Month: February 2024

  • That Was A Fast Rejection

    So, I had a flurry of submissions that I sent out at the end of January. On the 31st of January to be exact. The month had flown by, and I had fallen behind on some projects, but I made a promise to myself that I was going to get submissions out before the end of the month. I sent out a handful, all to lit journals that I felt my work complimented. Just playing the game like a million other writers.

    I do appreciate that the readers and editors of these journals can get inundated with submissions, and though they try their best, it can take time before they are able to respond. (I once got an email from an editor apologizing for taking so long on my submission, and then a month later they rejected me.) Everyone wants an answer sooner than later, and I do like that some journals says that you should expect a response after three months… if not sooner.

    This afternoon I just received a rejection, after only nine days.

    They were fast; I do like that.

    It was substantially shorter than three months; I don’t like that.

    In all fairness, it’s a rather odd duck of a flash piece.

    See, I want to believe that there was a little bit of a debate over there. Like the reader is fighting for my piece, but the editor is holding strong that there really isn’t a place for my story in their publication, even though it is well written. Then other editors and readers start weighing in. The debate starts getting tense. Voices start rising. People are getting mad. Resignations are threatened; accusations of favoritism are made; mass chaos envelopes the office!

    But, then cooler heads prevail. Drinks are had; apologies given; laughs are shared; everyone starts talking about why they got into publishing in the first place; the power of words and ideas; given people opportunities to share their voices and insights. It’s a thankless job; always on the verge of collapse; no one makes any money.

    “We do this because we love it.” Someone says.

    Everyone agrees, and smiles.

    Then the managing editor adds, “But we got to reject that story.”

    “That’s true,” the reader agrees.

    “Send him the form letter of death!”

    They all start laughing…

    I guess what I’m saying is that if they would have held onto it for at least a month, then my ego wouldn’t be so bruised.

    But, rejection is part of the game.

  • Short Story Review: “That Girl” by Addie Citchens

    (The short story “That Girl” by Addie Citchens appeared in the February 12th and 19th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Derek Abella

    Oh, it’s so much fun reading something that reminds you how powerful a short story can be. In a very deft, strong, subtle and powerful voice, Addie Citchens presents a complex and compelling narrative, as well as a fascinating character in Theo. “That Girl” is the type of story that, at the same time, inspires me to keep writing, and also reminds me how high that bar is to create something inspiring.

    I could say that this is a story about first love, but that description would be disservice to all the elements and themes in this story. Maybe not love, but it is about the discovery of passion and desire where it never existed before. Of kindness, and menace, and doing something that’s been deemed wrong but at the same time awakens the knowledge of the larger world around you, and how could that be wrong?

    Citchens’ takes us on Theo’s journey, which begins during her summer before she goes into ninth grade. One hot day she meets Shirlee, an older girl who should be going into eleventh grade but is still in ninth. This first section perfectly works at setting up the whole story, showing the desire, motivations, and direction of the characters. And the world these characters occupy is a place where violence is always just below the surface, and these girls are aware of it, and how powerless it can make them. It is easy to understand how and why Theo finds Shirlee’s kindness and understanding so intoxicating, especially for a girl who feels isolated in her loneliness.

    As I have been thinking about this story, and there are so many things to talk about, but I have been marveling at Citchens’ language, and her structuring of this story. Reading the piece, I never felt like a word was wasted. The language was pared down to the most essential and powerful. I was on Theo’s journey, and it would take time, but never did I feel like my time was wasted. (I can’t explain it, but I felt like Citchens respected the reader more than any writer I have read in a very long time.) And the structure of the story was in the mold of the “hero’s journey” but never for a second did it feel contrived or predictable. This was a brutal, at times, but honest journey that laid out it’s points so well, that when the story concluded, I knew the choice that Theo had to make, but I was still left heartbroken for her.

    And there are layers and layers to this story. I haven’t touched on half of them; mother’s and daughter, religion, sexual assault, growth and confidence, generational abuse… But also love, compassion, validation, and just listening… But I don’t to spoil this work, and ruin the magic spell that this story is. Addie Citchen’s “That Girl” is the best thing I have read in a long time. It is technically well crafted, beautifully written, and I love the character of Theo and wish I could learn more about her journey in this world.

