Today, the smoked turkey we ordered for Thanksgiving arrived. It came from Greenburg Smoked Turkey, Inc on the recommendation of my sister-in-law. When we opened the box, it smelled like a Texas BBQ, which is exactly what we were hoping for. The bird is now sitting in our freezer awaiting the big day, while I’m waiting with great anticipation for the day AFTER Thanksgiving, so I can make stock from the turkey bones, and then we can make the best turkey stew.
The Texas I grew up with doesn’t exist anymore. It wasn’t all cowboys and guns, and MAGA conservatives; but it was about individualism and independence. And in a very weird way, for me, Texas bar-b-que is what can remind me of that. See, long ago, just about every small town had its own BBQ joint, that was no frills, and pretty damn amazing. There is a very specific mesquite wood smell to that BBQ which was unlike anywhere else. And when you smell it you know it’s Texas. And these little joints were all about that smoked mesquite. It’s best to think of Texas small town joint BBQ like pizza; even when it’s not good, it’s still pretty damn good.
Anyway, opening up the Greenburg box, boy, did it ever smell like Texas smoked mesquite BBQ! And it just reminded me of long road trips to Lubbock, or heading way out to El Paso. Make stops in Fredericksburg, and or the Turkey Shop in Abbot, TX. I guess I miss home more than I thought.
(The short story “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich appeared in the November 13th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by James Lee Chiahan
You know, and I’m not stepping out on a ledge here, but there should be more stories about mothers and daughters. For centuries, the literary cannon is filled with stories of fathers and sons – even a couple of religions revolve around that idea. So, when I see a story that is about mothers and daughters, like Clare Sestanovich’s “Our Time is Up,” I look forward to delving into these relationships, which sometimes can be very dramatic and enlightening.
This story revolves around Angela, who is entering the first stages of middle age, and beginning to wonder about the decision in her life. Her yardstick of measurement is her mother, which leads to uncomfortable comparisons. Angela is relatively happily married, though her and her husband, Will, are in couple’s therapy. There are a host of issues they are addressing, such as if to have children, and Angela’s aging parents. There is a slight hint of depression in Angela, an unwillingness to move forward on some of her issues. The story takes Angela and Will to Angela’s parent’s home, which needs to be cleared out as it is becoming a hoarder’s house. They also explore, by taking a tour, of putting Angela’s parents in assisted living. Some more tangents are sprinkled in the piece, so you can see that there is a lot going on here.
Which leads me to my chief criticism of this story; there is too much going on which doesn’t allow these details to be fleshed out. I can see that Sestanovich was trying to make the point that Angela’s life is complicated and busy, and she has trouble giving each person and issue, let alone herself, the time that they need. The way this is presented leaves some characters flat, while other situations feel rushed. Will, the husband, plays only one note in the story, with no depth or insight. The father is barely present, having only one job which is to fall thereby starting the conversation about assisted living, and then he serves no other purpose. There is the cleaning of the hording house, which seemed like it was primed for dramatic action, but is just breezed over.
I say all of this because “Our Time is Up” doesn’t feel like a short story, but the first chapter of a novel. There are so many wonderful places that these characters could go to be fleshed out, giving them depth and authenticity. Especially Angela, who in this story, is more like a middle-aged person who just wonders why things happen to them, and never makes a decision or choice. Even the climax of the piece, a coffee mug made by her mother which breaks in Angela’s luggage, is a situation of something happen to Angela, and not Angela taking an action or making a decision.
And I was rooting for this story. As I got closer to the end, I kept expecting a dramatic or revelatory action to take place. (I will credit Sestanovich with avoiding the cliché of someone dying, which I think is what most writers would have done.) But it doesn’t arrive. I was also expecting Angela to grow in some way, but she seems to end in the same place where she started, which left me feeling unsatisfied with the story. It’s too bad, as the writing is very good, and the quiet insights of Angela’s life are intriguing. And if there was a second chapter, then I would very much want to read that novel.
I did this a while ago, and it seems right that I should do this again.
Maybe I’m trying to get published in these places, maybe I’m not. Either way, I’m enjoying the work they are putting out, and if you haven’t, you should check them out.
So, I got rejected twice over the weekend. Two small lit magazines took the time to let me know that my efforts were not required. The interesting thing was that both publications normally, according to their own sites, take three to six months to respond to inquiries. One mag let me know after a month, and the other, after five days. So… either I’m really awful at this whole writing thing (always possible…) or the more likely answer, I did not format my submissions correctly.
Turns out, I didn’t format my submissions correctly. One set of guidelines required that I put my name and page number in the top righthand corner of each page, while the other mag’s guidelines required that I not put my name anywhere on the submission.
Oops…
It is slightly frustrating that just about every magazine has a different set of guidelines, and though I follow them and get it right 99% of the time, there is always one that slips through the cracks. And the inevitable “salty” rejection letter arrives with some statement about how I should do a better job of following the “guidelines” if I want to be considered.
You know… there are thousands of lit magazines out there, each with their own guidelines. Why can’t there be a standardized system? I mean, there is an MLA standard format that everyone has to use when they write a paper in high school and college. So why not a standard format system for magazine submissions?
I propose that there should be a “Universal Standard Submission Guideline.” Something that is uniformed across the industry. Such as; 12pt, double spaced, Times New Roman, Author’s Name in the top left corner, page number in the top right corner. That’s it, nothing else.
Let’s do away with all of these finicky guidelines that seem to be in place to trip people up, and make rejecting easier, rather than giving each work an even playing field. This way rejection is based on someone actually reading and thinking about the work, rather than a gatekeeper looking for reasons to keep people out.
Look, I know it’s a tough business, and there are more people out there submitting work than there are places that can accept them. And rejection is a big part of the arts, regardless of what field you are in. You have to have a tough skin, take your licks, and keep on going. Completely agree with that, and I’m not looking for a shortcut from the hard work that is required to achieve, well, anything in life. I’m just saying that a Universal Standard Submission Guideline would create an objective starting point for everyone, and begin to remove the shadow of subjective rejections.
So, Sam Bankman-Fried is going to jail for a very long time. I’m sure you know this, but crypto is a scam. Or, if I’m being polite, it’s just a new form of gambling. And SBF gambled and got caught. From everything that I read about this guy, he was too smart for his own good. He struck me as the type of person who was, and knew he was, smarter than everyone else, and somehow thought he could use his intelligence to get himself out of this situation. In the end, he was a con-artist, and he coned a lot of people. Including some other very smart people. Also, I am aware that as soon as I post this, I will get inundated with a bunch of crypto bots trying to get me to buy crypto.
And the kid is sick. We watched “Let’s Make a Deal” this morning together. That was sweet. She’s running a fever, and feels awful, but she gets the iPad all day, so it’s not all bad.
And as of this minute, I have yet to be rejected by Taco Bell Quarterly. They are one of my favorite online lit journals, and I’m not saying that because I submitted a story to them. TBQ has an attitude not unlike a favorite underground punk band that is parts hilarious, offensive, and friendly all at the same time. Anyway, the other day TBQ announced that they were sending out rejection letters and… I’m waiting for my rejection letter. They did say it would take some time, as they have to send out 2,800+ rejections. Over on TBQ’s X/Twitter feed, writers who have received their rejections are editing and marking out their letters to create new messages of varying degrees of positive/negative statements. It’s been fun to watch. But still… Where’s my rejection letter?
Now that Halloween is over, time to start prepping for Thanksgiving. For me, that means making chicken, turkey and mushroom stock ahead of time. As well as stock piling non-perishable food. I’m getting ahead this year, and watch how this will play out. I’m sure I’ll be writing about it often.
