a cough that seems never to end. “You mean ‘beautiful as the sunset,’” she says, when she finally has the breath.

He closes his eyes against the tears and tries to smile.

* * * * *

Adapted from La Boheme. Because story and beauty are not tied to any time, nor any medium.

I didn’t duck fast enough…

I saw this one coming a mile away. I’ve read I don’t know how many of these posts, and each time I got to the bottom I’d hold my breath a little, hoping I wouldn’t be next. Each time, I would give a tiny sigh of relief as I escaped the mountainous load of writing-related questions. But then Frankie got tagged, and when I got to the bottom of her epic-length post, the sigh of relief was replaced with a sigh of consternation. Okay, maybe it was more of an “Oh, crap!” of consternation, but let’s not dwell on that, eh?

1) What's the last thing you wrote? What's the first thing you wrote that you still have?

The last thing I wrote was this morning’s blog post. It was embarrassing. Did you mean the last fiction piece I wrote? Well, I’m about two paragraphs away from finishing an entry for Calista’s Steampunk Short Story Contest. Hey, I’ve never tried steampunk before, so I thought it was worth a try. Y’all have until the 28th to get entries in, if you’re interested in a challenge!

The first thing I wrote that I still have was a poem about a seashell I wrote for my class back in the Scottish equivalent of 8th grade. It got published in the school’s magazine that year, in which, incidentally, there’s a picture of Ewan McGregor holding a French horn. Yes, I went to school with him. No, we weren’t in the same year. Yes, he played the French horn. Yes, I can prove it. :)

2) Write poetry?

Only about seashells. Nah, not really. I used to write poetry when I was super-depressed or conflicted. Haven’t done it in a while, though. I guess that means I’m happy now?

3) Angsty poetry?

Yes. See above.

4) Favorite genre of writing?

Currently literary. I have a wicked soft spot for fantasy and sci-fi, though.

5) Most annoying character you've ever created?

In my most recent short story (not flash fic), I wrote a boyfriend character for the roommate of my MC who was a complete d*ck. There was this other girl in that story who was a manipulative, spiritually abusive biznatch, too, so it’d have to be a toss-up between those two.

6) Best plot you've ever created.

Plot? Oh, you mean as in something that happens in a long work of fiction, like a novel. Never written one. But one of my short stories has a guy who avoids a traumatic memory by digging a big-ass hole in his back yard. I thought that was an interesting idea.

7) Coolest plot twist you've ever created?

The end of the aforementioned story, where the traumatic memory is revealed. No, I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll have to wait till it’s published. :)

8) How often do you get writer's block?

Writer’s block? Huh? My problem isn’t lack of ideas, it’s lack of time. Three small kids. Yah.

9) Write fan fiction?

Actually (and sadly), yes. I was really into that video game Baldur’s Gate back in the day (as in, up until six months ago), and wrote one short piece set in that milieu. Yes, I know that’s sad. What? I really liked that game! </dork alert>

10) Do you type or write by hand?

Type. I could elaborate, but this is taking a damn long time, so I won’t.

11) Do you save everything you write?

Most of it. I save different revisions of my work under TITLE REV1, REV2, etc., so I don’t lose much.

12) Do you ever go back to an idea after you've abandoned it?

I don’t think I’ve been writing long enough for that to be an issue. Although I did have this idea in high school for a fantasy novel that had some great scenes in it. Maybe I’ll get back to that eventually.

13) What's your favorite thing you've ever written?

I get sick of things after seven or eight revisions, so my favorite thing I’ve ever written is usually the most recent. My piece “Rise, Lazarus,” that got published in Flashquake is one of my faves, though (probably because I only edited it two or three times).

14) What's everyone else's favorite story you've written?

I don’t know about everyone else, but the piece my crit group liked the most, and had the least criticisms of has been my harried-husband-infidelity-in-suburbia piece. You can read that one when/if it’s published, too. :)

15) Ever written romance or angsty teen drama?

Actually, in high school, when I was going through some weird, non-breakup drama with my girlfriend at the time, I wrote this godawful piece called “Kisses in the Mist,” about a guy who was having the same kind of issues with his girlfriend. I haven’t read it in, like, 10 years, and I’m kind of glad of that. Other than that, I guess this steampunk piece I’m working on for Calista is romance, kind of.

16) What's your favorite setting for your characters?

Some non-specific urban, suburban, or rural place. I don’t go in for specifics in location yet.

17) How many writing projects are you working on right now?

I write one thing at a time, but I might edit two or three pieces on the side.

18) Have you ever won an award for your writing?

Yes: a Picasso Award from Angie and Shannon, a Blogging Writer Award from Elizabeth, a One Lovely Blog Award from Shannon (a different one), a Superior Scribbler Award from Anne and Courtney, a Best Blog Award from Courtney (a different one) and Carol, an Honest Scrap Award from Liza, Sara, and Bridget, and a Kreativ Blogger Award from Carol (the same one). Whew! That’s a lot of generous people! Thanks again, to all of you!

You mean other than blog awards? Um, I won the high school English prize, apparently ‘cause I didn’t drop a single point on the final exam. I find that weird, though, as I distinctly remember feeling burnt out near the end of the exam, and comparing the kings of Lilliput and Brobdingnag by drawing stick figures of different sizes. I wrote a few sentences of essay on them too, but I mostly remember the stick figures. How’d I pass that exam?

