Inspiration

One thing that aspiring writers hear over and over again is that we must read. Reading is the path to learning to write. By reading we will subconsciously upload the grammar rules, the magic of the fusion of dependent and independent clauses. We will come to understand coordination and sub-ordination; we will absorb the rules of organization and development. We will follow the path set forth by writers who are so very good at what they do that they are published in books that we can grab in our hands, or upload onto our screens.

I don't disagree with this, but I think the reailty goes much farther than that. The less aspiring I become and the more comfortable I am with the writing life, the more I find that reading inspires me. It always feels good to connect to a writer through their art, that is not a new feeling. But to near the end of a book and see visions of my own works swirling between my eyes and the pages in my hands is more powerful a feeling than I might of anticipated had I thought about it.

Feeling inspired at the beginning of a book is nothing particularly new to me. I often make notes about structure or pacing when I am on the first dive into a new book. The inspiration and effort ultimately wanes as I become more immersed in the pages, my notes set aside and my mind wrapped fully within the prose. But later, when I am nearing the end, reading so quickly because I am anxious for each word, then re-reading because I don't want to miss anything (and more importantly don't really want the book to end), I am finding that I am filled with a new kind of inspiration that verges on overwhelming. I feel my own stories are connected to the words of another in a different way than I had been led to believe.

And I like it.

:-)

Revision Update

I did hear back from the editor. She would love to have me send her a revision of my earlier submission. Now the questions. What does it need? What can I do to strengthen it, update it, make it better? Suddenly I see the value in having a schedule that regularly allows me to write so that I can keep current within a writing group. Harumph.

To Revise or Not To Revise

Well over a year ago I submitted a (hastily written but well proof-read) essay to be considered in an anthology. This week I heard from the editor with an update about the glitches she has encountered in trying to complete the project and get in published. The gist of the email was, if this is taking too long for you, let me know and I'll pull your submission out of the pile.

My attitude is not that this is taking too long, the piece was written specifically for her anthology, but that what I really need to do is a complete rewrite. Now, my piece may be in her pile of rejections already; I do believe that the email was simply a courtesy at large, not meant just for folks she was considering including. I wrote her back and gave her the out of rejecting the essay outright, or leaving it all alone for now, or letting me do a rewrite. Not sure when or if I will get a reply, but having the information certainly makes it easier for me to let it go in general for now.

Even if it does desperately need to be rewritten.

*sigh*

Gotta love indirect rejections

Today I received an email from "A Room of One's Own" contest I submitted to in January (see post below). In the body of the message was a list of the contest winners. My name does not appear anywhere within the email save for the address. Guess I didn't win...

2 More Out There

Last week I submitted an essay to Tiny Lights Essay Contest. It went out the old fashioned way, in an envelope!

Then I squeaked in under the deadline for the "A Room Of Her Own 2009 Orland Prizes" via their online submission page.

Between the two, both of my favorite essays are out.

I am attempting to renew my commitment to my writing. I say attempting because it is really that, an attempt at accomplishing something that is difficult for me to do: write regularly.

Making time to write reminds me a little of being eighteen and not visiting my best friend's mom. Although sitting and talking with Carol felt great, even and especially without my best friend there, I didn't allow myself to go back or fall into a habit. Instead the habit became the lack of visits, the self-flogging I regularly gave myself for not doing something for myself that felt good and healthy. Maybe I didn't visit because I knew that Carol would push me to think more, to consider more outside my own reality and I simply wasn't ready to face her help. More likely, I didn't go because it was good for me and made me feel good. It wasn't partying, it wasn't getting lost in a boy, or a book, or a job.

Eventually I did allow myself the pleasure of her sister's company. I allowed myself to call and visit Miriam often. So much so that by the time she died she was my mother. But that was all many years later.

Writing reminds me of the non-visits with Carol because I know how good writing makes me feel, how much it makes me reach inside myself to learn and grow and exercise my brain, my creativity. It also seems to represent the last vestiges of internal self-loathing, of the mistaken belief that I am not worthy and do not deserve to feel good or to succeed.

But I do deserve to feel good. I am worthy. I can and will succeed. Eventually both of my favorite essays will be accepted and published. And acclaimed.

Apparently I'm not a Glass Woman

Glass Woman Prize: sent an electronic submission in July.
December: I'm not on the list of winners or runners up listed on the website.

*sigh*

The only submission I have outstanding right now is for the Phat Girls Anthology. No way of knowing when I will hear back about that. I check on occasion to see if the book itself has been published yet, just so that I can keep my records up to date.

I'm feeling pretty disappointed in myself that I haven't had the time or the energy to submit, let alone do much writing, the last few months. It is definitely a trade. I love teaching, which is what I was doing 48% of the time (48% is the official load number, I really worked much more than that), while filling in the other 62% working in the Writing Center. While I'm the kind of person who can accomplish a lot in a short amount of time, sustained busy-ness tends to exhaust me. So I spent a good portion of the fall happily exhausted.

Spring semester looks more balanced from here. I am, however, working on office space. I NEED a space outside of the house proper to be able to focus and work and avoid the distractions of laundry, dishes, food, phone calls and whining dogs (they are probably the worst distractions; their point of view is that my being home means that I am at their disposal). Case in point: As I am writing this, Teddy is speaking rather harshly to me, awooo-ing and barking to let me know that he wants to go out. Never mind that there is another person in the house, one who is closer to the door Teddy wants to go through.

I'll keep you posted as to when I send something out.

Newest response

It is always a mixed blessing to find a self-addressed stamped envelope in the mailbox. To see my own handwritings staring back at me amongst the pile of bills and solicitations is at first perplexing why would I send something to myself, and then quickly, oh, right, a submission response. Then I take a deep breath and I contemplate timing, How long will I wait until I open it? Now? Here in the driveway in the the sunlight? After I am in the house? Later today? Not at all?

When the first SASEs started coming in, I would rip them open as soon as I realized what they were. That didn't last long, cause who wants to open something that the odds say will carry news they don't want to hear? In fact the only written acceptance I have received, thus far, has been via email. In general, I wait until I am in the house, in the kitchen where I can put the rest of the pile down temporarily, before I rip open my once pristine envelope.

I stated earlier that an SASE is a mixed blessing. Even if it contains a rejection, or in this week's case a list of winners that doesn't include me, the up side is that it frees that particular essay up for submitting to another publication or contest. Then it no longer stagnates on my record of submissions list.

To make a long story short (too late), I did not win this year's Crab Orchard Review Literary Award in creative nonfiction. I had entered my favorite essay to date, Beautiful Damage.

So as of today, I have 3 submissions out.