Gorgeous Saturday morning here in the woods. Bitter cold, but the sun is out and the birds are clustering around the feeders. Two squirrels were chasing each other around the giant spruce in the front yard earlier this morning, causing much twitching for our cat, Frankie (the other two were asleep in the basement, hiding from Things One and Two).
Thing Two is napping, and Hubby has taken Thing One on a run into town. I can hear the clock ticking over the whoosh of air from the furnace as it struggles to keep the house at 66 degrees (the thermostat says 68 but my indoor/outdoor weather station says that my thermostat is a big fat liar).
Hubby is working on another project for some friends of ours in Chicago, and I am curled up on the loveseat staring out at the winter landscape, writing and thinking about things to write.
I have started a new chapbook of poems about my family. I have a couple of poems I wrote about my dad during my MFA (and more on deck--they're crowding my brain, probably because this was yet another holiday season that went by with no contact--I don't know if he knows that he's a grandfather). I have one really good one (it's two pages) about my grandparents' marriage, and I have a few old ones about my mother that can come out of mothballs. I seem to have to be in pain in order to write. Thinking about my fucked up, completely dysfunctional family (and my family's history going back to the Potato Famine on one side) makes me sad. And for whatever reason, with the sadness comes the urge to create, to write--though I'm wary of cliche and been-there-done-that-got-the-commemorative-shotglass stories of alcoholic parents. That's what makes this complicated and time-consuming: writing this story in a way that's not stale and flat. Then too there's the feeling that I don't want people feeling sorry for me--I turned out OK, I think.
I would like to be able to do what my friend Chuck Rybak does so elegantly--be wryly funny and still make the reader think. I'm funny in person (though I make a better "straight man") but I don't seem to be able to get it to happen when I sit down to write.
Anyway, life is good here. I hadn't thought that I would ever look forward to January, but here I am, glad of the respite between semesters. Next semester I teach 2 sections of composition, 1 section of creative writing, and 1 section of an American Indian in Literature and Film course that I haven't taught since the spring of 2008. Both the creative writing and lit courses have healthy enrollments, and I look forward to getting to know another batch of students (though I will have a number of "repeats"--students who've had me for a different class who come back to take another one because they like me).
Yes, life is good.
Showing posts with label chapbook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chapbook. Show all posts
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Rejection
So my chapbook manuscript was summarily rejected about 3 hours after I submitted it yesterday.
On the one hand, the quick turn-around time meant that I could get it out to another press in advance of their deadline, which is today, July 31st.
On the other, it created a sucking black hole of inertia in the center of my chest.
I know, I know--if you get thrown off, you get back on. And I will. The hardest part is trying to figure out whether I'm riding the wrong horse: I've spent so much time on this manuscript, and almost no time on my journal article, that if I don't manage to find a place to publish the chapbook, I might be screwing myself out of tenure. I'm planning to take the article materials with me when I go up north for our family vacation (nothing like a working vacation, I always say), so perhaps I'll get enough done to send it out at the end of August.
The thing that sucks the most about this rejection is that after I paid a $15 reading fee, the only thing the editor said was "I'm sorry I cannot use this ms." Well, that's helpful. What's wrong with it? What can I do to make it better? Thanks for nothing. I can understand a form rejection for a contest submission (and I've got 3 of those so far) but this was more of a blow-off than I'd expected. Of course, since I've never submitted the damn thing to an actual editor, just to contests, maybe this is the way it's done.
So, back to the drawing board.
On the one hand, the quick turn-around time meant that I could get it out to another press in advance of their deadline, which is today, July 31st.
On the other, it created a sucking black hole of inertia in the center of my chest.
I know, I know--if you get thrown off, you get back on. And I will. The hardest part is trying to figure out whether I'm riding the wrong horse: I've spent so much time on this manuscript, and almost no time on my journal article, that if I don't manage to find a place to publish the chapbook, I might be screwing myself out of tenure. I'm planning to take the article materials with me when I go up north for our family vacation (nothing like a working vacation, I always say), so perhaps I'll get enough done to send it out at the end of August.
