AWP

Here I go, name-dropping all over the place…

I’m back from AWP in D. C. and had the best time while I was there!

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For a long time, my novel critique group has been saying, “We should go to a conference together.” Well, things fell into place and after I spent the night at Gina’s house on Tuesday, Mary showed up and we drove to D. C. We got there Wednesday afternoon, checked into the hotel, registered with the conference then we had dinner with the brilliant writer, Pamela Erens.

Up early on Thursday, I went to a 9am panel called, “Demystifying the Business Side of Writing and Publishing.” Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum led it and I learned great things from him, Whitney Davis, Carmen Gimenez Smith, Paula Munier, and Joshua Shenk.

From there, I went to “Time, Space, and Community,” led by Jac Jemec. The ins, outs, and quirks of residencies were discussed by Rebecca Makkai, Rachel Cantor, Erinn Beth Langille (I ❤ her!) and Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan. You know what’s fun? To know one’s underpants are part of this equation.

From the bowels of the Marriott Marquis, I went to the Book Fair and hit my prime targets. I tried to meet Paul Vega and failed. I did meet Kurt Baumeister—author of Pax Americana—and James Reich from Stalking Horse Press. (Talk about a thick business card!) I also tried to see Robert Vaughan at the Word Tango table and P. E. Garcia at The Rumpus, but all I got was an awesome tee shirt and mug that each say “Write Like A M-F.” (Sure, by M-F, I did mean mushroom finder. We can work with that, but I took a picture.)

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Mimi Schwartz, Phillip Lopate, Richard Hoffman, and Laurie Stone did a fantastic job of letting me know when real names were important or not during their panel called, “I Didn’t Ask to Be In Your Story: When Real Names Matter and When They Don’t.”

The next panel was awkward for the match up. I mean, ROXANE GAY was there—my hero! During “Beyond the Deadline: Surviving (And Thriving) In Magazine Publishing, it felt like  Katelyn Belyus was doing a great job but her panelists weren’t the target people to ask the questions she was asking. It was fantastic to listen to Chip Blake, Sy Safransky and Ms. Gay and watch them keep their cool.

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“Women’s Fiction: How to Write It, Sell It, and Market It,” explained the reason why some agents requested comp titles. Thank you Dorian Karchmar!

Meeting up with Mary at the VCCA group meant I got to meet interesting people like Randon Noble. The conversation turned to food, which led to my first time eating Korean food. After that, I also had my first Uber ride with a guy who played a Mr. Rogers YouTube video and I fell a little bit in love with the whole idea of Washington, D. C. as a “city.”

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Friday meant Gina and I had breakfast together at the Washington Plaza near the pool. We attended the “Second Blooming: Women Authors Debuting After Fifty.” It was interesting, but I couldn’t help thinking that the people present kept saying they entered multiple contests, which required many dollars to enter so tier success seemed money driven and that bothered me. Does it mean only old people can be published IF they throw down thousands of dollars to win a prize? I didn’t raise my hand to ask Ellen Meeropol, Paulette Boudreaux, Jeanne Gassman or Cynthia Bond because I left there a bit early to call Husband.

From there, I went to “Seeing the Forest for the Trees: Organizing and Structuring Story Collections, but I couldn’t find the archives room on the map, and you know me with maps—I ended up in Salon F for “The Shape of Fiction: A Look at Structuring Novel Length Prose.” I sat down and Cliff sat on the end. A woman came in to claim the seat between us, but Cliff said, “Why don’t you sit in my seat and I’ll sit by my friend.” (Yeah, that’s right, Cliff Garstang referred to me as his friend!) Anyways, Christian Kiefer was the moderator and he was funny. It was an interesting panel with Jeff Jackson, Esme Weijun Wang, Janet Finch and Kristin Chen.

 

I then attended “From Flash Fiction to Microfiction: How Many words are Enough?” What an excellent panel! Pamela Painter, Sherrie Flick, James Thomas, Nancy Stohlman, and Grant Faulkner talked about prompts and results. Walking over to introduce myself to Grant, I ran into Len Kuntz! He was there with Robert Vaughan! They invited me to their table at the Renaissance for later that night.