19) What are your five favorite words?

Languid, solipsism, epicurean, published, and acceptance.

20) What character have you created that is most like yourself?

All my characters have a bit of me in them. Usually the alcoholic, conflict-avoidant, cranky bit. I’m kidding about the conflict-avoidant thing. I don’t mind picking big fights.

Can you tell my creativity and honesty are starting to suffer under the unrelenting onslaught of questions?

21) Where do you get your ideas for your characters?

Often from those rotten little bits of myself that I’d rather exorcise. Outside of that, from people I’ve known, seen on the street, talked to, had online conversations with… Yes, that means you. BWAHAHAHAHahahahahahaha… *cough* *cough* …ahahahaaaa…

22) Do you ever write based on your dreams?

See the above note about the cool idea I had in high school—that story came from a dream, and the central image is still cool enough to recall all these years later.

23) Do you favor happy endings?

Nope. I favor ambiguous or difficult endings. Happiness is entirely too elusive in real life for me to round off my stories with it.

24) Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?

Always. Well, there’re those times when… um, no. Always.

25) Does music help you write?

Sometimes. It depends. I wrote the piece that just got accepted by LitNImage under the inspiration of a song by The Hold Steady. They are flat out awesome, incidentally—fascinating lyrics, driving rock beats, intriguing instrumentals: check ‘em out if you’ve never heard of them.

Other than that, I can’t write character- or plot-driven fiction with lyrics distracting me. I’ll put on piano or orchestral classical music (Chopin, Rachmaninov, and Scriabin rule my version of the piano repetoire, folks) when I want to drown out the television from the next room or the conversations at the tables around me in the coffee shop.

Right now, the soundtrack is Nightwish’s Bye Bye Beautiful and Amaranth. Can I just say I friggin’ love symphonic metal/goth rock with female lead vocalists? Yeah.

26) Quote something you've written. Whatever pops in your head.

Here’s a bit from the current project:

“Some part of her knew he would not get up again, would not speak, move, live, but he had not made her to do anything other than love him, so she bent low over his still form, humming softly to herself, hands moving gently over cooling skin.”

* * * * *

Gah! That was epic! Seriously, who started this whole tagging thing? They had too much time on their hands, dude! Yes, I could have offered one-sentence answers, but then I wouldn’t have been able to indulge my solipsism and exhibitionist tendencies.

If I was really mean, I’d pass this one on to Laurel and Tabitha, the two bloggers I know who have the least amount of time right now to answer, but I’m not mean, and anyway, Tabitha already did it. So I’m not going to pass it on to anyone. I wouldn’t wish this kind of work on any of my blog friends this close to Christmas. Whoo!

Now I’m off to sleep off the effort it took to answer all these questions. ZZZZZzzzzz…..

Or possibly play on Twitter a little bit, then sleep. *tweet* *tweet* ZZZZZzzzzz….

P.S. My memory’s faulty at this time of night, but I seem to recall promising to tag someone with this one. Who was it? Huh. Nope, it’s gone…. No, wait! It was… yes! It was Marybeth! Sorry, good lady. You’re tagged. You and the #windinyourhaaaaaiiirr. :)

Embarrassment Week! (Pt. I)

I really should have expected this, y’know. I might be relatively new to the blogosphere, but even in the short months I’ve been doing this, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of the schadenfreude variety. It’s almost like we aspiring writers have an appetite for the tabloid-standard tales of woe and mortification—despite our highfalutin literary tendencies. So when I offered my followers a chance to pick my category of self-revelations following my most recent spate of awards, it shouldn’t have surprised me that “embarrassing moments” topped the list by a large margin. I’m,uh flattered. I think.

The thing is, as Shannon has so amply demonstrated, embarrassing moments are usually whole stories, not one-liners. So here’s the deal: instead of writing an epic-length post that takes a morning or so to read, I’ll split the shame into easily digested chunks, one anecdote at a time. That way I can spread out the suffering and avoid nervous breakdowns from reliving the best of the worst all at once.

Oh, and I promise I’ll fit in the answers to the “Tag-You’re-It” questions that Frankie passed on to me sometime this week. In between fits of hiding in the closet and crying. And drinking.

Okay, so without further ado, let me present to you (cue swelling of orchestral soundtrack) Simon’s Most Epic Rejection Evarrrr!!! (Dun Dun DUNNNN…)

Right. So in my younger and more (only slightly more) foolish days, I spent Friday and Saturday nights hopping around town and getting into trouble with my friend and drinking buddy (whom we’ll call “Dave” for now). On one particular evening—it could have been a Friday or Saturday, since they’ were interchangeable for all intents and purposes—we were at this bar called Jay’s Elbow Room. (Yeah, it’s a dive. We were in our early 20’s, and the beer was cheap. I didn’t start drinking martinis until  later, okay?)

Anyway, here we were, bellied up to the bar, and we noticed a group of ladies on the other side of the room.  I thought one of them was attractive, and likely after a bit of ribbing from “Dave,” (and possibly a dare, I don’t recall) I decided to take a run at the cute one. Anyone see the mistake here? Approaching a cute girl in the center of a knot of friends? Not advisable, my single, male readers (all one or two of you), at least not if you’re me.

