Beware of the Contests

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On the last day of my Advance Narrative Writing Class at UIUC back in 2016, our instructor John Rubins opened the discussion up to final questions. It was an opportunity to ask anything we wanted about writing for a living. Many students inquired about getting published of course, and about pay rates for certain pieces. Some asked about the editorial process and opportunities to work as agents or editors. Then, just as class ended, a student asked about contests. Should we enter them?

Rubins' response was cryptic. "Beware of the contests", he said.

At the time, I thought he was warning us about those less than honest competitions where you pay a very high entrance fee in exchange for guaranteed acceptance, sort of a Who's Who in Writing but without the leather hardcover. But now, after entering several poetry and a few short story competitions, I believe I know what it was he wanted us to avoid,  the reliance on contests to determine your value as a writer.

It's easy to do as contests winning  can provide both a soothing balm to the eager and often needy emerging writer, and a welcome boost to your resume and career, but they can also wound, leaving a decent amount of scar tissue if one enters them without adequate protection.

By "protection" I mean a thick skin, a well honed ability to critique ones own work, the fortitude to reach out to other writers for the elusive constructive criticism, and the strength to welcome a rejection as yet another opportunity for improvement.

Contests, like aspirin, are best consumed on a limited basis, else you risk a GI bleed.

Although I have entered several contests over the last three years, I am select about where I send out both my work and my limited cash. Each month, when I receive my issue of Poets and Writers, I go first to the section of upcoming competitions and circle those that match well with my work. Then I narrow it down by deadline date and submission fee. I like to choose those whose deadlines are far off, allowing me time to revise and sharpen up  any loose screws. From those I'll select the one with a moderate admission fee. Twenty dollars or less is my usual budget.

Then, I submit it and forget it.

Unless I don't. Last summer I submitted my first poetry chapbook to a contest in Ireland. I was so excited to have enough finished work to enter that I got carried away  found myself checking the organizations web site daily for results. I also blame the prize itself for this obsessive internet stalking as the chapbook winner not only received cash, several copies of their book and publication by a notable press, but  a three day stay in Cork (the home of Blarney Castle) as well !

You see, I fell into that jagged tooth trap so many do: I was focusing on the PRIZE rather than the work itself. The time spent checking for my name on the organizations website was time taken away from the other writing I needed, wanted, to do. And sure enough, I didn't win. No short list mention, no long list nod, no honorable mention. Nothing. Nada.

Funny thing though, I wasn't disappointed as much as I was relieved. With no need to check on contest results anymore, I had time to finish the other eighteen  poems I started but wasn't disciplined enough to finish. Being granted official loser status, freed me to do what writers are supposed to be doing.

Writing. 

The Unrequested Critique, Turning Pain into Pleasure.

                                                   "There is only one way
                                    to avoid criticism:
                                    do nothing
                                     say nothing
                                     be nothing."

                                                         -Aristotle



I am one of those freaks who liked school.I liked in in the 20th century when I attended as a youngster. I liked it in the 21st century when I returned as a post modern fifty-five year old.

I especially enjoyed the workshop atmosphere in the Creative Writing department at The University of Illinois. We wrote, we made copies, we shared with the group.  Feedback was returned in writing or  through a verbal roundtable of advice, constructive criticism, and encouragement. Depending on the class, professors chimed in or they remained silent, grading the writers and the reviewers on effort given.

I always appreciated the feedback, and even though my classmates were decades younger, they had excellent insight and made valuable suggestions. Feedback is good, when you ask for it, when it is expected, but what happens when you receive a large amount of very specific feedback which is not anticipated?

You say Thank You Very Much.

This happened to me earlier in the spring. I submitted several poems to a well known organization in Ireland, Fish Publishing. Winners would be published in their annual anthology. At the time of entry, poets had the option of paying extra to have their poem critiqued by one of the staff. I didn't elect this option. I am not exactly a starving artist, we do have a substantial vegetable garden, but funds are limited for this homesteader/writer. Nine days after submitting my work, I received an email informing me a critique of one of my poems was done in error. Did I want to see it? There was no additional charge.

I jumped at the offer. Please refer to paragraph one of this blog, the part where I admit to loving school.

The feedback I received was detailed, insightful, beneficial, and painful. The painful part was the best part. The reviewer had spent good time with my poem, picking up on the inconsistencies in tense and punctuation, noting my tendency to say in ten words what could be said in three, and holding me accountable for my lack of control, focus and precision.  Wow. Color me chastised.

He also commended me for my strengths: "strong ideas with a nice central metaphor", "I can see a writer here with lots of talent and potential", "a writer with a fine eye and ear for detail",  and "you are obviously very capable."

The finest part of his review  was the line by line analysis, a close reading of my work that felt microscopic in intent but not malicious. The detail was insightful and intrusive in a decent way. He read my poem, he heard my poem, and he wanted my poem to be the best it could be, so he pinpointed areas most in need of revision.

Although I wanted to make changes, it took a few weeks for me to revisit this poem of mine. I had felt bruised, a bit bopped on the head like Little Bunny Foo-Foo, but ego must be set aside if one wants to write well. After reading my poem with a critical eye instead of the creators heart, its flaws were blatantly obvious and I tackled it's revision with a surprising appetite. Soon, I'll submit this new, and I believe. improved version and if published elsewhere, I will send a copy of it to the reviewer at Fish Publishing with a second note of thanks (I did thank him for the original "accidental" critique).