  • The MTA Gods

    Oh! How the MTA gods have forsaken me!

    It was only to be a minor trip. An expedition to the 93rd Street Trader Joe’s.

    A goodly visit to precure sustenance for myself and my family. To feats vastly not only for this week, but for the conclusion of the week when the Bowls are Super.

    But low, my hubris caught up with me. The flaw was tragic, the results ordained by Oracle of the IRT. For I, though humble in my ways, forgot to leave the sacrificial offering of Beam in the Holy Shot Glass on thy fire escape, thus anointing me, and allowing my transits to be good.

    Neigh, as the sacrifice was forgotten, so was the transit ruined. The signals of 59th refused to obey thy will of the conductor, and thusly the trains ground to a halt.

    No, this was not an incapacitated passenger, not a police investigation. Nor was it the, not as rare as you think, fire on the tracks.

    This was green, yellow, and red lights escaping to the realm of “No Power,” and leaving New York City at a standstill. Well… At least the Upper West Side.

    It was I, stuck at the 96th Street Station, with three heavy and bulging bags of well-earned groceries, that was stuck for almost an hour, waiting on a C Train. I could have been happy with a B even – I could have made that work.

    But I, fortune’s fool, who forgot his sacrifice, was punished by the MTA gods. BMT and the Lexington Line punished me by blowing up my schedule. Not allowing me the time to do my work.

    Learn, dear ones, from me. Never let the cold, or the hour of night, delay you bourbon offering for good and safe travels. Because if you forget, the MTA never will.

  • Busy Day, and Submissions

    I only have fifteen minutes left to my part of the day, and I spent too much time doing laundry, and thinking about the mistakes I have made of late.

    I’m thinking it was a good day to be humbled.

    I’m also thinking that taking time for myself and not rushing things is more important than ever, and I should make a better effort.

    But, this is just the start of the week, and I still have time to make corrections.

    I do want to work no the online journal thing, and I am hung up on how to ask for submissions. I was planning on using Submittable, but they charge $85 a month for their service. A little too expensive for this idea, as I was looking to spend no start-up money on other than getting a URL. You know, onetime fees, not monthly stuff. Anyone out there have a suggestion on what platform to use for getting and organizing submissions?

    Anyway, I got dishes to do, a kid to pick up at school, homework, and talking to my dad. Don’t get me started on dinner.

    Maybe tomorrow…

  • ODDS and ENDS: Walking in the Rain, My Lit Mag Social Footprint, and Knit Blazers

    (You need more ABBA in your life)

    I got a super busy day today, and I’m only three and a half hours into it. Errands and things, you know. It’s so busy that I am writing this blog in the car as I do the Alt Side Parking dance. But what is complicating all of this is that it’s raining this morning. It’s a light rain, not that big of a deal except when it comes to one task; Walking the Dog. The dog hates the rain, and the dog won’t shit in the rain either. I know that this isn’t uncommon for most dogs, so I think many people out there will understand, but the walk still needs to happen. I’ll don all my rain gear, as will the dog. She’ll slow walk to the nearest scaffolding, as those covered places will give us the best odds for a successful movement. Yup, this is my life now. And did I mention that my dog smells awful to begin with? And that when she gets wet in the rain, her stench expands ten-fold? Did I not say that? Yeah…

    I posted a while ago about wanting to start an online lit mag/journal, and how I was trying to figure out what a good name would be. I don’t know if I’ll ever really do it, but it is a fun game that I am playing in my head. If I do do it, then there is an aspect that I am not looking forward to; and that’s the social media. Sure, maybe I’m over thinking it and trying to talk myself out of it, but I do feel that on a very basic level, to get people interested, there has to be a marketing element. You know, doing something the bring in the views… I’m not sure what that would be. Like hell am I making Tick-Toc videos. That leaves me with only one option that works on the internet, and that’s to just lie. Just lie about everything, and see if anyone notices.

    I wasted the last fifteen minutes of my writing time looking up men’s knit blazers on my phone. I need to work on the phone addiction.