So,  fortified with a bit off Dutch courage (what do they call it in Holland, anyway? Just “courage?”), I approached the group and said hello. Cute girl ignored me, and friend-I-wasn’t-interested-in (hereafter FIWII) started running interference. I forget all that was said, but the following exchange is seared in my memory…

Me: So what are you guys doing when you leave here?

FIWII: Going back to the ay-pee-tee.

Me: Huh? What’s an ay-pee-tee?

FIWII: The apartment. *rolls eyes*

Me: Oh, uh. Well… um… you don’t want to go somewhere else and hang out? [I know. I know. Not smooth. NOT SMOOTH! In my defense, I wasn’t talking to my first choice here. If I had been, I can’t say the results would have been different or anything. But I digress.]

FIWII: *cocks head, probably puts hand on hip* Well, do you have your AIDS test results?

Me: ???

FIWII: *head still cocked* …

Me: *looks at cute girl I came to talk to in the first place* There’s no good answer to that, is there?

Cute girl: *shakes head* Nope.

Me: All righty then… *slinks back to “Dave”* *“Dave” laughs his ass off*

Crash and burn, baby. Crash and burn. Really, I’ve never been that guy who’s good at talking to strange women in a bar. I’m a compact kind of fella (yes, I prefer “compact” to “short,” thanks), so I’m not the sort of tall-dark-handsome dude that ladies immediately gravitate to. Meh. It’s probably a good thing—the end result’s been that I got in much less trouble than I otherwise might have, so genetics helped me out in at least one sense. I think.

So there you go. The first in an episodic and ongoing series detailing Simon’s most majestic moments of mortification.

Oh, and blogosphere? I’m never leaving my choice of self-revelatory topics up to you again. Do you hear me? Never!

*sigh*

Molto grazie, tutti!

So I did it again (oops). I procrastinated and procrastinated blogging my thanks for an award, then what happened? I got the award again from a different person. Then I got a different award. Then another. All of this adds up to, like, 367 things I have to share about myself, I think. I shouldn’t procrastinate, is all I’m saying.

Now that I’ve done with the silly introduction, I should say a bit “Thank you!” to the lovely folk who passed awards on to me. Which brings us to the following wonderful people…

First up, there’s Angela, who’s just recently started blogging, but has already garnered a Picasso Award, and has shown monumental good taste in passing said award on to me. Well, honestly, it could be pity instead of good taste, but I’ll take the award in any case. Angie’s an aspiring author who can stretch a story about an apple into three—count ‘em: three!—blog posts, so I’m guessing she’ll have little trouble hitting the de rigeur debut novel word count of 80,000 or so. Plus, she cites Emerson and Vonnegut as two of her greatest influences, so she has to be good! Go see what she’s about, wouldja?

And while we’re on the topic of the Picasso award, let me mention Shannon, my liking of whom has nothing at all to do with the fact that her mother picked my story as the co-winner of her recent contest. Shannon, in a demonstration of mercy and/or derangement decided to pass the Picasso award on to me the very next day after Angie decided the same darn thing. So there you go. I now have two of the surrealist awards, which means that I have to think of 14 things to share about myself (and, seriously, you guys should probably stop giving me awards, unless you want to know which of my toenails needs cut most often). Whatever about that, those of you who don’t know Shannon yet, go see what she has to say. She’s, like, famous and stuff. She’s even, like, been to awards ceremonies in LA and junk. Like, wow!

And then there’s Elizabeth, who created the Blogging Writer Award and passed it on to me and a whole bunch of other folk all at once, ‘cause she’s nice like that. She’s also a multiply-published mystery author, and her books have cool titles like Pretty Is As Pretty Dies, so I find it amazing that she manages to find time to be involved in the blogosphere at all, let alone read and comment on literary peon blogs like mine. That, my friends, is what they call paying it forward. Thanks, good lady!

And finally, with the One Lovely Blog award, there’s Shannon O’Donnell. She probably found me through my friend Laurel’s blog, in one of those odd, blogospheric, incestuous connections, but however it happened, I’m glad she did, ‘cause she’s entertaining, encouraging, and one of those all-around enjoyable people to run across on the internet. Now, granted, my blog layout is as boring as a toothpick counting race, so I wonder whether a “Lovely Blog” award is merited, but who am I to question fame? I’ll assume the “lovely” refers to the sparkling little gems of insight I post from time to time. (Please don’t disabuse me of that notion, faolks. My self-esteem is fragile enough as it is…)

Now, having said “Thanks!” to the generous ladies above, I think I’ll postpone offering little tidbits of information about myself until tomorrow. I could even stretch the acceptance speeches over the weekend and into next week, which would be kind of cool, ‘cause I wouldn’t have to do much real thinking about my posts for the next five days or so.

However, since that frightening Gnome award has been going around, I thought I’d give my loyal (or at least pretending-to-be-loyal-so-as-not-to-hurt-my-feelings-but-why-worry-about-that-since-I’m-a-guy-and-we-all-know-guys-don’t-have- feelings-anyway) followers a chance to dictate my divulgences. So here you go, people: I’ll give 14 facts about myself, split into two categories. Y’all get to vote on the categories. As suggestions, you could choose from the following list, or make your own category up (though I shudder to think what Shannon and Frankie might come up with).

