What do you get when you take four women with only an ounce of deviousness between them, a trip to the Dollar Store gone soooo wrong, and you add Linda O'Connell's birthday to the mix? You get last night's WWWP writing critique night.
Because Linda's birthday fell on one of our meeting nights, and because Lynn has a steeljaw trap of a memory, we all conspired to surprise her.
Unfortunately, when Lynn went to the Dollar Store to find something to decorate the birthday cheesecake with, she was arrested for overly "handling" the merchandise. (Relax--we pooled our resources together and bailed her out in time.)
And as is always the case, we learned a great deal as we worked on honing our writing skills...
- Tammy learned of a high-calorie liquid diet she might consider trying sometime (when it comes back into style). She found out about it from Beth who is a maniac when it comes to exercise and physical fitness, to the point she even has her own personal trainer...
- Getting outside of your writing box and working in a different genre is sometimes scary, but it can also be quite rewarding. I'm working on a story about Big Foot for a High Hill Press collection. (3,000 word limit, deadline is August 15, can be fiction or nonfiction...and no, you cannot write a funny story about your big hairy feet. I already pitched that idea...my size 11's cannot be the star of the story. Sasquatch needs to be the highlight of the tale.) My story did not put anyone to sleep (although we were hopped up on Lynn's cheesecake) so that's a good sign.
- Laughter is good for the soul. The experts say it's more powerful than some medicines and if that's the case, the five us will never be plagued by a serious disease. Our twice-monthly "therapy" sessions will keep us healthy...I'm sure of it.
This week I got notice that two of my dog stories have made it through the initial round of judges for the Publishing Syndicate's NYMB. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that these two memoirs don't come slinking back home with their "tales" between their legs...I'm hoping they make it through all the rounds with the judges.
One of these stories being considered tells about the time I stole a dog. Yes, well-behaved, always-serious me. Aren't you intrigued? You'll have to buy the book to find out what happens...
There are several deadlines for future Not Your Mother's Book collections coming up this summer--but dozens more that are still looking for submissions and don't even have a deadline yet. Check them out--it could be another (or another several) publishing credits under your belt...
My story "Half Right" has made it over the first hurdle at Publishing Syndicate. It takes place during a trip I took to France with my teenaged son...and the tale involves me going topless and my son having to wear a speedo. Doesn't that make you want to gouge your mind's eye out run out and buy a copy, once it's available?
Of course, it might not make it through the final rounds. And that's okay, because this post is to encourage more submissions. There are several calls for submissions, and the deadlines are coming up soon.
- On Being a Woman--July 1
- On Dogs--July 1
- On Holidays--July 1
- On Travel--August 1
- On Being a Stupid Kid--August 1
- On Family--October 1
- On Being a Mom--October 1
Most of the bloggers I follow are women, so I know you have countless stories to share. Most of the people I like are dog people (or cat people--there's an anthology for them, too). Everybody has had whacky or screwed-up or warm holiday memories. Everybody did stupid things when they were a kid. Now's your chance to make some money and gain some notoriety over your antics, to counteract the trouble you got into decades ago. Look at the titles. Think "edgy." Look at the guidelines, and submit...
I was reading Cathy C. Hall's blog, and she was writing about mistakes we make--in life, in writing. I wrote a comment about my former life as a quilter, and it prompted me to dig up an old wall hanging.
This wall hanging was made during a retreat. Since I hate using the machine am not overly fond of working with a sewing machine, in times such as this--where the machine was used for lots and lots of piecing--I cursed and spit and threatened my Singer machine...a lot.
Sometimes you're not thrilled with the writing process when it comes to a particular draft. But be persistent...
However, as the weekend progressed, I was pleased with the results. The colors, the "movement" in the piece.
Celebrate the small victories in writing. You crafted a great phrase, a wonderful image, an effective metaphor? Revel in it. And then continue writing...
All these evil lovely diamonds were coming together--in rows--to create larger diamonds. How cool. It was somewhat of a mystery what it would look like once it was completed, but the parts were pleasing...so far.
Sometimes, when you're working on a poem, a story, a novel--you're not sure where it's going to go. Enjoy it when you step off the cliff. If you know the characters, the story will take off on its own direction in a sure-footed manner. If it's a poem--well, ask Fireblossom what it's like to "freefall" while writing poetry.
I was ecstatic when I finally got the thing pieced together. The final step--before it was basted and then hand-quilted--was pressing it. I proudly took my creation to the ironing board and started to press. And press.
Unfortunately, no matter now hard I pressed down with the iron, the center would not be subdued. The middle would not lie down flat. All those diamonds converged in the center and erupted. The center of my wall hanging was like Mt. Vesuvius--and from the looks of it, it was about to spew.
My piecing skills--as usual--had failed me. While other quilters' seams are perfectly uniform and unwavering, there were probably dozens and dozens of tiny mistakes I had made...resulting in a "perfect storm" of thread and cotton fabric.
If your draft is not working, rearrange it. If it's a story, begin at the middle or the end and go back to the beginning. Change genre. There was a memoir I wrote that sucked in prose. But when I put it in the form of a free-verse poem, it sang. Don't be afraid to change things up.
No amount of spray starch worked. I was ready to chuck it (I was that frustrated, after working on it all weekend) or I thought, 'I'll sew a huge button in the middle, to hide the eruption,' when the workshop leader suggested I cut out one of the eyeball-looking things in the border fabric and applique it in the middle.
I did, and it looked like I had intended it as part of the design all along. The "eye" kept the center of my cotton volcano from erupting.
The Amish don't believe in perfection. They don't think humans are capable of anything completely perfect. So, when they make a quilt, they will make a small, deliberate mistake.