Thus, my advise is this. Grab fast to those opportunities to have your work reviewed, critiqued and yes, even criticized. You might take those suggestions, you might reject them, but the process can be enlightening. Besides, writing in a vacuum might be safe, but most of the time it just sucks.

Publication. The Payoff for Hard Work

I am please to report, I received more that just rejections in this first quarter of 2018. Specifically, two publications have accepted five of my poems. Happy, happy day.

Dodging the Rain, a literary and arts journal based in Galway, Ireland, will be publishing four of my poems in their June 2018 issue. My interest in this journal was based on the editor makeup, all past grads of NUIG's (National University Ireland Galway) MA programs. I so loved my time at NUIG as a student abroad in the summer of 2015 and I do hope to return and attend that MA program myself . Preferably before I turn eighty. This is the fourth time an Ireland based publication has accepted one or more of my poems in the last two years. Four. It's a tiny number but still, so much better than zero.

Months To Years, a fairly new journal, will be publishing one of my poems in May. I was drawn to submit to them because of the intent of the editor and the CFO. They are Renata and Tim Louwers respectively and both had experienced the loss of spouses. They felt there was opportunity to improve conversations and written work around terminal illness, end of life decisions, and mortality. They divide their time between Virginia's  Shenandoah Valley and San Francisco. My years in hospice nursing continue to mold the direction of much of my work, so this journal feels like an excellent fit.

After these poems are published I'll be able to share them here on my blog.

As thrilled as I am to have these acceptances come my way, it's important to understand how much effort it took, to make this happen. This is not a Praise me I worked so hard, statement but more of a Oh Dear God getting published takes so much effort one. Yes, there is the rare bird who writes one piece and submits it to one publication and receives one glorious acceptance, but for the rest of us common fowl, a ton of work must be completed and another ton of rejections must be read, absorbed, and filed before VOILA! our name appears in print. Here is the "formula" that worked for me.

Since January 1, 2018 I have submitted 153 poems to thirty-nine literary journals. Some journals were print only, some were on-line only and several did both. Some only wanted one poem while one accepted up to eight. Most wanted between three and five.

Of those thirty-nine journals, four so far have rejected my work and two (mentioned above) have accepted poems. The rest I have not yet heard from. This is not unusual as the competition is stiff and the number of submissions is great. Some publications receive thousands of poems every month and many will tell you may not hear from them for six months or longer.
       
Regarding the poems, 153 sent does not mean 153 different poems. For example, I may have sent poem A to ten journals, Poem B to twenty and Poems A, B and C to fifteen. Not all poems are appropriate for all journals.

Although it appears to be a large amount of work for little payoff, I don't see it that way. I write first for myself and then second, for an audience. The act of writing itself is a great payoff.  It's excellent practice in the basics of spelling, grammar and language use and it continues to hone my writing discipline skills. On average I write four hours a day, five days a week. Ass in seat, is the mantra I repeat in my head. I suppose some people can write standing up, not me. Although I can write on planes, trains and in automobiles.

Most importantly, writing gives me time alone. Not only, am I unable to write standing up, I am unable to write when I am around people I know. So, I don't write when my husband is home, when I am babysitting, or when traveling with my sisters. But, put me in the middle of Chicago on a park bench surrounded by 2.8 million strangers, and I can sit and write all day. 

Maybe even all night. 

Jumping Through Literary Magazine Submission Hoops Without Breaking Your Neck.

Winter 2018 is going fantastically as far as submissions go. After a sloth-like Fall where I was writing but not submitting, it feels great to be filling up my submissions log again. Since Jan. 23 (my last submission prior to that was Aug. 2017)  I have submitted sixty-five poems to sixteen publications.

Some of this work is older, some of it is old but revised, but much of it is new, written last fall in my Anti-Submitting period. This method of writing for a few months then submitting for awhile is working well. I may continue it or I may not. Haven't been doing this long enough for any real pattern development.

But here's an observation about patterns you might find useful. Literary magazines don't follow any. They all do their own thing when it comes to collecting submissions and that "thing" is as variable as Illinois weather has been the last eight weeks.

Snow, fog, bitter cold, sleet, ice, tropical waves, and that was just before noon today.

Back to literary magazines. Some have long pages of instructions while others have two sentences. I like those two sentence ones. They say Here's our email. Send us something. Don't forget your name. Some use the online program Submittable while others wish you to send an email, and still others will take only postal submissions. Not that common, the old fashioned postal route, but it happens.

Of those who prefer the Submittable program they may charge a minimal reading fee or not.
Of those who prefer email they may want your submission as an attachment or not.
Of those who prefer snail mail they may return your work or they may not.

Most of them want a cover letter, but a brief one.
Some of them want a bio, but a brief one. Like about 9-11 words. The more generous magazines might give you fifty words to brag about yourself. Have a blast.

Many will take simultaneous submissions, but there are a few that will not. My hope is that those magazines are getting less submissions and therefore increasing my chance of an acceptance, but it's only a theory.