• Literature
• Film
• Music
• Strange places I’ve been
• Cocktails
• etc.

Okay, peeps. Have at it in the comment section. I’m game for (just about) anything (just not a Harry Potter-a-thon, ‘cause I haven’t read all the books, and haven’t seen any of the films since Prisoner of Azkaban, okay?). Let the games begin!

Blissful Ignorance

Do they know how we look at them, the people we pass in the street? That man across the bar, what’s his story? The woman who just made eye contact then looked away with a slow flutter of her eyelashes, what just went through her mind?

Tonight I saw a heavyset man in a red shirt with thin black stripes stop to speak to someone sitting at the bar. Something about him spoke of ease and comfort, of pride, of ownership. When he walked past where I was sitting, he looked me directly in the eye and asked, with great confidence and a proprietary air, how I was doing. I’d never seen the man before, but I knew without doubt that he was the owner of the place. How did I know?

Some months ago, while waiting for a friend to arrive at a restaurant, I saw a tall, dark-haired woman across the room. We made eye contact once, maybe twice. Perhaps we exchanged a nod of greeting. But I clearly recall watching her turn to place her empty glass on the bar, and the way she consciously and intentionally avoiding looking at me. The studied composure of her face told me more about her thoughts at that moment than any conversation ever could.

They don’t know, those solipsistic passersby, self-focused and sightless. Secure in their psyches, they can’t conceive of the constant cataloguing that consumes our minds. Their expressions speak volumes, their deliberate lack of expression more so. None is immune; all are analyzed. Blissfully ignorant, they are, of the brains that dissect, deconstruct, reconstruct, recast, rework, reimagine, rewrite, redact, refine.

They don’t know, these naive masses. We see, though. We see, and we remember, and if we do our work well enough, we can offer them unlooked-for and unexpected immortality, their slow eyelash flutters frozen forever in the strobe of fiction.

Friday's an easy day...

It's easy 'cause I guest posted on the topic of flash fiction over at Carol's blog. (I know, right? Nice continuation of the short fiction theme I had going, innit?)

Why not bounce over there to see my last few thoughts about flash fiction? And while you're at it, follow Carol, 'cause she's one of the most consistently encouraging writers in the blogosphere.

See y'all next week!

Short Fiction: A Guide for Recalcitrant Novelists (Part 2)

Flash Fiction

Yesterday, I tried to make the case that those of you who claim to be single-format writers (i.e. novelists and only novelists) are full of it. I don’t buy that you can’t write short fiction. Go see why if you haven’t already. I’ll wait.

Okay, now that you’re back, I’m going to try for an even harder sell: you can write flash fiction. I know, I know, the thought of limiting yourself to under 1,000 words is enough to make you choke on your martini (or whatever you’re currently drinking—I don’t want to jump to conclusions about you). But I’m pretty sure you can do it, and what’s more, it’s good for you.

You’re scoffing. I  can hear you, y’know, and you can cut it out, because you can do it, and it is good for you. Remember yesterday, when I said your turning point moment was probably capable of being a short story? Well I know for a fact you’ve got turning point moments and significant realizations and shocking actions littered throughout your novel (‘cause you’re good like that), and some of those could be turned into flash fiction. Yes, really.

The fun thing about flash is that the barrier for entry is pretty damn low. You don’t need to know how to layer in subplots, or how to create well-rounded characters, or even how to sustain suspense over 300 pages. All you need is an awareness of important moments, and enough command of the English language to put it down in words. What’s an important moment, you ask? I say it’s a moment that means something to your character. The moment she first meets the love interest, the first time her heart is broken, the point at which she realizes the true extent of her difficulties—any moment that gets her in her gut will do, because those are the moments that resonate with drama.

The difficult part about flash fiction is that it has to be self-contained, so you couldn’t just excerpt moments from your novel and call ‘em flash. ‘S not that easy. You might have to tweak a little to round out the emotional arc, but it’s not as though you haven’t written endings before, right? It’s just this time you’re ending a single scene, not an entire story arc.

So why (I hear you asking) is flash good for me? Okay, fine, it’s not good for you in the same was green vegetables are. But it is good for your writing. See, in flash fiction, extraneous words are verboten. It must, must, must be as lean as you can possibly make it. Repetition, unless deliberate and considered, is right out. In the ideal case, what you’ve got in flash fiction is a piece in which every word counts. That kind of discipline is awesome when it comes to writing longer works. Just the line editing practice alone is worth trying flash.

The other reason flash is good for you (there’re more than two reasons, but I’m only going to mention these) is that it’s very, very marketable to online fiction journals. Well-written flash (which I know you’re capable of, friends) offers the opportunity to build publishing credits outside of the agent-editor-publishing house slog. Even publication in a free online magazine gives a wonderful feeling of accomplishment, and gets your work out there for people to see. And if you can get published in some of the more prestigious journals, so much the better! You might mention that in your query letter, maybe.

I couldn’t talk about flash fiction without examples, but I’m running short of space for this post. I do want to talk some more about flash fiction, and offer some examples, but I won’t do it here. Keep your eyes peeled over at Carol’s blog, though, ‘cause I’ll be guest posting about flash there soon—probably tomorrow. In the meantime, feel free to bounce back through my archives for Uncle George, Alcoholic Cat, and All in the Timing, all of which examples of my own flash writing. Also, for those of you who haven’t seen them yet, check out my published pieces at Flashquake and Per Contra. While you’re there, read some of the other work. You’ll get an idea of the marvelous breadth of subjects flash encompasses.

