unexpected

I received this very nice email the other day: 

Good Morning! 

Hope this finds you well because being well is all that matters.  And  happy. And happy is what I feel when I open great submissions like yours.

 I have a perfect spot for  your work in January. 

 Best,
Pamela

It is from an editor of an on-line magazine called The Shine Journal.  When I first read it I kept looking for the “but” because I was certain that it was another rejection letter (I’ve received two so far).  After a second read, I realized that they were accepting my submission for publication.  I have officially sold my very first story. 

When I read the email, I was at work (which I refer to now as my “day job”) so I had to refrain from screaming or dancing for joy.  I emailed my mom and sister, called my husband and updated my Facebook profile.  I sold my first story!  So what if I was only going to earn $5.00 for this sale, I was happy!

The elation didn’t last long.  It was replaced by an emotion that was as unexpected as the acceptance email. 

Regret. 

I regretted that I hadn’t started submitting my stories earlier.  If I had just worked a little harder and had a little more confidence in myself, I could have sold my first story at 25 instead of 35.  It’s amazing how fast ten years can fly by when you are too scared to move. 

Regret is a useless emotion so I tried not dwell on it for too long.  I am my harshest critic (to paraphrase a great friend) and I am learning to ignore myself.  What the hell do I know anyway?

This blog deserves a lot of credit in helping me get over my fear.  Even if no one reads it, I have found it helpful to have a place to “write it out” as it were.  Get my thoughts down on permanent record.  Actually, the story I sold was one of my blog entries from two years ago that I dusted off and polished up. 

I have submitted three other stories to different on-line magazines and am awaiting their response.  They may get accepted, but more than likely they will be rejected.  Either way, I will feel like I have succeeded.

class dismissed

I stuck with it to the end and now it is done.  I’ve “graduated” from my first creative writing class.  I even got the certificate to prove it:

It’s about as official as a gold star, but I’ll take it.  If anything it will serve as a reminder of what to look for in a writing class in the future. 

This class was a great experience, but I didn’t really learn anything.  I learned more from reading Stephen King’s book, On Writing and it was a hellofa lot cheaper (plus he is not afraid of a good curse word and has a wicked sense of humor – things I appreciate).  I’ve also learned more from the free on-line critique group I joined (critiquecircle.com).  People blowing sunshine up your arse is a great little ego boost, but after a while I need some good, old-fashioned, honest criticism.  It’s like a tattoo – stings a little at first, but the rewards last forever. 

Maybe thanks to the little ego boost, I have submitted stories to two on-line magazines and I entered another story into a writing contest.  I have two more stories lined up to submit to other on-line magazines that are closed to submissions until 9/1.  What the heck, eh?  The least I can do is try.

so there!

I finished the incinerator story and I have submitted it to a on-line critique group that I joined some time ago (Critique Circle).  Now I’ll see what people that can handle a little blood and creepiness think about it. 

If you would like to read it let me know and I can email it to you (it’s a little long to post here).  I am quite happy with how it turned out.  I think it’s my first, real to the genre, horror story.  Although it is still more psychological than anything. 

Anywhoo, not letting little miss Mary Sunshine get me down!

definitely not the teacher’s pet

I mentioned in my last post that when it comes to my writing,  I know who isn’t going to be my intended audience.  Well, this fact was made even more glaringly obvious by the instructor of my writing class. 

See, I posted my assignment last week.  It was a small story about Carl,  a janitor at an animal research facility who is given the task of loading the incinerator.  Well, what they are incinerating, of course, are all the dead animals they have used for their testing.  These animals are sealed in biohazard bags, so the story doesn’t contain any gore of that kind.  Carl’s mental state declines as he struggles with the moral implications of Happy Pet, Inc. experimenting on the animals and then him having to dispose of them. Eventually, Carl determines that Happy Pet is really just experimenting on him as well, by seeing how much abuse he can take (he repeatedly asks that they get someone else to load the incinerator, but they ignore him). So, one day, after loading all the bags into the incinerator and seeing that there is a lot of room left over, he climbs in and closes the hatch.