In regards to your actual manuscript...one editor wants your name on every page at the bottom while another wants it in the top right with your email address. Some read "blind" and don't want your name anywhere near your work and don't think you can fool them by misting your signature cologne on a page or two either, as those editors will sniff you out for sure.

Some want you to number each page of your submission while others insist on hieroglyphics.  I made up that last bit but you get my gist.

Once you've made it through that landmine,  a writer must then understand the follow up process. Most publications tell you up front the expected time frame as in We usually get back to writers within three to six months. Or they will tell you that if you don't hear from them after six months, you may then-and only then-email them and ask. Some will only reject you via your Submittable account while a few will never call, never email, never write.

I only had two that did that to me last year. Brought back a few old boyfriend memories.

So why would a writer go through so much work for so little in return? It's the rare magazine that pays cash. Instead, most will award with a copy of two of the journal issue that features your work,  while others publish on-line only.

I do it because it's part of the process. It's the admission price to that organization I want to belong to: The Published Writer Club. It's the dues that must be paid, man. It's also good practice for future publications. If I can't follow a few-OK, several-instructions for submitting my short pieces, how will I ever be able to work with an editor or publisher in the event I am fortunate enough to publish a poetry collection or a novel? So a magazine wants me to  send them a poem in Times New Roman font size 12 with a 1 inch margin at top, a 1.5 inch margin on left and a 2.0 inch margin on the right? Yes, I can do that.

Even with all the variables I discussed, it doesn't have to be a stressful process. Pick out your best work then select one or two publications which will be a good fit.  Do it when you're alone in the house so you're not distracted or feeling rushed. Take the time to read some of the quality work already published by the publication you've chosen and remind yourself they've earned the right to be picky about how the material gets to them. Imagine all the other writers who rush through the process and number their pages in the bottom right instead of the upper left.  Dotting all the i's and crossing the t's in the correct font size, will widen that first gate you must get past before an editor grants you the privilege of a fair read.

I also like to sip a bit of Jameson when I am submitting. We do what we gotta do.

Neglect, by Any Other Name, Is Still Neglect.

                 “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
                                                                                                                              John Steinbeck

It is embarrassing to note my last blog post here was over 6 months ago. I was on sabbatical I shall claim. Not from writing but from writing about writing, and from submitting. I was writing in private I suppose. 

It was not intentional, but rather, practical. My non-writing life includes a small homestead where my husband and I live and work. If interested you can read all about it HERE. Last summer we started building a barn and a couple months after that, two wonderful new grandbabies arrived. Then winter stormed in. 

I kept up my writing routine and I was reading copious amounts of work by other writers, but all submissions stopped which consequently meant all acceptances stopped as well. Funny how that works. But last week a barrier of some sort broke and I got busy. In a matter of eight days, I wrote three new poems and submitted a total of twenty three poems to seven separate publications.

Seems I'm on a roll and it feels fantastic. 

To further wind me up I discovered the article Reconnecting After a Silence written by Jane Hirshfield in the latest edition of Poets and Writers. (Jan/Feb 2018) In it she discusses ways to rejuvenate your writing and suggests not only concrete activities like translating a poem from a foreign language you love, "To keep your relationship to word-shaping awake", but cerebral exercises such as reminding yourself why you wanted to write in the first place. She further suggests that a writer can write about not writing, as I did at the beginning of this post, as a way to check in on where you are right now. In all she lists seven ways a writer can rejuvenate and reconnect. 

Although I was not blocked in regards to putting words on paper, I had definitely blocked myself from the next steps needed: revising, fine-tooth combing, and submitting. When I took time last week to review my work over the last few months I was both pleased and appalled at the number of poems I had started but never completed. I had neglected to take my words, thoughts and feelings, the entire distance. I had plopped them down on a piece of paper and abandoned them, leaving them to flip flop around without direction like the fan tail fish who leaps out of his bowl and lands on a cold kitchen floor. A skittering mess of confusion. 

So thanks Jane for the kick in the arse I needed to finish up, to follow up, to write a poem about nothing, from beginning to end. 

Our Father Who Art In Clifton

So thrilled that ROPES Literary Journal of Galway, Ireland has published my poem Our Father Who Art in Clifton, in their recent issue. I was invited to the launch and so would've loved another trip to Galway, I do consider it my other home, but it wasn't possible.

This 25th edition of ROPES is titled Silence and proceeds will aide Pieta House, an organization that focuses on prevention of suicide and self harm.

It is also a huge kick knowing that this issue is on sale at various stores throughout Galway that I have at one time or another shopped in, such as the oh so very wonderful bookstore, Charlie Byrne's. Charlies is a great place crammed full of books on various levels with comfy chairs scattered about where one can plop down and read away an afternoon. Something I did often while I studied at NUIG (National University Ireland Galway) in the summer of 2015.

Our Father Who Art in Clifton

Our father is dead, in yonder hospital bed

                Pale skinned Irishman, cooling while

the pizza warms in the oven

We ordered a thick crust just after he left us

(Watching parents die is exhausting)

thinking we’d have more time

Before the funeral home staff arrived

                Banging at the door

                Hello? Is anyone there?