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After that, I hit the Book Fair again. I saw Gina who was going with Mary to see Emma Straub & Ann Patchett speak in the Ballroom. I thought about going but decided I needed some alone time. At the hotel, I texted Jimmy and arranged a night out with him. He picked me up and we drove to Arlington to pick up his lovely fiancée, Lindsay. From there, we went to the El Paso Café for margaritas and quesadillas. The drive back into Washington was beautiful—multiple monuments were lit up. At the Marriott Marquis, we attempted to find Mary, but couldn’t find her. We popped into the Sewanee Writer’s Conference Reception. I did find Cliff, but it was so loud, we left.

At the Renaissance, we found a table populated with the brilliant Robert Vaughan, Len Kuntz, April Bradley, Karen Stefano, David S. Atkinson, and Robert P. Kaye It was such a great time. Jimmy and Lindsay left after one drink because they had to drive home.

Mary texted, then came to the bar. As that collection was breaking up, Cliff and my new best friend Jody Hobbs Hesler came round and we went to the next bar and before I could believe it myself, it was last call. I toddled back the many blocks to my hotel and in my effort to be Best Roommate Ever, I took off my jacket, blazer, and shoes before I went into my room so not to disturb Gina. Well, I left my blazer hanging on the next door’s knob. I woke to see Gina gone, my blazer missing and vague memories from the night before—a few captured on my phone.

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(This last one was from Mary’s phone. Thank you Mary!)

Anyway, after quizzing Mary, I went downstairs, asked at the desk and got my blazer back. I went to the Book Fair, bought Robert’s Vaughan’s Funhouse and he signed it. At the Word Tango table, I got to chat again with the lovely Jennifer Kircher Carr and meet Elizabeth Pettie. I ran into David S. Atkinson and he handed me his book, Apocalypse All the Time, for possible review. I picked up the free book I’d won in a drawing by Writing By Writers. I was supposed to wait until 4 p.m. but as I was leaving, I was able to choose The Small Backs of Children by Lidia Yuknavitch.

I saw Pamela on the way out to meet Gina and Mary. While waiting, I saw the guy from the first panel and had a chance to talk to him and exchange business cards. Such a circle, huh?

It was lovely fun. I’ve left out meeting Gay Degani in the hall just before a panel and getting a hug…not having to feel bad about missing Kim Chinquee’s off-site reading…receiving Mia Avramut’s lovely message…randomly bumping into Claudia Cortese on the sidewalk…finding P. E. Garcia’s voice fine, not strange…getting to meet Paul Vega later on…Beth Gilstrap recognizing me…and a thousand other details that were fabulous though not as fabulous as you for having read all the way through!

THANK YOU!

It’s great to be back though I did have to have my picture retaken at the Board of Education meeting on Monday night and the weather returned to winter and it looks like this outside:

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Ah, home…

*These are my creekside reflections. Your experiences should vary.

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Groundhog Day. Rise and shine campers!

Tuesday greeted me with an email saying I was nominated for an award. It was a great start. I spent time tiding up and attending to loose ends—well, as many as I could manage. After doing some shopping, I went to see Betty and was sad to learn Rudy passed on. He was a good horse and will be missed. Of course after that, I got stuck in her driveway and she was wonderful in helping me get out, but oye, what a chore and after her sadness. Then I came home to a bit of a tiff with Husband, so, I guess that’s the way it goes.

I had to work on Groundhog Day proper (fun fact: my other husband (on stage) also has February second as his birthday) and then Husband took me to J. P. Fitzgerald’s for dinner. All of which is to say, the lack of time at home and laziness have put me behind and thus, this post is late.

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The weather outside is a delightful reason to stay in this morning, catch up on the tax paperwork we have to take to the CPA on Saturday after I get my hair done. I need to firm up my itinerary for AWP panels I want to attend and start packing. I’m going to Washington D.C. though I’m not happy with some of the things going on in the capitol and I’ve been calling to let it be known. I suggest you do, too. The Internet makes it incredibly easy to find the numbers you need. It only takes a minute or so. I mean, come on, someone with the lack of skills that DeVos has? How can you not speak up? It’s our country and the congressmen represent you no matter how you voted. And that rant is over. (Another fun fact: The girl who lived down the street from me and was one of my best friends also was born on Groundhog’s Day.)