The thing that sucks the most about this rejection is that after I paid a $15 reading fee, the only thing the editor said was "I'm sorry I cannot use this ms." Well, that's helpful. What's wrong with it? What can I do to make it better? Thanks for nothing. I can understand a form rejection for a contest submission (and I've got 3 of those so far) but this was more of a blow-off than I'd expected. Of course, since I've never submitted the damn thing to an actual editor, just to contests, maybe this is the way it's done.
So, back to the drawing board.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Submission
I have spent the better part of the day in Ohio. Not physically, but metaphorically. Spiritually. I have dived into the well of memory, and come up sputtering.
Well, not exactly.
As part of my research, I found the farm where we used to buy our hay, and found a website devoted to abandoned buildings in Ohio that had great shots of the now-defunct Jaite Paper Mill, which was just down the road from my house. My mom and I used to ride our horses on the towpath (Ohio and Erie Canal) from what is now called "Red Lock" on Highland Road to Boston Mills, up Stanford Road, and back past Brandywine Falls. The towpath is now part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park but back in the late '70s and early '80s, we were basically trespassing on land owned by the state. It was an all-day ride but it was probably only 4 or 5 miles total.
I was able to completely re-work a poem I had written 13 years ago for a writing workshop at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, which will hereafter be referred to as the $chool, since I will be 70 before I am done paying the loans I took out to go there. Not joking.
I re-worked another one, same thing. This one came out of a trip to an old boyfriend's family-owned tree farm. I wonder if he'll ever read it. Probably not.
Both have been submitted to an editor for consideration for an anthology on growing up in Ohio. The deadline is August 1st. Today is July 29th. It is also the first day I have had almost completely to myself in over a month. I worked all day(10:00am to 4:30pm) on TWO POEMS (and yes, I'm including my web-surfing because I had to gently jog my memory).
And I'm proud. The original poems were absolutely abysmal. Total crap. They will never ever be read by another human being as long as I am alive, and I'm thinking I might have them burned with me when I'm cremated.
And I managed to get something decent out of them, so I'm pretty happy about that.
I also called Pudding House Press, paid the reading fee for my chapbook manuscript in advance, and will now spend tomorrow tweaking the poems (and maybe adding one or two) before I send it out.
I hope that Pudding House will publish the chapbook. They published Chuck Rybak's Liketown and several other of my colleagues recommended the press as one that might like my work. The fact that Chuck likes my work gives me hope for the future. Chuck is awesome.
I am filled with raw energy--I feel alive and vital and creative. I wish I could bottle this feeling for the days I am confronted with various and sundry forms of stupidity. For the days when I am confronted by not one but two shrieking and unhappy offspring. For the days when I am confronted with a stack of papers that reaches to my kneecaps.
You know...normal days.
Well, not exactly.
As part of my research, I found the farm where we used to buy our hay, and found a website devoted to abandoned buildings in Ohio that had great shots of the now-defunct Jaite Paper Mill, which was just down the road from my house. My mom and I used to ride our horses on the towpath (Ohio and Erie Canal) from what is now called "Red Lock" on Highland Road to Boston Mills, up Stanford Road, and back past Brandywine Falls. The towpath is now part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park but back in the late '70s and early '80s, we were basically trespassing on land owned by the state. It was an all-day ride but it was probably only 4 or 5 miles total.
I was able to completely re-work a poem I had written 13 years ago for a writing workshop at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, which will hereafter be referred to as the $chool, since I will be 70 before I am done paying the loans I took out to go there. Not joking.
I re-worked another one, same thing. This one came out of a trip to an old boyfriend's family-owned tree farm. I wonder if he'll ever read it. Probably not.
Both have been submitted to an editor for consideration for an anthology on growing up in Ohio. The deadline is August 1st. Today is July 29th. It is also the first day I have had almost completely to myself in over a month. I worked all day(10:00am to 4:30pm) on TWO POEMS (and yes, I'm including my web-surfing because I had to gently jog my memory).
And I'm proud. The original poems were absolutely abysmal. Total crap. They will never ever be read by another human being as long as I am alive, and I'm thinking I might have them burned with me when I'm cremated.
And I managed to get something decent out of them, so I'm pretty happy about that.
I also called Pudding House Press, paid the reading fee for my chapbook manuscript in advance, and will now spend tomorrow tweaking the poems (and maybe adding one or two) before I send it out.
