Month: March 2022

  • Where I’m At

    I got rejected from another lit magazine yesterday. I submitted to five at the end of January/beginning of February. That would be three rejections in the past two weeks. I am expecting to be rejected by the final two magazines, and then we will start this whole process over again.

    I am reminding myself that everyone I know who has a successful career in the arts had to put in about ten years of ground work first. The other thing that comes to mind is what my dad told me about achieving a goal; you get 100 no’s before the first yes, so get the no’s out of the way. So, 97 more no’s to go.

    Now that I have the self-affirmation shit out of the way, I think I’m going to subscribe to “The Drift” today. It’s a quarterly lit mag, written by people who are younger than me. I mean, not that much younger, but still, I have a few years on them. Anyway, I feel the need to discover some new ideas.

    I have been able to get back to reading regularly, and I am making headway through “The Stories of John Cheever.” I still have “60 Stories” by Donald Barthelme that I seem to have been working on for five years, but I am feeling like 2022 is the year it will be finished. Furthermore, I feel like I will be making a trip down to The Strand soon, and see what I can find.

    Yeah. That’s where I’m at.

  • Short Story Review: “Wood Sorrel House” by Zach Williams

    (The short story “Wood Sorrel House,” by Zach Williams, Appeared in the March 21st, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I see spoilers!)

    I do not know what to make of this story. I haven’t stopped thinking about the thing since I finished reading it, but I still can’t come up with what it’s all about. And this is meant as a compliment. If a story lives on in the reader’s mind, and does dissolve into forgotten nothingness as soon as they are finished with it, then that author has achieved something. I tip my hat to you Zach Williams; your story is taking up space in my brain.

    “Wood Sorrel House” is about a couple and a toddler seemingly trapped in a cottage in the woods. Days pass, they age, but the toddler does not. Each morning food and supplies are replenished in the house, thus allowing them to live in the cottage. The couple tries to figure out where they are and why they are there, and soon they discover the toddler is never able to get hurt.

    I have an ego, and some days I think I am smart, and when I started reading this story, I was like, “Oh, this is an absurdist styled story, and it’s a metaphor for death.” Because, if my college education taught me anything, it’s that absurdist/surrealist/modernist stories are all really about death. But as I kept reading, I began to doubt my ego-driven conclusion. Why was the snapping turtle killed? What happed when the male in the couple disappeared? What happened to the toddler when the woman went down to the lake for days at a time? Why did the couple age, and get injured, but the toddler was immune and also ageless?

    I found that this story was taping into emotional territories that made me react. Perhaps it’s because I’m a parent, but I kept feeling this sense of dread for the toddler, that something awful was going to happen. There was a sense of disgust in how the man went out a destroyed nature. And a sense of sorrow as the woman tried to make sense of all of it. I was reacting to this story, I was compelled by it, but I couldn’t make sense of it. If it wasn’t about death, what was it about? Was it the lack of logic? Things stayed the same at the cottage, but the outside world seemed to keep moving; not changing into something different, but just moving along. Was this a metaphor for dealing with Covid? Maybe it had no meaning, but that would make it about death, right? What was it? Like I said, I don’t know what to think about the story, but the story is making me think about what it could be about. That’s a pretty successful story.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • What I Allow to Define Me

    Lately, I started to observe something about myself; When I meet someone new, the question of “What do you do?” comes up, and I say, “I used to be in theatre, and arts administration.”

    Now, I haven’t had an arts admin job in two years, and I haven’t worked in theatre for three and a half years, and though I did use the pass tense, I still use these jobs to define me, to explain who I am. Maybe, subconsciously, I think I’m going back to these fields, but I am no longer sure that I will.

    I am self-conscious of where I find myself now, and I am not sure how to describe it to others. I am a stay at home parent, and I have trouble saying it out loud. Part of it is that I feel like I defaulted into this position, and the other part is that it doesn’t cover the whole picture. I am a stay at home dad because I became unemployed over COVID, and I started taking care of the kid, and her remote schooling because my wife was working remotely and she needed to focus on that. What started as a temporary fix, until I found another job, evolved into where we are today.

    I am happier than I have been in a long time. Sure, I still have stresses and worries about the future, but what I have noticed lately is that I no longer dread getting up in the morning. I don’t hate the day before it begins. I don’t fear going to bed, because what the next day will bring. I see now that I had lived so much of the past ten years like that; angry and frustrated at every place that I worked.

    I do have to take some responsibility here. Yes, the jobs were toxic, but I also made the choice to go to work there, day after day. Maybe I thought I could change the people and places that I worked at. Maybe I thought I couldn’t find a better job. The bottom line is that I actively made the choice, for a long time, not to find a way out.

    The only thing that kept me from imploding was the theatre work that I did over those ten years, and the friends I made from it. And the overwhelming majority of the work was in puppetry. Every time I got a job, I would throw myself into it, just commit and do it. It was rewarding, confirmed the reason I moved to NYC, and also validated my existence, at least on an artistic level.

    And here I am, years removed from both, and still I present these titles to people, as if they are relevant to who I currently am.

  • Bracket

    So, you know, they announced all the teams for the Men’s NCAA Basketball tournament yesterday. Just about every guy I know is filling out their bracket. I will fill out two; the first one will be my honest but completely ignorant choices, and the second one will another completely honest but completely ignorant choices. (I have no real reason why I do two, other than the ESPN app I use makes it really easy to make multiple brackets.) I never have picked the National Champion, and my bracket is normally busted by the Elite Eight. But, it’s that time of year, and I guess the Tournament is just another mile post on road that is each year.

    I found out recently that over March Madness is when most men get and recover from the vasectomies. Makes sense. If you are going to have to sit at home with a bag of frozen peas on your nuts, might as well spend all day watching basketball. Things you find out from friends who had vasectomies.

    Anyway, I never really gave two craps about the Tournament until I got in college, and the guys in the theatre department (yes, you read that correctly) had a Bracket Pool thing. You’d chip in five buck, fill out a bracket, and whomever got the most wins won the pot. It was fun, and made watching some the games interesting. Pretty much after that, it became something to do when this time of year rolls around.

    I’m going with Gonzaga. This will be my second year in a row picking them, but my thought is that it’s got to land eventually. Right?

  • ODDS and ENDS: Nightmares, Blogging, and Shop Local

    (Some thoughts that don’t involve Tottenham or Alt Side Parking.)

    The kid woke me up at 1am. She had a nightmare, and I tried to get her back to bed, but she was too upset. So, I did what any good father would do, we sat on the couch until we fell asleep watching MST3k. “Mitchell” was on and that calmed everyone down. In the morning, I asked the night what her nightmare was about, and she said that she dreamed she was an artist, and kept failing over and over again to paint a perfect picture. Yikes! I tried to talk to her about how failure is an important part of the creative process as it allows an artist to know what doesn’t work, and to keep trying. I don’t know if it took hold, but I did think she was a little young to be worried about painting a perfect picture.

    I started thinking again about switching to a paid blogsite, and getting away from the free WordPress.com thing that I am on now. I do this every couple of months, and I always get back to asking myself, what is the point? I have written about this on twenty different occasion, if not more, and I can never come up with a persuasive argument for myself, one way or the other. I am continually sitting on the pot over this one. I don’t know how to do what I want to do, which is what I am doing right now, sitting on my couch and writing, and make a living at it. Will a better blog site get me any closer to that goal? Honestly, I don’t think it will. BUT… I do have some free time, and it is something to do. Ahhh… I’ll sit on the pot awhile longer then.

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