Like I said yesterday, friends: you’re more versatile than you give yourself credit for. Flash fiction’s fun, good for you, and over in 1000 words  or less. Just remove the blinders that let you see only the large stories, and take a look at how much can be discovered in a single moment. You might surprise yourself.

* * * * *

P.S. This morning’s last minute addition to the post is the announcement that I got another flash accepted! (See? They are marketable.) It’ll be published by LitNImage, one of the online journals I most respect! The piece won’t be out until April (their January issue’s full already), but an acceptance is an acceptance! And yes, I’m excited—can’t you tell from all the exclamation points?!

Short Fiction: A Guide for Recalcitrant Novelists (Part 1)

Short Stories

It seems to be a lament among the novel writers whose blogs I frequent (I’m looking at you, Jemi) that they’re incapable of writing short stories or flash fiction. The usual reason given for this is that their characters or plots are too complex to cover in a shorter format. Well I see your point, but… I don’t buy it. Here’s why.

Yes, your characters are complex. Yes, your plot is labyrinthine. Yes, your supporting cast of characters is vast and varied. I don’t care. I mean, I do care—I want you to write a fascinating novel with a great hook, beautiful characters, and a monumentally satisfying conclusion. However, I also wonder if you could stop thinking solely in terms of huge story arcs and start thinking in terms of scenes and moments as well. You do have those, right? Scenes and moments? Your chapters are littered with them, I’m guessing. So it turns out that you can write short after all. Who knew? I’ll elaborate.

Let’s take a quick look at chapters, shall we? There’s a few ways to go about writing them, but for our purposes, I’ll simply mention the cliffhanger chapter and the self-contained chapter. The cliffhanger chapter’s self-explanatory: it ends on a suspenseful note, one we hope will pull the reader on to the next chapter, and the next, until it’s 3 a.m. and the reader’s chances of being on time for work the next day are shot. The opposite of the cliff-hanger, though, is the self-contained chapter, in which the themes of the novel as a whole are writ in miniature, and which provides a satisfying break for the reader at the end. Here’s an excellent example from Sefi Atta’s forthcoming novel, Swallow, published in the last issue of Per Contra (this story was also a finalist for the storySouth Million Writers Award). Go ahead. Click the link. I’ll wait.

You’re back? Great. So what did you think? Did that chapter stand alone? Would you have known it’s part of a larger work if I hadn’t told you (and it wasn’t clearly published as an excerpt). I certainly wouldn’t have known. But do you see how writing a large, complex novel with fascinating characters is not antithetical to the short story format? Each of your chapters can be a short story, my novel-writing friends. They don’t have to be, but they could be.

We understand that in short fiction, the character has a life that existed before and will exist after the story. The protagonist of a short story can be as complex and nuanced as you want him or her to be. The point is, the story isn’t about the character’s whole life. It’s just about a moment (or series of moments) in that life. The range of brilliant short fiction is incredible, so there’s no real way to generalize about what it is and isn’t. But for the recalcitrant novelist (yes, I’m talking to you), perhaps it might be helpful to think about those turning-point moments in your novels—those moments in which things change, sometimes drastically, and after which your main character can never be the same.

Do you have moments like that in your work? Because you’re talented writers, I’m sure there are some great turning points in your novels. What if—and humor me here, for the sake of argument… What if you cut away all the explaining, all the plot before and after the turning point, and let it stand alone, as a single, complete scene. My guess is that you’d have a short story. I bet you’ve a lot of short stories in your novels. You just didn’t recognize them.

Open your eyes, my friends. You’re more versatile than you give yourself credit for.

Can I be a Superior Typer?

I don’t scribble. Okay, perhaps I do, but it’s rare that I hand-write anything. I think fast and type fast, so I tend to write with laptop in lap and fingers flying. I’ll write longhand, but seldom, and my handwriting, while good enough if I’m paying attention, is godawful when I’m trying to get my thoughts down quickly. Despite that, I’m still going to say a huge “Thank you!” to Anne Riley for giving me the Superior Scribbler award! (I’m just going to substitute “writer” or “typer” for “scribbler,” in my head, is all.)

Anne’s a very nice lady, with an agent and everything, so it’s awfully sweet of her to slum around with us literary peons in this section of the blogosphere. She also guest posted over at the Guide to Literary Agents blog the other day, so she’s famous now! I’m looking forward to following her journey through the publishing process, for sure.

But back to the award. This is an easy one, frankly. All I have to do is link to five other blogs I feel are deserving of the award. So here goes…

1. I link to Laurel regularly, but I’ve never passed an award on to her. This is mainly because I didn’t want to embarrass her and make her feel obligated to do a post she might not want to. But, ‘tis the season for gifts and all that, so I’ll pass this one along to her. You’re welcome, Laurel. :)

2.  I’m feeling as though I haven’t said thank you enough to Merrilee Faber of the Not Enough Words blog for being my first follower here. I haven’t linked to her yet, so it’s time I remedied that. Her articles on writing are excellent, and her most recent post on receiving critiques is the single most comprehensive one I’ve run across online. Go read her, friends. (The fiction she posts is very good too!)

