Category: Writing

  • Personal Review: “Desire” by Esther Freud

    (The short story “Desire” by Esther Freud, was featured in the September 27th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    A long time ago, when I was in college, I would join writers’ groups, and share short stories, and get and give feedback. I went to three universities and a junior college, and every group behaved pretty much the same. At some point someone would bring in a story that was… well… odd. Not good nor bad, strange but familiar, off kilter but still normal. There was no way to put a finger on what it is, but it was normal. But also, not normal.

    That is what I felt while reading Esther Freud’s “Desire.” The story, set in Ireland, somewhere around 1976, and the Bob Dylan album of the same name plays a part of the story as well. In short, the story is about a family; Mum, older sister and middle sister from one relationship, and a younger brother from a current marriage, who have left this current husband. The narrator of the story is the middle sister, and she refers to the stepfather as someone who needs to be left, but no other information is given. The family moves from the mother’s parent’s home to two additional homes for a stay or holiday or escape, and then return back to England.

    And as I said earlier, something was off with this story. The story kept referring back to songs off the Dylan album, but I wasn’t sure what the connection to the story was. I wasn’t sure what the narrator felt about what was happening. The way this family moved from place to place, by hitchhiking, and lots of waiting, which made the story feel isolated and disconnected, but I couldn’t tell you what that had to do with anything. It was just events happening. The aging parents are upset with the life decisions the Mum has made, and then the family is back off to England, and I don’t know how these disparate things are meant to work thematically. I was left feeling that I had missed something. And I don’t think that was the point.  

  • Personal Review: “The Monkey Who Speaks” by Han Ong

    (The short story “The Monkey Who Speaks” by Han Ong, was featured in the September 13th issue of The New Yorker.)

    Sincere and gentle are difficult qualities, and also odd descriptions to use for a short story, but those were the first two words that popped into my head as soon as I finished reading “The Monkey Who Speaks,” by Han Ong. And as I sat longer thinking about it, this story also made me feel like I followed the protagonist on a journey of growth.

     “The Monkey Who Speaks” is about a home health care worker named Flavia, who is from the Philippines, and her decision to leave her agency to care only for the elder Roscoe. Flavia is actually hired by Roscoe’s daughter Veronica, and through this new arraignment, Flavia begins to earn more money, but also has the time to start going to community college. What we see is how Flavia takes care of Roscoe, his love of movies, and the trust between caregiver, patient, and family. It also covers how we move on in life, how things change, and how little events, comments, actions, linger on in our lives, reminding us of people from our past.

    This was my first time reading a story by Han Ong, and I was impressed by the work. The story never felt predictable, and unfolded in a way that was very honest to the sometimes monotony of caring for an elder individual, while also highlighting those moments of connection between people. I felt Flavia’s concern for Roscoe, while she also tried to keep the relationship professional with him and his daughter. It reminded me of how even I, especially over the pandemic, found myself thinking about clients from my former career. I would wonder how they were doing, if they survived all these changes. And just like Flavia discovered,  I also found myself realizing that all these years later, those interaction are still with me, and still make me glad that I had that time with that person.

  • Publishing Help

    So, I have a plan.

    And let’s not forget that when you make a plan, God laughs.

    But, I still have a plan, which is that I want to get three short stories in good shape. Meaning, a first and second draft, some editing, and then a final peer review with me asking legitimate question, and not “Did you like it?” Once I get through all of that, then I will start submitting to publications.

    Pretty simple.

    One problem though… I haven’t submitted a story in twenty years. Back then you needed to send a hard copy with a SASE. (SELF ADDRESSED STAMPED ENVELOPE) I think the world has changed a little since then.

    And that’s my point. The world of short story publishing has changed a lot in twenty years. The trouble is that I don’t even know how to get started. Back then I used to buy a copy the yearly publishers guide, and circle all the magazines that I though my work was good for. Not that I ever got published, but I always felt like that was a good starting point. Now, I’m not sure how to begin searching.

    That’s not to say that I haven’t been doing searches, because I am now starting to see ads online popping up for seminars on how to submit and get published. Anywhere from $50 to $300 will give me access to a published author who will give me all the tips and inside tracks of the publishing world.

    That can’t be real, right? If it was that simple, everyone would do it. But, I don’t have a frame of reference right now, so how do I know if that information is incorrect?

    I do also know that I am getting the cart before the horse here. I gotta have material first, if I want to submit. I just want to get started on something, have some feeling of forward motion, and to stop feeling like I’m on the outside looking in.

  • I Should Be Working

    Not sure what I should be working on today. I keep thinking that some idea will pop into my head, but that hasn’t happened. I have been sitting here for an hour now and nothing has come to me.

    What have I been doing for an hour?

    I balanced the family checkbook.

    I watched an episode of the old Addams Family on PlutoTV with my daughter.

    And at the same time, helped the kid spell some words for a book she was writing for her mom.

    I read an article about the Battle of Harlem Heights, which happened this day in 1776.

    There is no school today, in case anyone is wondering why the kid is here right now.

    And now, I’m starting to think about what I’m going to be doing the rest of the day…

    Later today, I’m going to try and convince the kid to watch Tottenham play Stade Rennais FC in the Europa Conference League, but I’ll probably be watching that alone.

    I should be working on some home improvement projects today… I might do that next…

    Oh, I did read an article in The New Yorker about CRT. It was informative.

    I should do a water color sketch.

    You know, my blog posts aren’t getting the views that they used to. I used to get 4 views per post, and for the past two weeks it’s dropped to one. I think my quality of posts is declining, which would explain why the numbers are dropping. Or… WordPress is suppressing my numbers, just like FaceBook and IG do to control your viewing habits.

    But, perhaps I said too much…

    I guess I’m back to using Twitter.

  • Cop Out

    I tried to write about writing, and you know, it just felt like a cop out. Like I was trying to show that I was doing something, when in reality, I haven’t done a whole lot. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was trying to pass off a lie, but it felt insincere. Not authentic.

    Where I am in my day today is that I dropped the kid off at school, walked the dog, went grocery shopping, and I am now trying to put a blog together.

    Going through motions?

    Maybe?

    As I sit on the couch and the wife works at her desk, I think I am trying to validate my worth right now. Trying to create something that I can point at so I can at least say I accomplished something creative. And then I also feel the need to share it. And share it to get validation.

    Is that all that this is boiling down to? I need someone to notice me?

    Maybe I do need someone to say, “Hey, I see you,” to feel like my day has a purpose. I still can’t tell if that is wrong or not. Somedays, it does feel wrong. That I have accomplished nothing, and that I am creating a false reality to have the appearance that I am doing these things.

    I don’t think there is a clean way to make wanting to be the center of attention altruistic.

    Hmmmmm…