I didn’t even post the whole story, just the first 300 words.  I summarized the rest which is basically word for word what I wrote above starting at “Carl’s mental state . . .” 

Cuddly, happy story?  No.  But it’s not exactly Stephen King, either. 

The instructor normally comments on assignments within 24 hours of posting.  I didn’t get a comment until two days later and what I got was this:

I wasn’t avoiding giving you feedback, Amy, but I was troubled because of the content of the writing. I know it’s reality (heck, I wrote the book on death “What To Do When a Loved One Dies–your library probably has it), but the topic troubled me.

Notice the plug for her book in the comment?  I thought that was more distasteful than my story.  After I write back apologizing for “troubling” her, she responds:

The characterization was excellent, and the story snatched from the CSI-esque headlines. Because it’s a very troubling topic, I found myself putting off completing reading it (that’s the truth, even as your mentor I have my “hot” button about animals and various abusive/neglect issues). I don’t want you to think that everything here must be Merry Sunshine style, but if you choose to submit another piece of writing, I would be delighted to review it.

She’s used the CSI comparison before on someone else’s assignment.  I wonder if she has actually seen a full episode?  And I love the “Merry Sunshine” comment – it’s like she was reading my mind! 

But heck, I should be happy that my story elicited such a strong emotional response.  That’s something, isn’t it?

So, I guess I gotta be on my best behavior from now on.  Our next assignment asks us to go to the “junk drawer” or similar repository in our home, pull out three random objects and write a personal essay about one of the objects.  Considering most of the “junk” in our drawers belongs to my husband and the small percentage that is mine would most likely be corks from wine bottles past, I think I may be in trouble.

i’m smiling as i write this

For the first assignment in my writing class I wrote about an elephant narrowly escaping a poacher’s bullet.  The next assignment required that we write about a color from the color’s point of view (kinda trippy, huh?) so I wrote about the color white.  I started with the bright white of the delivery room and ended with a marble headstone and bones being returned to the earth.  The assignment we were given last Friday asked that we find a newspaper article that interests us then write a non-fiction essay or a fiction story inspired by the article.  I found this article and wrote a little story about an incinerator operator that becomes depressed with his job and ends up incinerating himself. 

Notice a theme here?  I didn’t intend to be the Debbie Downer in the class, but it appears that I am.  And, because these people don’t know me personally, they probably assume that I’m the brooding, morose type who forgoes sunlight and hides behind her bangs. 

I am capable of writing light-hearted, happy things, but usually my sensibilities lean toward the darker nature of life.  Now, I know that I’ve gone into this before here, so this is no surprise.  However, I feel that there may be another, subconscious reason why my assignments for my writing class have been rather grim. 

I am a child and I am rebelling. 

I can’t help it.  Whenever I see people being so gosh-darn pleasant and golly-gee happy I just want to slice open a deep vein of darkness and let it bleed all over their super-riffic good time.  I know, it’s irrational and adolescent and I should really just let people be.  But, there is some fundamental flaw in my wiring that translates any instance of over-abundant niceness into dishonest fakery.  I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s just how I am. 

All this seems to indicate that I am not enjoying my writing class, but this is not true.  I do like the class and I am getting a lot out of it.  One thing the class has taught me is that a writer must know her audience.  Well, I may not know exactly who my audience is right now, but I definitely know who they are not.

i got class

“I’m an English major” can only get me so far.  “I read a lot” isn’t really relevant.  And “I have a blog” is just plain ridiculous.  I have to admit that I have no idea what I am doing. 

So, what better way to remedy the situation than by shelling out $150 bucks for a writing class?  An on-line writing class at that.  The instructor can roll her eyes and laugh uncontrollably while her anonymous students systematically dismantle any and all literary progress made in the last century.  After she cleans the coffee-spew off her monitor, she just has to compose herself long enough to type: “Great job on your last assignment, twilight4evar91.  Your use of exclamation points is very creative and I can honestly say that I’ve never heard anyone use dog vomit as a metaphor for man’s struggle with consumerism in a changing world.  How original!”