I hear the extra cheese bubbling so please

                Could we have a moment to eat

to drink, to think

It’s not like he’s going anywhere

Quiet and no longer alert he, basically a dirty

                Footed man who worked menial jobs for menial

 Pay yet kept the bellies of six pumpkins full

Go away hearse, we’ve changed our minds

                Our Father’s first limo ride can wait

                There is one more meal to share

Let us break apart the triangular pieces of heart

                An offering to the man who baked bread

For our suppers, remained faithful to our mother

Who God knows, was no Clara Bernhardt

Crime Might Pay But Writing (Usually) Doesn't

From Muzzle Magazine: "Artists should be paid for their labor. We wish we could pay you. We cannot pay you."

I ran across that-what would you call it? A regret? An admission?-when I was submitting yet another group of poems last month. I loved it. The verbal recognition of a writer's worth. It made me want to be published by this magazine and so I submitted five of my best poems. I have yet to hear back from them, but it's only been two months. Not long for most literary journals.

Truth is, few writers, especially poets, are recognized in terms of cash. In the year since I graduated from UIUC and focused seriously on my craft, I have submitted to 123 publications and been paid real money-once. My other acceptances were "paid" via journal copies, or web page shout outs, or just a nice email.

Gemini Magazine sent me such an email regarding their 2017 Poetry Contest.  In a nutshell it said, Thanks for entering. You weren't choosen as a winner but your poem was kinda good. Not good enough to be published but good enough to be listed as "notable."

I liked that email. I'll take notable. It's better than being outright rejected. Better than never hearing back at all. Better than being told Good Lord in Heaven your poetry reeks worse than that piece of salmon you forgot in the back of the fridge.  Stick to feeding pigs already.

At this point in my writing career, two whole years in, I will take whatever reward I might get. A coin tossed my way, a cyber nod, a minor mention at a family event-Hey sister, I read your story in After Hours, it was ok. This does not mean I don't value my work. I do. What it does mean, is that I am a realist. My work is still raw. My work is still new. My work needs work. My work must please me for the sake of writing it-first and foremost.

Besides, most literary magazines operate on donations and subscription fees. Little is left for writer payment. Like many restaurants, lit mags tend to come and go. Which is why so many writers also teach or manufacture fidget spinners or run small farms: because mortgages must be paid, computers run best with electricity, and wee mouths must be filled with food.

When thinking about my future as a writer, and the possibilities of bringing in a bit of income doing what I love sometime before I turn eighty,  I remember what Stephen King said in his book On Writing: A memoir of the Craft. He and his wife Tabitha were under great financial stress in the 1970's and dealing with an ill child with an earache, when he received his first substantial book advance for his novel Carrie. His most immediate thought at the time was, and I paraphrase, "Great! Now we can afford to buy the Pink Stuff."

Me too, Stephen. One day, I hope that my work brings in enough extra cash to buy a bit of The Pink Stuff.

Suffering From Genre Confusion

They say the first step is admitting that you have a problem, so ok, I admit it. I am suffering from a serious case of genre confusion.

As a child I was certain my bent was towards poetry. I scribbled a few lines, rhymed nun with run (we lived next door to a convent in Chicago), and I called it good. In high school, angst filled-who wasn't-I carried around a leather covered notebook for all the brilliant one liners I might have. During my first go-round in college, 1980's style, I hunkered down with all my pre-nursing classes, but slid in a poetry elective just for fun. Even at age twenty I knew I would bring home more cash as a nurse than as a poet, but still, it was poetry that tripped my trigger.

"Tripped my trigger", who talks like that anymore?

But life, children, a career in nurse management, mortgages, another career in organic farming, grandchildren, all took hold and I did not return to that writing love of mine until age fifty five. Now, eleven short months after graduation from a creative writing program, and a few publication successes, I am absolutely, without a doubt, convinced that I am a poet.

Or am I?

It all seemed so certain. I was writing poetry, I was reading poetry, I was submitting poetry, I was even reciting it while milking my cow. There are poetry books all over my house, in my car, and hidden in the barn. A few of my poems have made it into print, one won a major competition.  But then recently I received an unexpected email and my certainty, wobbled.

A short story I'd written last spring for class, revised and submitted to after hours journal of Chicago back in the summer of 2016,  had been accepted for publication in their upcoming issue, which arrived a few days ago. I frankly had forgotten about this little story. It's fairly common to submit a piece and not get a response for three or four months, but if more than six months goes by, I assume it didn't meet the needs of that particular publication and then mentally, I write it off.  So when after hours contacted me nine months after submission, I had to look at my submission log to jog my memory. When I initially wrote this story, it felt nonsensical, but my professor John Rubins thought it had potential.  He told me to revise it. Which I did, a few times.  How to Tell Your Second Husband He is Your Sixth Husband, took on a life of its own, as stories can do, evolving from a goofy diddy about multiple marriages to a darker comment on bad choices.