I’m excited and have plans to meet many of the people I know only through Facebook and literary journal. And artwork. Until next time, I hope your Black History Month is insightful. Many thanks for stopping by!

 

*These are my creekside reflections; your experiences may vary.

I Love Summer for the Meet Ups.

In the summer, my social life gets tangled and wonderful. There’s a million places to go and people to see. On Tuesday, I got to see my best friend and her husband for a few hours. Soon, I’ll be at a graduation party. This year, I’ll try to better balance that with the household chores, maintenance and my “real work.”

I’ve signed up for Camp NaNo (again) and I’m not sure what I’m going to work on. Originally, I was thinking short stories, but I don’t know. I have a few days to decide. I may go back to a novel I started years ago.

I’m excited that an agent asked for my first three chapters on my latest novel. The beginning garnered a “show” in a contest. I’ll be ecstatic if she asks to see more, but I’m not holding my breath–I can’t–I have 4-6 weeks of waiting! I had a piece I originally wrote in 2009 FINALLY find a loving home in an Sci-Fi anthology coming out soon from Divertir Publishing and a cheeky NF piece will soon be appearing in The Other Herald, a gorgeous publication based out of Perry, New York.

Yeah, things are looking good and I’m grateful.

It just seems that there are so many things to do and pieces I want to write and submissions to read and comment on that I worry I’ll become too distracted by a bush and end up tripping over an exposed root–don’t get me started on the lawn care I should be doing and the weeding I should have tended to before now.

No matter what, there’s never enough time or money or oomph, is there–too get everything done.

*Sigh*

Still, I’m giddy at the amazing success of my friends, colleagues and acquaintances as of late. I know I’m pushing my boundaries, but I met Roxane Gay in Boston at the AWP book fair and she recognized my name and she was kind and such a beautiful woman…I’m thrilled that “An Untamed State” is getting so many good reviews. She deserves even more. Alex Pruteanu has a manuscript out for a book that I’m hoping to read soon. The short story, “The Sun-Eaters” was phenomenal–I can only imagine the book being better. Dawn Corrigan, woman extraordinaire has “Mitigating Circumstances” out which I’m badgering my library to pick up though so far they haven’t. (Boo John Saccco!) I shouldn’t be too mean; I love my library and when I got my copy of the summer newsletter, I felt like a rock star–they featured the reading I did with Gary Earl Ross and the other contributors to “Queen City Flash

Plus, the lovely and talented Mary Akers got the July Issue of r.kv.r.y out early and Mike Joyce—my other awesome boss got a lovely write up in Poets & Writers about the Rookery.

Except for the horrid slugs in my garden, things are good. Thanks for stopping by!

(*These are my Creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

Suddenly: My least favorite word

I’m starting this post the day after I found out some sad news. John Vega–Juan to some–my Johnny is dead.

When I was younger, I went through some really hard times. A man who I still love and respect made me promise that I wouldn’t kill myself. I don’t make promises lightly. Scott Greene wouldn’t let me off the phone until I promised. And so far, I haven’t.

Some of the words in that conversation involved his not respecting that choice and how horrid it would be since I’d be leaving a child behind, and that when I was older I’d see what a stupid mistake it was since things do get better, and since he was recently off his psych rotation which involved him saving someone’s life, I decided to believe him.That’s what I remember.

Things did get better, and I’m grateful. 

This is so hard to talk about. I fear Bible Thumpers–many of whom are my relatives and from reading their Facebook updates and likes, are very judgmental–will start throwing stones at me for broaching this subject. I want to throw stones, too–and rocks and ashtrays. This hurts.

Wednesday started with my thinking there were an awful lot of cell phones going off on the NPR shows I was listening to. I’m not a cell phone person. I have a contract with the terrorist network so I buy my minutes at the grocery store and complain about my land line. Living in a valley is not easy, nor pretty. There is no cable and we can’t get a dish to lock on to a satellite, thus many of my texts end up stuck in some sort of a time gnome that spits them out to their intended recipient days, or even weeks, later. 