3. Carrie over at Heim Binas Fiction is another interesting blogger I haven’t linked yet. She’s very active in the community (cropping up in editor and agent blog comments, etc.), and currently has four agents reading her full manuscript, so I get the feeling she’s pretty close to that breakthrough. Yesterday she hosted a poetry party on her blog for her birthday, which was a really cool idea! Fun, interesting, and involved… what else do you need? Read her.

4. Is anyone else familiar with Tabitha over at Through My Eyes? First of all, it’s a very pretty site. Second, she strings words together in some very pretty ways. Third… oh, okay, I can’t think of another way to work pretty into this paragraph, but take my word for it that her writing is beautiful and evocative, and just go read some of it, all right? Most of her posts make me stop and think for a moment. In a good way. She’s also the co-perpetrator of the “10 Rejections in December” campaign, which is an awesome goal!

5. Aaand on the quirky side of things, I’ll link to Jessica’s Becoming a Badass blog. Yes, that’s what it’s called. It’s not really a writing blog, but she is a writer. The blog is all about her attempt to transform herself from a citified, accessorizing trendy girl to a tried-and-true badass back-country girl in the wilds of Wyoming. Her blog’s hysterical and challenging, and regularly makes me want to get off my ass and do less writing and more living. And then more writing, of course, ‘cause I can’t be away from that for long…

And now I’m realizing that I don’t really follow all that many blogs by men. Let me see… The Literary Lab, Ask a Literary Agent, RK Charron, Guide to Literary Agents, Koreanish, Literary Rambles, Nathan Bransford, On the Write Foot, and Tossing it Out. Huh. Out of 89 blogs I follow, those are the only ones I know of by men? How’d that happen?

Seriously, are men really that underrepresented in the writing blogosphere, or have I just not run into them yet? What’s the deal with that? I’ll have to consider that in the future. Anyone got any suggestions for literary men’s blogs I should be reading?

That’s all for today. I’m off to wonder whether my gender’s really that much of a minority in the publishing industry (despite what Publisher’s Weekly’s Books of the Year list says).

Diversity in Genre Fiction?

e wasn’t the first to bring this to my attention, but Shannon Messenger over at the Ramblings of a Wannabe Scribe blog posted on Saturday about Tu Publishing’s fundraising effort, in which they’re attempting to raise $10,000 by Dec. 14th. Their mission? To introduce some racial diversity into YA genre fiction by publishing books featuring ethnically diverse protagonists—not just the lily-white MCs in the majority of mass-market literature. And by publishing such books, they hope to inspire children in that underserved market to cultivate a lifelong love of reading.

The YouTube vid below says it better, though, so I’ll let it do the talking:



This is a worthy goal. No,it’s an excellent, laudable goal. I want children of all ethnicities to have the same opportunities as I did, and if Tu Publishing can lower the entry bar for all those kids, I’m 100% behind them. I’m not naive enough to think that offering diversity in YA lit is enough to surmount the host of barriers to literacy in underprivileged ethnic groups, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction.

I also got to thinking about my favorite fantasy and sci-fi books, and how few of them feature non-white characters. The only ones that immediately spring to mind are Ben Bova’s Moonrise and Moonwar books, and Tad Williams’s Otherland series. These ain’t entry-level fiction, folks, and unless I miss my guess, they’re probably consumed mostly by white, middle-class, adult readers.

So is this a challenge to me as a writer? Should I broaden my range of choices when it comes to my protagonists? At the moment, I’m gearing up to write two short pieces with an African-American MC, and was intending to do so even before Tu Publishing appeared on my radar. But this has me thinking whether I should make an effort, when it comes to writing my novels, to choose characters from ethnic groups other than my own pasty-white, sunburn-prone, northern-European one. It’s worth consideration, in any case.

To close, let’s bring this thing full circle, shall we? Up at the top I linked to Shannon’s post, and if you didn’t click through yet, go do it in about two minutes, especially if you’re a Twilight fan. She’s running a contest for a signed copy of the first book in the series, and to sweeten the pot a bit, she’s offering extra entries in her contest for all you civically-minded folk who donate to Tu Publishing. You can do that on this page over at Kickstarter.com, and if you do, go tell Shannon so in her comments section to claim your extra entries.

Most of my readers are also writers. The books we’ll publish will need readers. Wouldn’t it be nice if our audiences were made up of all different ethnicities? Shouldn’t everyone have a chance to read us? To read Meyer, Rowling, Tolkien, Bradbury, Wells, and Verne? Shouldn’t genre fiction appeal to everyone? Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?

Best. Blogger. Evah. (Kinda.)

I’m still in award-acceptance mode right now, because I postponed writing my speeches until after Wednesday’s post about my most recent publication. Apparently I like to gloat a little. Other than that, I’m very humble. So in that vein, today I’m accepting with great humility the Best Blog Awards I received from Courtney and Carol. Ladies, if I were wearing pantaloons, a doublet, and a large, swishy hat with a feather in it, I would doff my cap and bow to you both with a wonderful flourish. I’m not, though, so I’ll simply say, “Thank you!”

The Best Blog Award is an easy one, really. I have to link back to the person(s) who gave me the award, and I have to choose five more people to pass it on to. Here’s the deal, though (and I mentioned this back when I got my first award): I’m not a rule-follower. Kinda like last time, then, I’ll highlight five people whose blogs I find interesting, and link to them.