When the issue arrived last week I read the story cautiously. It was worse than I had remembered. It was better than I hoped. I was embarrassed to have my husband read it, couldn't wait to show it to my daughter, not at all sure if I will show it to my sons, all of whom are near thirty. But what does it mean? Am I now a flash fiction writer as well as a poet?  Is this a fluke or should I concentrate more on story, plot and characters, instead of  the intensity of metaphor and slant rhymes?  Shall I dig out that monstrosity of a novel I wrote five years ago and try to revive it? Will my poems feel jealous that I am spending more time with short stories? Is it right to lay my after hours copy among all my poetry books, or am I being insensitive to them? Rubbing their proses in it so to speak.

And most importantly, am I a total narcissist if I empty out my PayPal account to buy twenty more copies of after hours ?

The Crux of Simultaneous Submissions

The writer has to force himself to work.
He has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to
his desk at all there is nobody to scold him.
- Roald Dahl

I recently saw a post on a Facebook page dedicated to submissions that suggested, "100 rejections in 100 days," as a writing goal.

I liked that. The idea is clearly, if you submit to 100 journals, either online, print, or both, you're bound to receive an acceptance. Maybe two.

But, if you're sending out that often, your risk, (or your blessing depending on your attitude) is having the same piece of work accepted by more than one literary journal. This happened to me with two Ireland based publications a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately, I had kept good records of what I had sent to whom, and all the magazines I had targeted, did accept simultaneous submissions.

In fact, the large majority of publications will, with their only requirement being immediate withdrawal of your work if  another journal has accepted it.  It's an easy enough process, especially if the journal uses Submittable as their collection site for authors work. Just a few clicks and all is forgiven. If the publication does not use Submittable, simply return to their web site for directions. For most, all that is needed is a short note to the editor via email. In fact, when this happened to me,  two editors thanked me for notifying them of my need to withdraw work, and then congratulated me for my success with another magazine! A couple of class acts those two. I will definitely be submitting to them again.

Watch closely for those publications however, that do not take simultaneous submissions. It will be clearly stated in their submission guidelines. If you risk it and send work to them that you've sent somewhere else at the same time, and you do have to withdraw work because of an acceptance, an astute editor will take notice. They'll wonder why you are withdrawing something that was only supposed to be submitted to them alone. It might affect your chances next time. There is an up side though, to these publications: they tend to get back to you sooner, within just a couple of weeks, as compared to several months for so many others.

The other dilemma with simultaneous submissions, is being accepted first by a journal that perhaps is nearer the bottom of the Pushcart List, or not listed at all, and then soon after, receiving an acceptance for the same piece of work, by a magazine higher up on the food chain. It is tempting to withdraw from the magazine that may not be as well read, but that would be bad manners. After all, if a magazine is good enough for you to submit to in the first place, then they are good enough to have rightful first dibs.

I compare it that girlfriend you had in high school who promised to spend the night at your house, listening to the new Cheap Trick record (yes, I said record) but when she got invited by Delicious Dan to the county tractor pull at the last minute, she bailed on you tout suite. So there you sat, alone in your Black-Light-Lit room listening to I want you to want me, over and over while bingeing on Suzie Q snack cakes and Tab.

Magazine editors have feelings too you know.

Professor and Poet, Brigit Pegeen Kelly

Last month, as a prompt in my on-line poetry class with Irish poet Kevin Higgins, it was suggested we attempt a piece comparing humans to animals. I chose my three sisters because they are dear to me and selected the Pipistrelle bat for comparison because of a poem I read some time ago written by Brigit Pegeen Kelly. She introduced me to these tiny creatures in her poem Pipistrelles, and I had fun comparing my siblings to the same. I called my piece The Pipistrelle Cartel and although it did not compare in any way to the original, I had fun writing it.

Then, several nights ago, I could not sleep, so I picked up a book, my usual insomnia routine. My selection, taken from a wobbly pile  next to my office chair, was Western Wind, An Introduction to Poetry by David Mason and John Frederick Nims. For whatever reason I flipped through the pages and came across the poem Song, also written by Brigit Pegeen Kelly. 

It is a sorrowful piece, one of unfulfilled longing, that constricts your chest and makes one short of breath, or at least that was my reaction to it. It is a poem that demands to be read out loud. It reminded me again, how much I loved this poets work. I read it again, slowly, jotting down some of the most striking descriptions such as "the goat's silky hair/Was dark as well water, because it had eyes like wild fruit." The sadness of the piece haunted me, a young girl loses a beloved pet, and it took some time to feel sleepy again. So I set a goal for the new year. I selected twelve poets I appreciated and wanted to study more, one for each month, and I wrote their names on little tags. I would start this independent study later in January.

The day after that, my husband was driving us to a family Christmas event and I was pouring through my newest edition of Poets & Writers Magazine when on page seventeen I came across the  In Memoriam listing of writers/poets and there, just past the middle of the list was her name, Brigit Pegeen Kelly.  I turned to my husband and asked the silliest question of my adult life. "In Memoriam means dead, right?" I was having a difficult time understanding that this gentle woman, this beautiful poet, had died. For the next ten minutes I was all over my smart phone looking for proof and it was everywhere. On the Poetry Foundation Web page, where is listed her birth and death date for example. She had died just eight weeks ago at the age of 65.

Still, weeks later, I feel deep sadness when I think of her passing. We were not close friends, I was only one of the hundreds, thousands? of students she encountered, but regardless, I feel quite blue.