The chirping I heard was my phone alerting me to a message. Jim had texted me before eight a.m. wanting to know if I was free in the afternoon. I replied that I could be, but I didn’t have a vehicle and I asked what was up. There was no reply. I went on with my day, did Pilates, took a shower, and drank my coffee. Knowing my phone’s idiosyncrasies, I sent an email to him, basically saying the same thing. Within minutes, he replied that he was on his way over. I had hopes that Johnny was over there visiting and had time for a chat. I put on makeup.

What was it? A year ago? Two? Jim and Julie had a drum circle led by Steve Bell at their home. Christ! The night before that I’d been up late drinking with my brother-in-law and I was wobbly hung over, but since I’d already Facebook accepted the invite to the drum circle, I was going to be there, so I was. Aren’t Facebook acceptances to events just like promises? 

Oh, how drumming and throbbing heads do not go together! I did think about making an appearance and disappearing…then Jim took a phone call and I overheard that John was on his way over.

I can think what I want, can’t I? I ended up in a grouping with him and Betty and Jim and oh, I forget who came and went, but I drank a lot of water. The way John would pull out his phone–the way he held it–it looked awkward and wrong. Maybe there was an injury I don’t know about, but regardless of where I was sitting, the phone was pointed at me when he answered it–though I don’t recall hearing it ring or vibrate. In my head, I came to believe he was taking pictures of me. I’m allowed these thoughts, aren’t I? Until I’m proven wrong, at least. NSA? Want to weigh in on this? Slice my experience of electronic reality with a fishing line and divide it as sharply as a piece of cake… 

I ended up staying very late at that party, as did John and Betty.

Let it be known that I think Betty is an awesome, talented, smart woman. I really do, but once it came out in conversation that John was an old boyfriend of mine, it seemed to me that she meant to keep us apart. I could be completely wrong; these are just my reflections and memories–fallible at best. If she reads this, I hope she realizes that too. 

Around the table on the deck, oil lamps were lit and wine was drunk. I had one glass of red. Sans Betty, I think–wishfully–that Jim and Julie would have faded into their yurt and John and I could have patched the tell-tale threads that we needed to have snipped, fixed, fixed up, to fix us and make us more complete. Again, I can’t say this is true at all. Maybe John wouldn’t have stayed so long if Betty wasn’t there as a buffer. I don’t know. It just felt like there was more to say.

Nothing happened except John left, then Betty, then me. 

Arriving home, I found out that my brother-in-law’s flight had been canceled. He couldn’t reach Husband on either the land line or his cell phone. He’d called my cell, but as I’d left my phone in the truck, I’d never gotten his three voice mails. My step-son had picked him up and brought him back to our house. I–high on the experience I’d just had–talked to him and he agreed that yeah, the way John held his phone; he probably did snap a picture of me.

Flattery on top of flattery.  

Within the next few days, I told Husband what happened. I told him I wanted to talk to John again. When I said to Jim that I wanted to talk to John, he hesitated, but it came to be a possibility. John was willing to meet me at Jim and Julie’s house–safe, mutual ground–to chat.

For the longest time, the meeting hung in the air as vague and wispy as spider silk. I nudged a few times. A few weeks ago, at the end of August, Husband and I were driving down Sharp Street when a turkey flew out in front of us. It was scary. I reminded Jim again that night that I might not live forever and I really wanted to talk to John before I was gone.

You’ll think I’m making this up, but it’s true. I’d bought a ticket to Mary Aker’s book launch party the minute I found out about it. Johnny committed suicide on Friday, 20 September 2013. Saturday, I half-assed ironed my shirt and went to the library. After, I came home. I decided to iron my shirt properly. I saw something big in the bathroom window. The biggest turkey with the reddest and bluest wattle I’ve ever seen was circling the windows of the lower greenhouse.  Husband came down and looked at the turkey. The huge bird stuck around long enough for me to slip out of the front door and retrieve the camera that was in the truck. We got two pictures, then he wandered off, like his message had been received. I saw him cross the street.

At Mary’s book launch party, I met up with Jeff Schober. I’d been to his book reading at the West Falls-Colden Library a year and a half ago. After that awesome experience, I found out I could volunteer as a librarian on Saturdays. He and I talked about that, and his new book. The sky was clear when I left the book launch, it grew darker as I drove home. The rain was harsh and I was on unfamiliar roads.