I hope that Pudding House will publish the chapbook. They published Chuck Rybak's Liketown and several other of my colleagues recommended the press as one that might like my work. The fact that Chuck likes my work gives me hope for the future. Chuck is awesome.
I am filled with raw energy--I feel alive and vital and creative. I wish I could bottle this feeling for the days I am confronted with various and sundry forms of stupidity. For the days when I am confronted by not one but two shrieking and unhappy offspring. For the days when I am confronted with a stack of papers that reaches to my kneecaps.
You know...normal days.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Perspektiv: I Haz It
The weekend was really good--I was able to get back on an even keel with Thing One. She's really an amazing kid--smart, funny, and full of energy. I'm a lucky mom to have her.
Right now, I'm watching Thing Two demolish a slice of watermelon from his perch on the chair at the kitchen table--a perch he has learned to climb this past week. Further grey hairs are on their way.
I missed my department summer gathering this weekend--we just had too many projects going on around here. Hubby is building a kiln to dry lumber, and our garden and yard were in sore need of some tending.
So we spent the weekend together, and it was good. When I imagined married life with kids, this weekend was what I pictured: working on separate projects, then coming together to chat and eat and just be. Sunday morning involved me getting to sleep in until 8:00, rising for coffee and time to write on the deck before having blueberry pancakes.
I had a brainstorm of ideas for a YA novel just before I fell asleep on Saturday night, and have filled 4 pages of my 9x12 sketchbook with ideas, including a rough outline for the plot.
Considering that I haven't ever written anything longer than a 6-page short story (once) and my usual medium is poetry, this represents a major change and challenge. It is going to require quite a bit of research (which I will confess right now is very appealing to me) and collaboration with hubby, whose knowledge of woodsmithing, metallurgy, and machinery will be invaluable.
Coming as it does during the final stage of my bid for tenure, I am wondering if my brain is trying to sabotage me. I went to the Art Institute of Chicago for an MFA in Creative Writing 13 years ago, and NOW I have good ideas?! ARGH.
In other news, I will be sending out my chapbook again at the end of the week, along with a couple of poems for an upcoming anthology about growing up in Ohio. Hopefully at least one of the Ohio poems will be accepted.
I grew up one mile from Brandywine Falls. If you're ever in the Cleveland/Akron area, you definitely should check it out.
And now, back to my regularly scheduled programming: laundry, dishes, prepping dinner (since we'll be at Thing One's very first swimming lesson tonight!), and playing with Thing One and Thing Two.
Life is very, very good.
Right now, I'm watching Thing Two demolish a slice of watermelon from his perch on the chair at the kitchen table--a perch he has learned to climb this past week. Further grey hairs are on their way.
I missed my department summer gathering this weekend--we just had too many projects going on around here. Hubby is building a kiln to dry lumber, and our garden and yard were in sore need of some tending.
So we spent the weekend together, and it was good. When I imagined married life with kids, this weekend was what I pictured: working on separate projects, then coming together to chat and eat and just be. Sunday morning involved me getting to sleep in until 8:00, rising for coffee and time to write on the deck before having blueberry pancakes.
I had a brainstorm of ideas for a YA novel just before I fell asleep on Saturday night, and have filled 4 pages of my 9x12 sketchbook with ideas, including a rough outline for the plot.
Considering that I haven't ever written anything longer than a 6-page short story (once) and my usual medium is poetry, this represents a major change and challenge. It is going to require quite a bit of research (which I will confess right now is very appealing to me) and collaboration with hubby, whose knowledge of woodsmithing, metallurgy, and machinery will be invaluable.
Coming as it does during the final stage of my bid for tenure, I am wondering if my brain is trying to sabotage me. I went to the Art Institute of Chicago for an MFA in Creative Writing 13 years ago, and NOW I have good ideas?! ARGH.
In other news, I will be sending out my chapbook again at the end of the week, along with a couple of poems for an upcoming anthology about growing up in Ohio. Hopefully at least one of the Ohio poems will be accepted.
I grew up one mile from Brandywine Falls. If you're ever in the Cleveland/Akron area, you definitely should check it out.
And now, back to my regularly scheduled programming: laundry, dishes, prepping dinner (since we'll be at Thing One's very first swimming lesson tonight!), and playing with Thing One and Thing Two.
Life is very, very good.
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