I was unaware of her until August 2014 when I enrolled in her Introduction to Poetry class at the University of Illinois in Champaign.  As I did with all my writing professors, I researched them via the schools web site, the creative writing department web site, Google, and in her case, The Poetry Foundation. I was impressed with her credentials, her accomplishments, her publications,  and I was excited about being one of her students. I was even more thrilled on the first day of class when she slipped noiselessly into class wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Her long, grey hair was as straight and unadorned as she. Her presence was quiet but her eyes were excited, as she took all of us in for the first time. A finalist for the 2004 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry was here, in the same room with all of goofy newbie poets.

I was 55 when I returned to college, an quasi-mature hippie type living on an organic farm, and I felt sorely out of place in this class room full of young, bright, firm bodied, purple and pink haired shining-star millennials.  Brigit equalized us by putting us to work immediately. "Write me a poem, about anything." So we did, and they were all varying degrees of awful. Little thought put into form, craft or sound, yet this unassuming woman in charge found several good and decent things to say about each poem. These comments were genuine and well thought out. A "quirky rhyme" we penned accidentally, or a "meaningful dialogue on loss" we missed all together were given notice, praised, and recognized for potential. Rewrites were encouraged and discussed again, either in the classroom or if we preferred, in private in her office.

She was also interested in our career goals and our reasons for choosing poetry, being most fascinated by those less expected to write poetry: the students of math, chemistry and engineering. It was the exacting nature, the reasoning within these students work, she focused on, encouraging the rest of us right brained artistic types to take note. "If you want to master word economy, read the mathematicians poem."

I took advantage of her office hours several times, and she was a most gracious host in her end-of-the-hall room. The wood floors, leather chairs  and piles of manuscripts, book and papers in near cascading form on her desk screamed Poet At Work Here! I assumed she was tremendously busy with her classes, her writing, her own family, but when I was in her office, she never let on, I was at that time, her main interest. She asked not just about my poetry, but about my background, my children, my farm, and she connected with me by encouraging me to write about ALL of that.

The last time I saw her was at the end of that semester in December 2014. I had returned to her office with my copy of her book, Poems: Song and The Orchard in a quest for her signature, but she would have none of it. "Later," she said, "some other time. Now show me what you've written lately." We spent nearly an hour together that afternoon and I felt bad about taking up so much of her time, but when I would start to leave she would ask me another question like,  "Why did you choose the word 'thread' when talking about the suns rays? Tell me about that."

A few times I even thought I might send her the book, maybe it would be easier for her to sign it if I wasn't in the room. I imagined she would pen something hysterical like, "Good luck with your writing, but don't get your hopes up." Of course she would've never done something like that, that's more my warped style. She had far more class than I ever would.

My Sixfold Experience: Final Results

Just hours after my last post about my experience with Sixfold Magazine, I received the final results. My short story made it through all three rounds and was ranked number 20 out of 287. It did not however win any prizes (first place was $1000) nor will it be published at all (they only publish the top fifteen stories) but I still feel like a huge winner. There was also a sense of accomplishment gleaned when I saw that the first and second place winners were stories I had also ranked very high. So even though I am not yet writing prize winning stories, I can at least recognize them.

I only paid a $5 entry fee, and in return I was required to read and comment on eighteen manuscripts, which meant more editing experience. As I've been told many times by other writers and past professors, if you want to write, then READ!

In addition to the manuscript reading experience, I received comments from six readers in round one, nine readers in round two and fifty-four readers in round three. Of those sixty-nine total readers only four gave me just a single line or two of feedback. The rest gave me very detailed comments. Some wrote well over 500 words. Most were a great mix of the stories strengths coupled with opportunities for improvement.

After reading through them all, trends could be seen. Six readers commented about typos and punctuation issues. This was not a surprise. I get excited about story line and dialogue and I neglect grammar details. That's the "creative" part of my writing. It's also the lazy part of my writing. At least it's an easy fix. Several others zeroed in on my specific language choices and most appreciated my voice, but a few felt my specific word choices were inconsistent with my main character.  With a thorough read through, I saw what they meant.

That's the funny thing about writing. When you are in the moment, when the story or poem or novel chapter is fresh, you are blinded. Your mind reads what it wants to read, thinks you've written something you haven't, and often gives you more credit then you deserve. Thus the reason we all need writer friends, be they personal or through an on-line group, friends who can hit you between the eyes when you need it.

It's also an excellent idea to write your piece, then set it aside for a few days and read it again. Mistakes, character arc issues, plausibility concerns, mundane spelling errors, will leap right off the page at you. An embarrassing example; I misspelled my main characters name. At the beginning of my story she was Aves, but on the last page she was Avis! 

I was so impressed with this SIXFOLD method of using their writers to be their readers, that I'll be entering some of my poems for their January Contests. If you write fiction or poetry, you should definitely do the same thing. It's a lot of bang for your five bucks.

My Sixfold Experience

“Editing fiction is like using your fingers to untangle the hair of someone you love.” 
― stephanie roberts

I am nearly finished with my on-line poetry class with Professor Higgins of Galway, just call me Eliza, and I've learned more than expected. I'll summarize all that soon.