I jest, of course, because I could very well be the twilight4evar91 in my class.  Although my handle would be more along the lines of 42istheanswer or cubeslave09.  Since the only requirement for the class is internet access and some extra cash, I have no idea what to expect from my future classmates.  They could all be clueless amateurs like me, or polished pros slumming it for practice and an ego boost.  I don’t care who they are as long as they don’t make me look bad.  Is that so wrong?  To want to stand out amongst your peers, even if they are all just screen names in cyberspace?  I’ll admit it, I want to be the shining jewel in the muck who’s glimmer catches the teacher’s eye. 

I have a greater fear than not being the teacher’s pet, however.  Hollow complements and unwarranted praise concern me more.  I really want to learn and I can only do that if people are honest and not worried about hurting my feelings.  A hundred and fifty bucks is a lot to pay for a “gold star just for showing up” or “trophy for trying” atmosphere.  I hope that this class offers much more than that. 

Well, I start tomorrow and will let you know how it goes.  Until then, this is iheartdexter74 signing off.

they never would have lasted anyway

“How do I look?”

“Your tie is crooked.”

“Oh, thanks. Is that a new suit?”

“Yeah, well, ya know this is a special occasion.”

“Ha! Good one. Which side is the groom’s?”

“On the right. Let’s go over by the wall, near the back.”

“We aren’t gonna do this in the church are we?”

“Naw. Wait until they’re outside, takin pictures. Everyone else will be in the reception hall.”

“Good thinkin. But, what if he doesn’t show?”

“Bernie already confirmed that he left the hotel. If he bolts before he get’s here, Bernie will take him out.”

“This guy’s none too bright, is he.”

“Ya think? First tryin to con Paulo, now thinkin that we wouldn’t possibly go after him today. Major rocks for brains.”

“You sure we couldn’t do this after the reception? I bet they’ll have shrimp.”

“Shut it. The ceremony’s startin.”

Consolidating

I’ve decided to no longer submit to thisisby.us (and I deleted all my past submissions).  I don’t like the direction that the site is taking.  I originally joined because I really liked reading the other submissions, but they have been decreasing in quality at an exponential rate.  Plus, the hand-full of writers that I read on a regular basis stopped submitting.

Probably only one person really cares about all this (hi, Carrie!), but just in case others were lurking over there I wanted to let you know.  As far as the continuation of the story I was submitting, I’ll post any future installments here. 

One thing I learned about myself while involved with that website, is that I am really picky about what I will read when it is written by an amateur.  I’m kinda snobby, actually.  I expect high quality, correct grammar, punctuation and for it to be spell-checked.  Even if the story is interesting, I will stop reading if the grammatical or spelling errors become too distracting.  I guess it is because I am used to reading books that have been professionally published.  Why would I waste my time reading some hastily typed, unedited drivel when I can spend time reading a good book? 

Kind of ironic, huh?  I’m expecting people waste their time reading my hastily typed, unedited drivel here.  Well, I just hope none of you are as snobby as I am!

Commas? We don’t need no stinkin’ commas!

My husband went back to college around the same time I started this on-line experiment.  For one of this classes, he has to write essays using standard APA format.  He has outlines and thesis statements, cited authors and page numbers in parenthesis.  He has quizzes on comma splices and pronoun/noun agreement.  This is so completely different than how I write.  I was an English major, so I have the basic grammar skills, but knowing these skills I feel gives me license to break them.  I’m stream of consciousness.  I dictate from my brain.  Run on sentences, fragments, creative punctuation.  When my husband asks my opinion on a challenging quiz question (Which of the following sentences is an example of correct semi-colon usage?) I read both sentences and say, “Well, they’re both boring.”  Nothing quashes creativity more than having to worry about punctuation. 

So, while he is carefully plotting out theme and supporting paragraphs, I’m putting pen to paper, fingers to keys, and letting the words fall where they may.  Sometimes it’s brilliant, sometimes it’s junk, but I have to keep going.