Category: Writing

  • 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.

  • Short Story Review: “Poor Houdini” by Anne Carson

    (The short story “Poor Houdini” by Anne Carson appeared in the January 29th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Lauren Peters-Collaer

    Well, yeah!

    “Poor Houdini” by Anne Carson is the type of short story I love falling into. Why beat around the bush here; This is a fabulous story that happily reminded me how much fun it is to be engaged and enthralled by the ways a writer takes words, and language and plays with it, creating mood, atmosphere, and a lyrical mist which surrounds their story. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into with that first paragraph, but by the end I was ashamed that I wasn’t aware Anne Carson before today.

    I guess there is a through line of a story here; a female poet, romantic entanglements, a crow, the rescue of a woman from a collapsed balcony, and the writing of sonnets. Picking apart this story seems antithetical to what this story exudes; which is a sort of lived life that is filtered through a poet’s eyes, and their reactions to those events. And these events can and should be explored more, but I only have so much time.

    Because what grabbed me was the language and how it danced to life. “There is stillness after rain. Rank risings rise. Trees drip. Street lamps loom. Night takes on a polish, a pure power.” I know this feeling, this setting, and it’s as if I can touch it with my fingertips, yet it stays magically elusive. Carson weaves these words, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of melancholy, as this is a world of people looking for connections with each other, but nothing seems to land the way they want or expect. But they keep moving forward, not exactly flailing, but grasping – at least the poet does.

    I know that I am not doing the story justice, and this isn’t so much a “review”, as it is more a “gush.” I think part of my reaction to “Poor Houdini” is that it also brought up in me the memory of being young, in college, and the world was still able to be discovered, emotions could be surprisingly new, and it mattered to attempt to create something out of that jumble of life. I can’t completely put my finger on it, but it felt very close to what Anne Carson wrote.

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  • That’s a Good Name

    This isn’t a new idea of mine, you see, as I have been thinking about it since high school, but what if I started a lit journal? Nowadays, it would be an online lit journal, but in the back of my mind I can hear M.M. Carrigan over at Taco Bell Quarterly yelling that I should just do it.

    And I might…

    But that’s not why I am here. (Though I could always use the unsolicited encouragement.) The reason I bring all of this up is that, besides figuring out what the mission of the lit mag would be (It needs to be original, like, the only place to get whatever it is that I will showcase,) but most importantly is to come up with a name that stick in people’s minds, and encapsulate whatever it is that I am selling. Now, logically, I need to come up with the mission or purpose statement first as that will make it so much easier to find a name… Yeah, but that’s not a whole lot of fun.

    What I am reminded of is when I was in a terrible, just awful punk/blues/jam band, and all the hours in rehearsal we’d spend rockin’ out, and then yelling possible band names at each other;

    No Refund, Lost Weekend, Areola, Bacon on the Side, Webbed Toes… You get the idea.

    Now, I don’t want to sound too much like a grandpa 90’s punk, but it should still have a literary name, but with an edge… like…

    Poochie

    Inked Well

    The Blurb

    Atmost

    Humph

    Dead Spot

    Dead Cart

    Mark Two

    And then the title might need a good one liner to follow up, like…

    “Nothing But Illustrious Writers”

    Or

    “It’s Norse for Quality”

    Or

    “Putting Your MFA to Use”

    So, you can see, this has been a fun mind walk of an… Oh!

    Mind Walk (That’s a good one…)

    Anyway, you can see this has been a fun exercise in…

    Ellipses (Ah… maybe not…)

    Point here people is that making an online lit journal might not be the easiest thing, but picking out a name is a good way to kill an hour of writing time.

    (And all these journal names are copyrighted by me, Matthew Groff, 2024. Can’t use it unless you get permission or pay me.)

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  • ODDS and ENDS: Worst Week, Worster Week, Worstist Week, and I Quit

    So, the week started off bad with the Cowboys choking, but at least the Eagles collapse was a much bigger story. One might say that there was little solace in that fact, but they would be wrong – I really enjoyed watching the Eagles lose to Tampa Bay. I am pissed about the Cowboys, but this will be the last I write about it. Just can’t believe that no one showed up to play on that team. Sure, every year I think they will win the Super Bowl (that’s how I was raised) yet in a realistic sense, I thought for sure they would make it to the Conference Championship, and then lose to San Francisco or Detroit; whoever made it there. But enough of that.

    Then my wife hurt her back on Monday.  Now, she is one tough woman, and I have been doing my best to comfort her, but there is nothing I can do to take her pain away. It’s a pretty helpless situation to be in, and that goes for both of us. Slowly she’s been getting her mobility back, but it has been rough going. The whole week got shot to hell for both of us, so it feels like we are running behind, too. I know she will be better soon, and we will get thing back on track, but it’s just frustrating.

    And then the kid had a big test at school that she was positive that she wasn’t going to do well on. It’s a reading and writing test, and she’s not wrong, she is having trouble with writing her thoughts down. Part of this is left over effects from Covid causing school closings, and this is the educational crack she fell into. And unfortunately, many other kids did as well. I helped her prep for the test this week, and she can comprehend and do the work, but she just doesn’t have much confidence in herself when it comes to the test. This was another place that I felt very helpless this week. I was trying to encourage her, build up her confidence, and I even used sports metaphors about how you have to believe and expect to win first, then put in the hard work to be successful. I don’t know… We haven’t got the results yet on the test, so it’s agonizing waiting to hear how she did.

    Finally, to shit out my week, I learned yesterday that a good friend of mine from college died suddenly the night before. There was no warning… they were here and then they weren’t. Logically, it’s been twenty years since I was in college, and unfortunately these things will happen now. That’s a meaningless thing to say because logic in these situations never makes anyone feel better. I hadn’t seen them in close to eighteen years. I hadn’t spoken to them in, like, fifteen years. Hadn’t communicated with them in five, and the last interaction we had was about five months ago when we “liked” each other’s pictures. Just thought there would be one more chance. Like the next time I was in Texas, I would head out to the theatre they worked at, and I would see them. And they would be friendly and kind, and hug, because they were kind. The kindest. They were especially kind to me when I was new in the theatre department, and didn’t know anything. They were kind to help me then, and as I see the tributes on social media, I am hearing again about their kindness, and how wonderful they were to everyone.