In the meantime, on the short story side of my brain, (a small blip just behind my right ear) I submitted a piece to a contest held by SIXFOLD magazine. This submission goes through a process unlike that of any other literary magazine. Although the entry fee is inexpensive at $5, the work required by submitting writers is mildly time consuming. You do just enter and wait. Each entrant must read and comment on 18 other manuscript entries, in three rounds,  over a period of a few weeks. The details of the reading schedule and elimination process cane be found on the  SIXFOLD website.

In answer to your question, no, you do not review or comment on your own manuscript, but you do read a diverse selection of others. I noticed in the first round it was easy to rank the stories from best, to not the best, but the second round was a bit harder. By the third round I had to take some serious notes, as even the manuscript I ranked 6th, when compared to the others, was still a well written and interesting piece. I wanted to be fair, to give each manuscript it's due diligence, so I followed the advice of my UIUC workshop instructors: read each story once through making no assumptions or comments, then on the second read, use your fine tooth editors comb.

But, when doing your final comments, remember the balance between opportunities for improvement and that which is well done. Cite examples, give credit where due, criticize constructively. Think about how you would feel if someone wrote the same comment to you. Battered? Encouraged?

Today I finished the last round of manuscript reviews, and in a few weeks I will receive all the comments made about my own submission. Depending on how far my manuscript made it in the ranking rounds, I will receive somewhere between 30 and 390 commentaries.

If I can't successfully improve my manuscript after that, I might consider going back to writing policies on removing bowel impactions.

Oh, yes I did. Bowel impactions, catheter insertions, urine specimen transportation, mucous collection, don't get me started.

Poetry Overdose For Which There is No Anecdote

'Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.'

                                                 T.S.Eliot

I have recently immersed myself in poetry, so much poetry I find myself speaking in internal rhyme while doing my farm chores, and dreaming about punctuation placement. The cow doesn't seem to mind the extraneous chit chat when I am fussing with her udder, but the ducks are most definitely, not impressed.

I am in week five of my online poetry class, the half-way point, and it is amazing. There are over 30 of us in the group and every week we submit an original poem and then comment on poems submitted by others. We revise our poems, resubmit if we want and read more comments on our revised poems. At the end of the week, the esteemed Kevin Higgins (all the way from Galway, Ireland) comments on all our poems and makes suggestions for revisions prompting the entire group to then comment on those revisions.

Much like a write-revise-write merry-go-round of sorts but without the cotton candy.

In a weeks time I estimate I now read, including first and revised drafts of all participants, approximately thirty five poems. I don't comment on all of them, but I do comment on many of them plus their revisions. It's all done through a private group on Facebook which is refreshing since Facebook can be an ugly place to hang out sometimes. Who knew such beautiful prose could be shared on a social media platform best known for its dueling Hilary-Trump cartoons?

In case that's not enough stanza bonanza's I also subscribe to a few poetry journals: The Moth, Poetry Magazine, Poets and Writers, and SKYLIGHT 47. To top off that big poetry pile I get two "Poems of the Day" via email.

What am I? Nuts?

Pretty much. It is a tendency of mine, when I make a decision to try something new, to jump in with all three feet. Just one reason why I can never get the bottom of my feet, completely clean.

If you're wondering how I manage this, yes, I work at home. I do not have an outside job that requires me to leave the house for hours and hours at time only to return exhausted in the evening. I had jobs like that for decades but now I am a full time homesteader who can set her own writing and reading schedule.

My current schedule follows.  Cows, ducks, chickens, dogs, steers, cats, and one horse get cared for in the morning before I hit the poetry, then I read and hang up clothes, read some more and can some sweet potatoes, read more then dry some herbs for this winters tea, read just a bit more and start supper, read a smidgen more and do the evening chores. Late, after my husband goes to bed, I hit my office and write some poetry of my own.

Some nights it's pure crap, reminiscent of sappy TV advertising jingles but with less rhythm. Other nights the exposure to the excellent work of others, proves motivating, inspiring and  prompts my own creativity.

Soon, this online class will be complete and I expect I'll have gained improved writing skills, some minimal respect for Facebook, and maybe a new international friend or two, making the overdose of material and the influx of ideas, not to mention the nominal fee, all well worth my bloodshot eyes.

So now tell me. Do you write poetry? If so, who or what inspires you? If you've ever taken an online poetry class, did it work well for you? Why or why not?

Workshopping From a Distance, or How to Get Feedback From Switzerland

Kevin Higgins
"Likely the most read living poet in Ireland"
                                                   --The Stinging Fly Magazine

One of the teaching methods I appreciated most the years I attended the Creative Writing Program at The University of Illinois Champaign, was the workshop approach. A group of student writers sat around a big table, facing each other, rather than the instructor, and after given ample time to read each others stories or poems, talked about them. We mentioned what worked for us, what did not work, suggested ways to improve and generally helped each other polish our work and improve our chosen craft.

In the entry level classes, we were at first a bit reserved, announcing often, "That was a great poem" but as we advanced, so did our comments. "I appreciated your consistent use of consonance in the first and second stanza's but the imagery weakened near the end." Or my favorite comment, "What is at risk here in this piece?" This phrase was a direct challenge, probing into the intent of the poem and the effort made, if any, by it's author.