(As an aside, does the award have to have a bunch of hearts in it? Sometimes men get these things, y’know. What about an award with a picture of a can of beer and a bowl of nachos or something. No? Too much? Sorry.)

Before I go on and wax eloquent about other folk, let me offer a quick shout-out to the ladies who gave me the award.

Courtney’s one of those gals who can’t work on just one thing at a a time. This means that she’s either much more ambitious than I am, or that she’s got much more energy. Or both. She also (in a moment of prescience) named her cat after me, which is interesting.  I’m awfully impressed by her website, too. So go check her out.

Carolina, in a word, is enthusiastic, effusive, and effervescent. Fine, that’s three words, but they’re all e-words, so I think there’s a loophole there. She’s kind of obsessive, so NaNo was a breeze for her (she did 5K words in one day, folks!). She’s also very entertaining, and a tireless booster for the #amwritingparty on Twitter. She’s fun, so for the few of you who don’t know her already, go check her out.

Okay. On to a few folk I think might be interesting to my dear readers. Hm. Who to choose? Since most of us already know each other here, let’s branch out a bit. Here goes:

Livia’s a neuroscientist. Which I think means she’s pretty smart. There’s no way of knowing that she’s not really running a huge experiment on all of her followers on Twitter, but I’m assuming she’ll use the data for non-nefarious ends if she is. She’s also a writer, which explains the linking thing. And she likes Neil Gaiman. So extra points there. I think she’s worth a look.

Have you guys met The Intern yet? If you haven’t, you’re missing out on some amusing posts. She was an intern at a publishing company, which gave her a unique perspective on the industry. Never mind that her profile photo makes her look like that girl from The Ring—read her stuff. She’s funny. And cynical. I like that.

Here’s a change of pace: because I’m all about supporting online fiction publishing (especially paid online fiction publishing), I think y’all should add Flash Fiction Online to your feed reader. They just put out an issue, and there are some fantastic stories in it. Plus, they didn’t reject a story of mine out of hand (it’s made it to the second round of editor review thus far), so they must be nice. No, really. If you’re curious about flash fiction, they publish some of the best.

If you don’t understand the military, and can’t figure out why people volunteer to go to Iraq and/or Afghanistan for months at a time, away from their families, perhaps you should go see Jessica Scott’s blog. She’s a lieutenant in the US Army, but writes romance novels. (Huh?) Her perspective on the war in Iraq, and what it means to be a soldier, is invaluable. I’ve learned more from her blog than from 5 years of newscasts. Check her out.

Here’s the last one. I think all of us can benefit from the Edittorrent blog. The two ladies that run it are sardonic, but professional, and what they have to say about writing and the most common pitfalls that await unsuspecting first-time authors is spot-on. For all their snarkiness, I suspect they’re very nice underneath their hardened exteriors.

So that’s it. there’re my interesting links for the day. If you know someone you think I need to follow, do feel free to drop me a line. But since my time’s limited nowadays, you might want to bribe me with scotch if you really want me to read a particular blog. I’m just sayin’.

Another great, big thanks to Courtney and Carol for the awards! You guys are fantastic! Now go, loyal readers. Go and see the bloggerific wonders I have linked for your delectation and delight. (But first leave me a comment, ‘cause I’m needy like that… :)

Have a  great weekend, everyone!

Entirely Too Much Honesty

Blog circles can be a bit incestuous, can’t they? I use the term in the mildest sense, of course, simply to mean that groups of people who frequently read each other’s blogs tend to experience cross-pollination, of a sort, in which certain themes and awards bounce around one little corner of the blogosphere like billiard balls after the break. I mention this because as I procrastinated accepting  Liza’s Honest Scrap award from last Saturday, Sara presented me with the same award on Tuesday,  and then Bridget did so yesterday! I’m very flattered, ladies! Thank you!

So what do I do with three Honest Scrap awards? I suppose, to give everyone their money’s worth, I should share 15 things about myself, five for each award. Should I? Oh, okay. I will—though I’ll probably run out of interesting things by about no. 10, and will start scraping the bottom of the barrel for things like my shoe size, favorite concrete admixture, and which knuckle I can’t crack anymore….

Oh well. Here goes!

1. My college degree is in civil engineering. Don’t laugh. Hey! I said don’t laugh!
2. It took me 3 schools and 16 years to get it. (What? I had other things going on too, okay?).
3. I’ll probably never work as a civil engineer (which is fine, because if I did I’d probably end up like Dilbert: alone with my rotund, misanthropic dog and wearing the same clothes every day).
4. My day job is in the lightning protection industry. Yes, they still manufacture and install lightning rods. Why do people always ask that?
5. I went to the same school as Ewan McGregor for 2-1/2 years (Morrison’s Academy in Crieff, Scotland).
6. Um, I should mention that I was born in Scotland and lived there till I was 13. Hence the going to school in Scotland noted above.
7. I don’t normally sound Scottish (except for certain words), but my accent will thicken noticeably if I
   • start talking about Scotland,
   • start speaking to someone from Scotland or even the U.K.,
   • am really tired, or
   • am really drunk.
8. I like scotch. Wait, you all knew that already, though. So… I like vodka. You knew that too? Damn. Um… my favorite kind of beer is IPAs. That one work? Good.
9. At the aforementioned Morrison’s Academy, I was in the top 10 in marks in my class the year before we moved to the U.S. and got a book certificate as a prize. I bought The Lord of the Rings with it. (<<--- Geek Alert!)
10. I won the English prize as a graduating senior in high school and got a book certificate as a prize. I bought a collected works of Shakespeare with it. (<<—Literary Geek Alert!)
11. Cycling is my favorite form of exercise—I ride a Cannondale R600 road bike that’s pretty damn sweet.
12. I don’t ride my bike enough.
13. I wear size 9-1/2 shoes.
14. My favorite concrete admixture is calcium chloride.
15. I can’t crack any of my knuckles anymore.

