Good News, Bad News, You Choose Your News

         On Monday I got some good news. Becky Haigler, of Silver Boomer Books, sent me a contract for my poem, "No Need for a Card." Their book, A Quilt of Holidays will be published sometime this fall, in time for...well, in time for the holidays, silly.

        Now for the bad news. Last night I went to Open Mic night at the Kirkwood Train Station. Linda O'Connell invited her WWWPs, and when I heard that Marcia Gaye would be reading, it was like icing on the cake--or for a more concrete connection, like extra malt powder in my malt--because Marcia hardly ever reads her stuff. (Marcia had won first prize in the SLWG's poetry contest.)

     I read the following piece, which is where the bad news comes in. Some things we mourn are unavoidable. Some grieving cannot be helped, and our lost youth is one of them.

      Be prepared. You will sniff and cry and sob...

Getting older was something I longed for---

Free choices—I needed so many more.

I grew up too fast,

My parents were aghast,

And my youth…gone for evermore.

Twenty-something, I was fit and thin

I even had only one chin!

Things were where they belonged

(I could still wear a thong)

But no! Granny pants still made me grin.

In my thirties things started to migrate

How many of you ladies can relate?

My gut got a bit flabbio

(Now I’d never snag Fabio!)

Thank god! Elastic was there to accommodate.

Once I hit forty things had gone all awry

I needed glasses for both of my eyes.

My mustache I couldn’t see

Nor my growing goatee,

Without a mirror that could magnify.

In my fifties, I’ve let everything go.

My gut is now like risen bread dough.

I can now tuck in my pants,

What I used to enhance,

And my butt needs its own private bungalow.

So ladies—and gents—here’s my advice.

Growing old ain’t all sugar and spice.

Enjoy life as it comes

Savor every last crumb

And good looks…they’re so overpriced.

And now, for the "you choose your news" part of this post.  Not Your Mother's Books is looking for your stories. They're seeking stories more twisted than Chicken Soup tales. Put the fun in dysfunctional and submit.

You never know. That little vignette you send off could result in your story getting published. And then you'll have good news to share soon...

Who Is That?

photo of an Iwo Jima survivor and veteran by NYCMarines

       
          Yesterday I was checking my email, and saw a name that sounded familiar...But I couldn't quite place where I had heard it.

          However, when I opened up the message, it hit me. And for me (and you, too) it's wonderful news.

          On my blog right now, I have a couple of jumbo photos of books which include a story of mine. In fact, the pictures are so large, the airport has insisted I put lights on them, in case a plane in distress needs to make an emergency landing.

          The person who sent me the email was Becky Haigler. Silver Boomer Books has accepted the story about my dad's stint in the army. (Read my previous post about writing the story.) This is my first official paid writing gig, so I'm planning on photocopying the check and framing it. (Corny, I know...)

          The anthology is going to be called The Harsh and the Heart---Patriots Dream.

photo by EASTeam

     Okay, Sioux said it was great news for her followers...Explain.

          Perhaps on my blog I need to consider just listing the places where I'm published. It's only three right now, but soon---hopefully---the list was grow.


    That IS good news. We were all getting tired of seeing those enormous pictures. It was like the Goodyear blimp was hovering...hovering...hovering over our computer screens.

      Anyway, thanks to all my blogging friends who regularly post calls for submissions, bloggers who have a submissions "button" and bloggers who inspire me. Because of your support, I'll keep plugging away...




         

If There's No Chocolate Around, Seduce a Lemon Lozenge

            Recently there was a call for patriotic story submissions. I had two story ideas---my dad, who just missed going to Iwo Jima, and my Ukranian cousin, who spent part of his childhood in a concentration camp.
 
            I figured, if I sent in two stories, perhaps one would be accepted?  I also knew that my cousin's story was so dramatic, I could really botch it up and the story would still sing...

             Unfortunately, my cousin refuses to talk about that part of his life. So I was left with my father's story, which I pieced together with pictures and interviews with my mom.  (My dad had Alzheimer's for many years, and died this past December.)

            I was not thrilled with the story I had to work with. It was a simple one. I kept kicking myself, thinking 'What if Serhij had agreed to open up?  What a phenomenal story it would have been...' 

photo by .leila

            But I didn't have that story of a boy sneaking into a field and getting the left-over vegetables to feed his family. It wasn't my story to tell. So I worked with the materials I had. I revised and scratched out and rewrote, until my dad's tale was the best it could be.

           If you don't have a decadent truffle...if all you have is a lint-covered lemon lozenge, savor it. Caress it. Finesse it. Seduce it until it's as alluring as you can make it...And if you do it well, everyone's mouth will be watering for your lozenge.

If You Open Your Mouth, It Will Go

             Okay, so I failed to pull off a smooth connection to movie Field of Dreams. Sorry. I'm just recovering from a late night (see the later note from the Procrastination Princess) of writing and revising, followed by an evening school event where I had to--please take an anti-anxiety pill now--sing (along with my students).

            ( The stray dogs that were running, full-speed, through your neighborhood, a frantic expression on their faces, their ears looking like they had been torched just a bit...Yes, all the dogs in the St. Louis area have been suffering tonight because of my caterwauling!)

photo by brendan adamson

                A week or so ago, I had lunch with a writer friend. During the conversation, I mentioned I was mentally doing some prewriting on a couple of patriotic submissions for Silver Boomer Books. One was about my dad's experience in the Marines. The other was going to be more difficult. A distant but dear cousin of mine is Ukranian; he spent part of his childhood in a concentration camp. There is no one who loves America more than Serhij. Unfortunately, he never talks about that part of his life...  

               The deadline was yesterday.  Since I put everything off until the last possible minute, I was writing earlier this week, but the story was slow in coming. Serhij was unwilling to answer any questions, and although that meant I was only writing one story,  my dad's tale did not feel as "inspired."  I was tempted to just chuck it. 

               However, I had opened my mouth and said I was doing some prewriting in my head.  If I didn't even bother to follow through, if I simply let the submission opportunity fall by the wayside, would I feel very writerly?

                  I found that as I continued to push through, I discovered a connecting thread that could hold my story together. I crafted a beginning that I was satisfied with, along with a decent ending. 

                   So, when you're on the fence, open your mouth. Bring it into the realm of reality by saying it aloud. And sendyour story where it needs to go...