Most of the time our instructors kept mum until the end of the session,  not wanting to influence the others, or they handed their suggestions and impressions to us in writing at the end of the class.  One creative writing professor never gave his opinion either verbally or in writing, but instead asked probing questions. No, not like the alien probes folks talk about at the Piggly Wiggly, but the kind that make you reflect on the effort made, such as, "Did anyone else want to know more about Matilda's motivation to kill her pet buffalo?"

Last May, I was thrilled to graduate from UIUC, but after working all summer on new stories, revising the old, crafting new poems and tweaking the old, I realized I still needed and missed Feedback.

I corrected this situation by signing up for an online poetry class a few weeks ago, facilitated by Kevin Higgins of Galway, Ireland. I  met him briefly last summer while studying at NUIG  (National University Ireland Galway) and attended a poetry reading hosted by him and others of  the Over The Edge Literary Organization. I was impressed then, as I am now, by Galway City's strong support of artists, writers and poets and not just the local folks who meet that criteria, but the worldwide community of such.

So, for the next ten weeks I am back in workshop mode. I will read and comment on the poems written by people from all over the globe, while they will read and comment on my work.  Some of my "classmates" are from as far away as Germany, South Africa, Indonesia, Australia, Switzerland and England. I am genuinely excited about the feedback I will receive, not only because it is a geographically diverse group, but also because the members are broadly different in their poem writing experience levels. Some are just staring out,sharing written work for the first time. others, like myself, have a few published works under their belts, while several are well published both in literary magazines and complete collections of poetry.

I won't share any specific poems of course or chat about individual members of the group, but at the end of the ten weeks I'll post about the experience in general.

Has anyone else participated in an on-line writing workshop? What was your experience? Any specific course recommendations for others?

Writer Self Promotion: Career Requirement, a Necessary Evil, or Just Plain Crass?

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I struggle with this aspect of writing, self promotion. Sister Mary Gerard made it clear to me in first grade at Our Lady of Lourdes, Chicago, that I was not her only student when she made amazing announcements like, "Miss O'Shaughnessy you are not my only student." She had a gift for stating the blatantly obvious.

My mother often followed suit by reminding me, "You're not an only child Madame Butterfly." Her point was this; just because the heels in my socks were in absentia, it did not mean I would get new ones before any of my five siblings.  I'm not sure though what she meant by the Madame Butterfly reference, but I'm only 57, still plenty of time for more exploratory therapy.

The moral of my story. Thou shalt not shine the spotlight in ones own direction.

Funny thing was, I never took this advice to heart. My freshman year of high school was spent stunt-falling out of my chair. Always good for a laugh, not so good for my lumbar vertebra. In college (the first time, I attended college many times over the decades, can you spell S-L-O-W ?) I gleaned attention via major rule breaking: underage drinking, poor class attendance, vehicular joy riding, and all around trouble making.

I had no issue back then with drawing the wrong kind of attention. Now, I'm older, quasi-wiser and staring a new career. So what kind of attention should a writer seek? When should it be done and how often? Can a writer have a successful career without blowing their own horn i.e. is it possible for the quality of their work to speak for itself? Or, is it expected that a writer will work as hard or harder than their publisher and/or agent in sharing news of recent work? And where does Social Media 2016 fit into the scheme? Is Facebook the gold standard now that blogging has become commonplace or should similar effort be directed via  Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Snapchat, YouTube, Instagram, Tumblr, Vine, Swarm, Flickr, Meerkat etc, etc.?

The multitude of Social Media which is evolving daily, reminds me of the perfume industry of the 80's when "layering" was all the rage. It was deemed inadequate to buy only the perfume, as the marketing moguls pressured consumers to also purchase the same scent in cologne, after bath spritzer, powder, solid perfume, shampoo and lotion. Many women walked about in hugely toxic clouds of Channel Number 5 and Jean Nate rendering a passer-by nearly senseless. God help the relative who had to endure a close hug from Aunt Magnolia wrapped up tight in a stifling cloud of Tabu.

It was all, too much.

So when is Social Media too much when all you desire is to promote your recently published novel, your award winning fiction, your long-listed poem about dead raccoons in the road? I have absolutely no idea. I am still new to this writerly world and slogging my way through, one muddy step at a time.

 The dilemma of self promotion hit me personally this past month when I was notified my poem, "Waiting for the Coroner," was chosen for the Dermot Healy Poetry Award at the Five Glens Festival in Sligo, Irealnd.  I was very surprised as I am an emerging poet (note, I did not say young poet) with no other published poems. I was also thrilled, humbled, excited, and I'll say it again, thrilled. But, should I be advertising the fact?

Too late. I just did.

These are the pros of self promotion as I see it.
     1. Readers are made aware of your existence.

These are the cons of self promotion as I see them.
     1. Readers tire of your existence.

So what is an up and coming poet slash essayist slash short story writer to do? The irony of my asking about the value of self promotion while blogging about the issue (bloggers are the leaders of self-promoters) does not escape my beagle eye. I've always preferred dogs over birds.

Tell me what you think, to promote or not to promote, and to what degree. Specifically, which venues have worked for you and why and which do you find over the top and why?

While you are contemplating these issues please take a moment to share this post with everyone on earth you might know. Thanks a million.