I thought there was something else in here

Sometimes the thing rattles around in your head all week, or for a couple of weeks, and you know it’s going to be your post. Other times you find that there’s nothing left in the well, and you flail about the living room looking for inspiration, like John Lennon did when he no longer  wanted to leave his house and then wrote “I’m Only Sleeping” and “Good Morning Good Morning,” among others, except that the post you’re going to write isn’t going to be as good as those songs—although it might be better than Harrison’s “Piggies” (you recently discussed with two different people whether there was a Beatles album that didn’t have at least one bad song on it).

At this point, you—and by you, of course, I mean I—begin to wonder if this is the most self-indulgent thing you’ve ever written, except that you made that observation senior year of college when you wrote a column about how hard it was to write the column that week, which means that this is not only self-indulgent and empty, but also a shameless ripping-off of your 21-year-old self.

And everyone else who’s ever written about writing, and blocks, and wells.

Read more »

“What I used to do with a passion, foolishly and vainly imagining I would change the world for the better, I no longer tolerate in myself of anyone else. But draw, always draw–and WRITE!”
– Ralph Steadman

Ralph Steadman

Read more »

To paraphrase a David Mamet line: “Everybody loves money, right? That’s why it’s called ‘money.’”  So, let’s talk money, lets talk about reading fees, and what is appropriate to charge a writer to submit their work.

Personally, I’m fine with charging (and paying) a reading fee for a contest, especially when the prize is worthwhile–say, publication in a magazine you like and a little folding money. I’m even okay with magazines charging a fee for e-submissions ($3 seems to be the norm, which is about what it costs to print and mail a submission). After all, if I like a magazine enough that I’m seeking publication within their pages, then I’d rather they take my money than the USPS.

And yes, I know that writers are poor, but so are most small publications (not to mention their editors)–and we’re all just trying to get by.

That being said, I think Narrative Magazine is taking the pay-to-play model to the extreme. Do they run a lot of great contests? Yes, absolutely. However, they’re gearing up to launch a new iPhone app and the ratio between fee, editorial time, and reward, at least in my opinion, is off.

The details:

Read more »

For the second time this month, I’m having some serious self doubt about who I am and what I’m all about (what can I say, my convictions are weak).  My mind is making flippy floppy, and I think it has to do with the literary community’s conflicting reports about the general state of writing and publishing.

For example:  Ted Genoway says fiction is dead, but the Atlantic Monthly recently recommitted itself to publishing fiction. Then there’s the whole “reading on screens is the future of reading” vs. the print is not dead debate (the difference, apparently, is akin to “looking at a woman and having sex with her.”).

So what’s a body to do? I’d like to pick a side, preferably before AWP (just in case I find myself at one of Lewis “The Lap” Lapham’s parties, I’ll want to be able to start berating “Chuckles” Rushdie with my opinions immediately). Also, if this is the death knoll of writing and reading, I’d like to know so that I can quit writing and reading–that shit is hard. Other possible life paths include running away to my grandmother’s house and/or opening up a Pinkberry.

As I contemplate this serious life changing decision, I am reminded of the something Andy Dick’s character on NewsRadio once said: “You got to know when to fold them. You got to know how to hold them.” Too true!

I’m sure I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, here’s a song by Ron and Russel Mael of Sparks that perfectly captures my befuddlement: Your Call’s Very Important To Us, Please Hold.

Last summer, I was invited to attend a summer writer’s workshop, the kind that could expose my writing to agents and editors, decreasing the inevitable future of paying off student loans as a green-hat at McDonalds. As part of the acceptance packet, I received a card with a questionnaire about my living arrangements. With the exception of not being a vegetarian, or bi-curious, the questions seemed to define how much of a wannabe writer stereotype I am. Yes, I eat meat; yes, I smoke; yes, I drink alcohol; yes, I’m filled with angst. The last question asked me to rate, on a scale from one to five, how social I thought I was. Instead of being honest, I shaded the fourth box.

For the last few years, I’ve operated under the false assumption that an aspiring writer is a shut-in. As a matter of fact, what’s most appealing about the idea of being a writer is that it’s one of the few jobs you can do in your pajamas. With a computer, a television, a treadmill, and a trip to the grocery store, you too can live like hamster. Sweatpants and ugly T-shirts with things like ONE DOLLAR MAMOGRAMS can be your business casual. But that’s only partly true.

Read more »