When you screw up a piece, call it your Amish essay # ____. When you mess up on the rhythm of a poem you're writing, tell everyone it was an on-purpose mistake.
And then keep on writing...
Well, if you didn't catch my last post, where I lured a man into my womanly web with my wiles and my writing T-shirt, I will sum it up quickly. (It's not worth providing a link for you, trust me. I ain't Pearl. My post's aren't worth rewarming for a second savoring.)
So how did I attract my first "hunk," using just a writing T-shirt? Here is a succinct summary to get you up to speed:
- I was in Santa Barbara in February on business with the National Writing Project.
- We were in front of the city art museum, doing various things. At the time I caught this "fair" haired (white hair) man's eyes (which were probably failing as fast as his hairline), I was rolling around on the sidewalk and acting out a painting.
- The man in question noticed my writing shirt ("Will write for food") and asked if I was a writer. When I told him I was a writer as well as a teacher, we got involved in a great conversation about writing.
Since that time when my shirt sang out like a Siren, driving all men one elderly gentleman to total destruction to the point that he ended up losing a few minutes of his life that he can't get back, I've been plotting how to use the power of the writing shirt again. My scheming, my research, my extrapolations--everything came together this afternoon at Aldi's, my favorite grocery store.
Same shirt. Different day.
I had gotten checked out without a nibble. I was worried. Perhaps my shirt had lost all its mojo? But no...that old shirt magic had its hooks in someone.
The security guard (there in case a couple of people got into a fistfight over the last box of frozen brussel sprouts) noticed my shirt and asked the same question: "Are you a writer?" Yes, and a teacher, too.
In our short conversation, it was clear that this man was
- younger than my previous "catch"
- drunk. Very, very drunk.
The next time I bring out my writing shirt and unleash it, what kind of man will find it irresistable? Who will be my next prey?
Your suspicions are welcome...
Reading Donna Volkenannt's Memorial Day post memorial post reminded me of the most patriotic person I know. Although he did not serve America as a soldier, he did fight against his own country in a war--at a time when he was far too young to wear a soldier's uniform...
My cousin Serhij began life in the Ukraine. While he was still a little boy, his family was taken to a concentration camp.
Because Serhij was the smallest, he was the one who snuck out into the fields at night, in search of any vegetables that had been missed. I cannot imagine the terror that filled his mind, and I cannot imagine the sorrow of a mother who had no choice but to send her little boy on such a dangerous mission.
Some of Serhij's family survived; some did not. The fortunate ones sailed to America and settled in New Jersey. Serhij's mother lived to be a very old woman who--even in her 90's--insisted on working on her own roof and breaking up the sidewalk in front of her house when it needed repairing.
Mama W never learned to speak English. She lived in a Uke neighborhood, went to a Uke church, and when she died, she left behind only one person who had suffered in the same way she did back in the old country---Serhij.
Serhij married a cousin on my mother's side, they had two children and proceeded to live the American Dream. They worked hard, they eventually were able to buy a nice house, and now they have grandchildren and a winter home in Florida.
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| photo by Jake Coffey |
My cousin is 100% American. He knows better than most how wonderful our country is. Yes, he still goes to a Uke church, and he could be living with fewer luxuries and his flag-waving would not waver one iota. And, Serhij would still be in love with America, even if the monetary things he accumulated all fell by the wayside...
...as long as his wayside remains in America...
I submitted a story about my dog Trixie to NYMB. The co-creator, Kathleene Baker, spit an email right back at me. She had read my submission quickly, and immediately sent me a very helpful (and encouraging) message.
Pearl, I know you have cats but do you have any dog stories? Shay, I know you have some Bosco tales to tell. Donna--I imagine you have at least one dog memoir up your sleeve. Tammy, you have gazillions of canine tales. Val--you can give us a rollicking Juno escapade or two, can't you? Lisa, the weiner dogs are always the underdogs. And Lisa, you have Golden Retriever stories, too. The deadline is July 1.
It seems the Not Your Mother's Books are looking for upbeat stories about dogs...whacky stories...funny stories. There is a children's novel entitled No More Dead Dogs, and the main character moans about the fact that if there is a dog's name in the title, don't read the book, because the dog will inevitably die during the story. (Think about it. Old Yeller. My Dog Skip. 'Tis true...)
And my story definitely had a dead dog in it.
Ooops. I am as bad as some of my students. I didn't do my homework very well, and apparently did not check the guidelines for this collection at all very well.
Kathleene said if I rewrote it, and make the story "end" before our beloved Trixie died, they would reconsider it. If I wouldn't, they couldn't.
Thrilled with a second chance, I worked on it for quite a while yesterday evening excited to do anything to avoid working on my report cards . But I got stuck. I wanted to make sure the "spackling" I did was seamless, and I had no idea how I was going to create a satisfying ending. I figured, I would let it sit for a few days. That's my normal MO.
This morning, still trying to avoid working on report cards I still had nothing, so I didn't even plan on opening up the story and working on it. But something made me say to myself, 'Just try. You might come up with something.'
And forcing myself--a little--to just reread the tale so far, and attempt to finish the revision resulted in me being able to finish the story---and submit it.
Of course, Kathleene and NYMB might not like what I did with it. And that's cool. But I prodded myself--poked myself with a stick--and got it done.
How about all my blogging colleagues who have a dog? What is stopping you from submitting? You have a little more than a month left...and as June Carter Cash sang it so well: "Time's a'wastin'."
(I know. I promised the debut of Sioux-on-a-Stick with my next posting, but my life will be so less hectic this week after I stop avoiding the completion of my report cards finish my report cards. So Donna, stop holding your breath. She'll make her appearance...soon.)