And there you go. I forgive you for poking the pencil in your eye.  I’m sorry it had to come to that. Next time I’ll try for something more interesting.

Technically, I’m supposed to pass on the Honest Scrap award, but when Bridget gave me the most recent one, she absolved me of the need to comply with the requirements. Handy, that. Thanks, good lady!

The other reason that I’m not passing it along is that it’s already made the rounds in the blogs I read most often, so I’d be passing it along to some random interesting stranger out there on the internets, and that’s just not my bag, baby. Aren’t these awards a bit like the flu, though? They come around every year, and each time they’re just a little bit different? So there’ll be more opportunities in the future to spread the love.

Speaking of that, tomorrow’s post is my scheduled acceptance of another award. I promise I’ll do some extra linking then. (Procrastination alert!) And, um…

    16.   I procrastinate a lot.

Thanks again to the three lovely and talented ladies who passed this award on to me! You put the fun in community! (What, there’s no f in community? Fine… “You put the mun in community!” That work for you? Sheesh!)

You Can’t Please Everyone (But One’s Enough)

Before I go on to wax rhapsodic about my recent publication, let me say a huge “Thank You” to Liza, Courtney, and Sara, who bestowed upon me the Honest Scrap, Best Blog, and Honest Scrap awards, respectively. Yes, I got two of the same award, but you can blame that on me, not the lovely ladies. While I procrastinated following through on Liza’s Honest Scrap award, Sara decided to give me the same award. But who am I to argue? Now I’m a two-time Honest Scrap Award winner! Are there bragging rights that go along with that?

(N.B.: Any and all awkward feelings associated with the aforementioned double award may be purged by way of excoriating me publicly on Twitter or in the comments section below. I can take it. *sniffle*)

I’ll blog my acceptances of the awards over the next couple of days, but in the meantime, I just wanted to point my readers to some nice folk, who really know how to string words together, and whose books I’ll be happy to purchase once they’re released into the wild. Call it preliminary gratitude.

But on to the main topic of the post. I’m exceptionally excited that my second piece of published fiction went online today at Flashquake. The fact that I succeeded in getting a second piece published means two things:

1. That my fiction writing teacher and the co-editor of Per Contra wasn’t completely out of her mind when she optioned one of my student flashes for her litmag (thus becoming the first person to publish my work since… um… primary school?).

2. That I now have a track record of publication that can go in the brief author bio portion of a submittal letter or e-mail.

This adds up to a big yay in my book. Yay!

However, I’m not writing this to toot my own horn (though that’s a nice side benefit). I’m writing to illustrate how we, as writers, can’t please everyone, and shouldn’t bother trying. Let me explain.

Flashquake’s submissions process is a committee affair. There are six editors, all of whom have a vote. In order for my flash to be selected for publication, it had to garner more Yeses than No’s. I got three Yeses, two No’s, and one Maybe. One of the yeses was very complimentary, and indeed resulted in my flash being selected as that particular editor’s favorite for this issue of the litmag. But I want to note the negative comments, as I think they’re more helpful.

I said comments (plural), when in reality there was only one comment on the “no” side. One of the editors said, and I quote, “Retelling a well known story only works when the result is extraordinary.” For this editor, clearly, my piece was not extraordinary. And you know what? That’s okay. The editor has the freedom to like or dislike my work, without that having to reflect back on my competency as a writer or human being.

Also illustrative is the other no. There were no comments associated with it—it was a simple refusal, direct and unencumbered with qualifications. Again, that’s okay. The editors are under no obligation to crit my work, since they (presumably) see so much fiction in a given stretch of time. And as for the ‘maybe,' well this editor didn’t like the piece enough for an acceptance, but didn’t hate it either—a lukewarm reaction.

So to break it down, out of six intelligent, critical readers, I really grabbed one, reached two, kinda affected a fourth, and totally failed to capture two. Is it a decent piece? I think so. Sarah Black thought it was the most affecting piece she’d seen this submission period, which I find exceedingly gratifying (thank you, good lady!). But even a well-written flash won’t please everyone. It just won’t. So why try?

This is simply an illustration of the writer’s dilemma, writ small (because it’s flash fiction). My flash won’t appeal to everyone. My short stories won’t appeal to everyone. My novels won’t appeal to everyone. But they don’t have to. All I can do is write the stories that come to me, and if I can reach that one person, that one right person—be they agent, editor, or reader—then I’ll have done my job.

P.S. If you missed the link above to my published piece, here’s an unashamedly blatant plea for attention… :)