Adventures in Rejection: When Literary Magazines Die

In this wild world, where large publishing houses are closing or consolidating and small presses face huge hurdles to keeping their doors open, it should come as no surprise that literary magazines often fail. 

And yet, somehow, that feels like the worst rejection of them all.

It's one thing to see an individual poem turned down for publication. But when an entire lit mag tanks for whatever reason--lack of funding, low readership, the demands of the editor's day job--it hurts me. Even when an outlet has declined to disseminate my work, I like to see them succeed, because it means that other writers are getting exposure and that other readers are discovering new pieces that move them. If a lit mag shuts down, those opportunities are negated for everyone involved.

Is this because of a lack of interest from the larger public? Because no one has surplus funds to donate? Because the editors are being crushed at their other workplace (let's be honest: most people are doing this as a passion project, a side gig that is often thankless)? I can't say. What I do know is that it makes the literary world a less diverse place, and that is never a positive thing.

-Cate-

Updates, Links, Et Cetera

- Remember awhile back when I discussed the limits of nostalgia and how throwback fever is affecting current television shows? Turns out that Nathan Fillion, star of the much-beloved, much-mourned Firefly, is totally on board with me. Bless.

- There are plenty of fall offerings for adult arts programs at Interlochen, so check them out!

- Last month, the MacArthur fellowships for 2016 were announced. There are tons of cool people on the list, including Gene Luen Yang, author of  American Born Chinese, which is an excellent graphic novel.

- Here is a list of finalists for the National Book Awards.

- Bob Dylan was awarded this year's Nobel Prize for literature!

- The Louisiana State Fair starts soon. Hit it up 27 October - 13 November.

- Leaving Kent State, written by Sabrina Fedel (a fellow graduate of Lesley University's MFA program!), will be available in November from Harvard Square Editions.

-Cate-

Who Are You

When I was in college, a classmate of mine turned to me, apropos of very little, and said, "You were a goth in high school, weren't you?"

I gotta tell you: in my head, I heard an actual record scratch. And then I turned to him and said, "What?"

Apparently I give off a certain vibe, because at least two more people have brought this up independently of each other over the years. There is also a popular idea floating around out there that I am the real-life version of Amy Farrah Fowler from The Big Bang Theory, possibly prompted by my fleeting resemblance to her in both looks and demeanor (I don't know; I've only seen like two episodes of the show). 

As a side note: when I was in the process of writing this post, my friend Melissa sent me a picture of Amy Farrah Fowler making a face because she has been in on this conversation since the first time someone compared me to that character:

And here is a picture of me:

Honestly, I don't see the resemblance.

At any rate, neither of these assumptions is correct, at least in my view. While it is true that I wear a great deal of black, I never did the pale skin/raccoon eyes thing, I wasn't a fan of Marilyn Manson with the exception of two or three tracks, and I wasn't part of the Hot Topic scene. To my knowledge, I've never undertaken a course of study in physics, nor do I havea doctorate. (It's just me and my lowly MFA over here. Wait, did I say lowly? I meant MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.)

For the most part, I am just me: an amalgam of quirks and influences, personality traits and genetic materials. This is true of everyone else in this world, as well. Try as you might to label anyone, they will always find a way to subvert your expectations, whether it's the "goth" girl who has a soft spot for pop music or the "nerd" who appreciates sports as much as science. So don't go making judgments based on your interpretation of the evidence at hand. Just let people be who they are (unless they're jerks, in which case it's totally okay to gently recommend that they be less mean.)

-Cate-

Your Adverbs Are Literally Killing Me

It would seem that I have not published a true writing post in some time, and I would like to address that deficiency! Here, you will find my opinions about the use of adverbs in fiction (and, I suppose, in poetry).

If you've taken a creative writing class at anything beyond the beginning level, you have heard that adverbs are bad for your writing. But why is that true? Another adage that writing instructors employ is that old one we all get sick of hearing: "Show, don't tell." By combining this with the directive to avoid adverbs, we have our answer.

Consider the following sentences:

1) She walked swiftly to the edge of the field, breathing heavily.

2) She jogged to the edge of the field, her breath coming in short bursts.

