3 powerful women

I want to tell you about 3 incredible women who have influenced my life as a writer, reader and human.

I met Jane Hodges (website) in a University of Washington short story workshop, and at first I was terrified of the accomplished, sassy-talking New Yorker, but we soon bonded over our tart senses of humor and Capricorn driven-ness. Since then Jane has gone on to conquer journalism in Seattle, write fiction and nonfiction, publish books on women in real estate, and start and manage a spectacular PNW writing retreat. She remains a woman of power and a little mystery and is my go-to for reading recommendations or a sympathetic ear to trade war stories and possibly sip a cocktail.

Laura Kalpakian (website here) was one of our instructors at UW night school and with her warmth, intellect and liveliness quickly became a trusted mentor and friend. In addition to publishing more than a dozen delightful and award-winning novels, Laura is an incisive reader and thoughtful editor. I still consult my notes from our classes together. Her exercises on "Straw into Gold," using the pain and truth and fragments of shit in life to create, still motivate me. 

Through Laura I met Cami Ostman (website), and after one of my essays was published in an anthology Cami co-edited (Beyond Belief: the Secret Life of Women in Extreme Religions), I became a fan of her approach to writing, editing and publishing. She's a coach and therapist and has built a successful business helping others achieve their writing goals. As I've been working on a memoir and struggling sometimes for direction or inspiration in the weird world of publishing, Cami always has a kind word or a thoughtful suggestion.

I'm continuing to meet writers and readers and expand my network but I wouldn't be where I am today, with a dozen published short stories and essays to my credit and a burning desire to keep going, without these three. I hope they know how they've motivated and inspired me. It's humbling and I feel pretty lucky. 

one more Memphy post

mural of a blurry person

If I'm going to keep raving about Memphis, I don't want to forget the marvelous murals and street art.

This melancholy portrait caught my eye, painted in blocks and blurry from an angle, but as you change positions, gradually coming into focus. It reminds me how we can suddenly see things more clearly (or not) depending on where we are in the world. And not a tag or artist's signature to be found, which is a pity. 

mural of a blurry person

Memphis on my mind

BB King’s

BSP visited Memphis, Tennessee a couple of weeks ago. Other than a work trip years ago, it was my first real visit and I have to say, the food and music were pretty great.

Imagine Cafe offered up incredible vegan food (salivate over the picture below of a po-boy and “chicken” fries), and Butterific Bakery supplied all that missed dairy with pillowy and creamy banana pudding, a caramel-y pecan tart, and luscious chocolate chip cookies. I even got in on the barbecue action with veg-friendly red beans and rice at Rendezvous, with chess pie for dessert.

Seeing the Lorraine Motel, and visiting the National Civil Rights Museum, was a somber highlight. I also listened to dozens of rootsy songs at the Blues Hall of Fame and spent many pleasant hours on Beale Street, listening to the Blues Trio at BB King’s, and a band I never got the name of at an outdoor stage across the street (the singer’s name was Rockstar but at least 2 other singers popped onstage, and Rockstar played the drums for awhile). The next day I saw a younger artist, @goslowtre (IG) at an empty barbecue restaurant, playing and singing his heart out.

  Imagine Cafe

The city felt more Midwestern than Southern in some ways, and there’s an art gallery in the Cooper Young area I’ll avoid (the owner drilled us with questions and launched into a monologue that felt like a verbal assault). But most everyone else, from the Blues HOF to Butterific to the made-in-Memphis store, was friendly and kind.

I hope to go back sometime and spend some time listening to hip hop bands and eat more creatively delicious food. 

 

a good no

It’s all rejection all the time around here in short story world, and one was even a “good” rejection.

I’m not saying I like it.

I hate it.

It feels shitty.

When I get the form email that starts out, Dear Writer, thank you for sending us your work, I already know it’s a no. The yeses always start with, we loved it, we want it, we want YOU.

The “good” rejection was mostly a form e-mail (not right for us at this time) but with the added, please send us more of your work.

So, I will, at some point, when the sting has worn off and I have a story in good enough shape to submit. I sent off 2 stories this week to three or four journals.

Mal sehen, as the Germans say. We’ll see.

sunflowers

sonnenblumen

I’m a sucker for sunflowers. My extended family originates in Kansas, aka the Sunflower State. One of my favorite published stories, included in Main Street Rag’s 2010 anthology, is named “The Sunflower State.” For years, we’ve taken sunflowers to a loved ones’ grave and I’ve got two important names tattooed on me along with a vibrant sunflower.

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So, seeing these abloom just blocks from my home made me feel welcomed, and loved.

Memoir seeking agent update 5

Yesterday was a double-rejection day: one from an agent, one from a journal.
I've taken some time to re-work my pitch, synopsis and overview. Also pulled another selection from the memoir to potentially publish as a standalone (there are 2 published excerpts so far).

So far:

• 8 submissions
• 5 rejected
• 3 no response yet

I'm taking an actual vacation this week so will hit it hard today and then when I get back.
Do I need a more surgical edit? Possibly? I'm hoping not but I'll do what the piece requires.
Sometimes I'm just too close to see it.

tedious tedious tedious

Geez I hate being left on read.

Hate it!

Hate the 2 or 3 day turnaround on texts.

One acquaintance waited a month to reply, then started with Hiiii and wrote as though no time had passed.

More than one will respond to a straightforward invitation with a sidestep, an emoji, or nothing.

It makes me feel put-in-my-place.

Sidelined.

Unimportant.

In Seattle I blame it on the Freeze. Other places, I don’t know what to call it.

Maybe it’s my Gen X-ness, my impatience, my everlasting FOMO, eager to plan, see art, hear bands, enjoy life.

But fuck how I hate it.

If you want to say no, say no.

If you’re not sure, say you’re not sure.

If you need to last minute cancel, do that. No more excuses! No headache, no work commitment. No. NO.

In some ways covid-times were easier. It was all No.

au revoir Pee-Wee

Gosh, losing Paul Reubens this week hit me like a punch in the stomach.
It's been somewhat comforting to read others' equally distraught reactions.
Somehow Pee-Wee managed to be creative, subversive, silly, kind, and supremely welcoming.
I've written quite a bit in my memoir draft about how "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure" changed my life. And I mean this is the most literal sense. Growing up isolated and religious and discouraged from most forms of creativity, his movie and the TV show exploded into my eyeballs and my mind and most importantly my heart, with the wonderful news that it was OK to be weird and there was a world out there that would accept me.
My sisters and I still watch the Christmas special annually, to the dismay of my millenial and Gen Z nieces.
I guess I'm thankful they didn't need Pee-Wee's lifeline and also sad that they don't know quite how much he meant to us.
As a commenter on the NYT wrote, "Today's secret word is sad."

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