Which seems more informative to you? The one where the adverbs are doing the work, or the one where the verbs and adjectives take the reins? If you think the answer is the former, you may need to reconsider your affinity for adverbs.

You see, "walked swiftly" could mean a few different things: power-walking, a slow jog, a panicked shuffle, and so on. Jogging, on the other hand, indicates a specific type of movement. This is why precise verbs are more important than modifiers, which are often vague.

The same is true in the second half of the sentence, where "breathing heavily" may mean panting, gasping, or over-filling the lungs. Replacing this with "short bursts" clarifies the picture for the reader.

Next time you're writing, keep this in mind. It will help you weed out weaker spots and improve your sentences!

-Cate-

The Little Things

Over the summer, I read this really excellent article about how awesome chapbooks are. It's called "Small Is Beautiful: The Importance of Chapbooks," by Michael Young, and it was published over at The The Poetry back in May.

It's been a long time since I read an article that I connected with so well. Chapbooks ARE beautiful, and they are something that not everyone understands. 

In poetry, the goal is often to see a full-length collection published. Officially speaking, "full-length" is anything over 48 pages, and you'll usually see them in the 80-100 page range. Some, but not all, publishers require--or at least hope--that a chunk of the individual pieces have already been published elsewhere, as in literary journals, in a sort of vetting process. Assuming one poem per page, that's a huge, time-consuming undertaking. 

But the full-length collection is not always the best route to take, as Young rightly points out. He name-drops William Blake, whose most famous works, Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience, were both well within the chapbook range. This is a form that essentially allowed Blake to curate a streamlined poetic experience, with no concern about extraneous poems that might weaken his narrative arc (and make no mistake: narrative arcs are entirely possible to create in poetry collections). 

That is what draws me to the chapbook form. My first book, Miles, was a chapbook, and I remember spending endless hours paring down the pages, rearranging the works, and agonizing over any little thing that felt out of place. Having been 22 at the time, I was, of course, not particularly awesome as a writer, but even so, I feel good about what I was able to produce, and I am glad that I was limited to so few pages. And even now, I recognize that my poetry is stronger when the opportunity to ramble is removed from the equation.

So I would encourage you all to check out chapbooks, either as a reader or as a writer. You may find that they leave you with a stronger sense of who someone is as a poet, or that they give you the freedom to be precise with your own work. 

-Cate-

In My Room

In a previous life, I had an office that I loved. It was big and had incredible textured wallpaper. There was a conference table where I could spread my work out, and a desk in the corner when I was feeling anxious. It was quiet there.

Now, I still have an office, but it's much different: smaller, and meant for other uses than the one before.

From time to time, I have dreams about the office I lost. Every time, someone is trying take over that space, and watching that happen breaks my heart. Then I wake up, and I sigh. This should be out of my system after more than two years. Yet it remains.

The new one is good, though. It's easier to maintain, less likely to attract attention, and personalized in a way the other wasn't. Instead of wallpaper, I have putty-painted drywall. Instead of carpet, I have a rug from Target over cold tile. I also have Star Wars posters and board games, and a Halloween bucket that is only occasionally filled with candy. Crayons and markers abound. I have a drawer of nothing but different types of tape, and another filled with letters a group of us wrote to our future selves, waiting for the day when I'll redistribute them. 

This is an okay place. Truly. But it would be nice if I still had a portrait of Ezra Pound giving me disapproving looks whenever I slacked off. On the other hand, because I'm now on the second floor, no one tries to sneak up to the window to scare me.

You win some. You lose some. 

-Cate-

And Just Like That, I've Done It Again

So.

Remember how I just got done talking about how I was going to be much, much better about not taking unintentional hiatuses? Obviously that plan is working out for me, and I in no way failed to blog for the past four weeks.

It wasn't the normal stuff this time--the depression, the anxiety. It was actual work that kept me from blogging, or doing anything much in the way of writing. Things got a little wackadoo in that part of my life, and in the interest of, you know, earning my paycheck or whatever, I decided it would be wise to focus on my job for awhile.

But I'm back, however temporarily. And it's good to see this text box again.

-Cate-