As I’m writing this, the Season Premiere of “Parenthood” is on. It’s not lost on me that Christina’s friend Gwen just consoled her with these words when Christina was hesitating about running a campaign, “If you want to do something, you just do it. You don’t wait.”

I wish now that I had insisted and met up with John but I didn’t. Onward… 

When I found out John killed himself, I announced on Twitter that I knew I wasn’t the only person who had two old flames commit suicide, but it felt that way. “Da Missus”–and by extension, Lx– let me know that they were there for me. I talked to my sister. I talked to my best friend. I talked to my cousin. I’m grateful to them all for their love and support. Thank you Tracy, Sheila, Teresa, Alex, and Yvonne.

The next day, today I found out John used a gun and that there was a note. I don’t know the caliber. I don’t know what his last words were. I don’t think I’ll be privy to that, either. What I did find was an awesome complimentary note from Ken Robidoux on Facebook. He wrote about meeting me at AWP in such sweet terms. Mia, Meg, Greg, and Yvonne congratulated me on the story. I don’t know if any of them know how awesome it was to find that on my Facebook page on Thursday.

Even though John wasn’t actively in my life, I hate that he’s gone. Other people in my life have died, but until him, I didn’t get the outrage and pain that suicide brings to the living. I hate myself for feeling I could have easily have been that selfish when I was younger. I hate that he chose that end. I’m pissed at him, and I feel sorry for him and his children and even his future grandchildren who won’t know what a funny, great guy he was. I don’t know why I miss him more now than if I’d heard that he had a heart attack or got hit by a bus, perhaps it’s survivor’s guilt–that I should have been able to do or say something–anything to avoid that end.  With Mark, I heard he did that and I thought “good choice.” I’d worked past his abuse, I didn’t care anymore. I don’t know, we all make choices…If I hadn’t met Mark, things with Johnny might have gone a different way. But they didn’t and magical thinking isn’t something I want to do. I just want to thank people and be grateful.

Writing, crafting, editing, rewriting, it’s so lonely, BUT it’s not like when I started sending things out in the nineties. I feel so much more connected to the community of artists and my friends because of the internet. In the nineties, I wanted to write a column for a tiny newsletter a used record shop put out. They didn’t go for my pitch, but unless I asked for the opportunity, I never would have thought about writing columns, or trying to connect with readers on a regular basis, and so I thank Burnett for saying no. Had he said yes, I might have burned out with columns. Instead. I’m years into this blog and grateful to every single view, comment and follower. Thank you all. In case I die, I want you to know you’re held in high esteem in my eyes and I appreciate the hell out of you, even if we don’t agreed on politics, religion, or some other silly thing that we won’t even remember should one of us not be around tomorrow.

 

The Obituary

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*These are just my creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.

Boston, baby!

There is much to tell and upload and link. Unfortunately, that isn’t going to happen until I return home. In the meantime, I’ve met Alex Pruteanu, Meg Tuite, Pat Pujolas, Ken Robidoux and many more. Rachael and I blinded (temporarily) Helen Victoria and we’ve listened to some great writers in the past two days. Once I’m dressed, I’m off to Dillon’s for the AWP Heat.

Seriously, I wish you were here!

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Did you come back to see if I updated this post? Good for you!

I arrived in Boston on Tuesday night. On Wednesday, Rachael and I attended the Birds of a Feather AWP offsite reading at The Elephant & Castle Pub. We blinded Helen Victoria in our attempt to get a picture with her:

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Thursday, we ended up at The Greatest Bar in Boston where we heard some great readers.

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I met ALEX!!!

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He was fantastic as a human being and friend. BUY his books!! He signed Gears for me, and had I know he was carrying around Short Lean Cuts, I would have gotten that, too. I have the kindle version, but it’s not the same as a real book. He introduced me to Pat Pujolas, author of Jimmy Lagowski Saves the World. After, at a hotel bar, Rachael and I sat with with some great people including, Ken Robidoux, Robert Vaughan and Meg Tuite.

Friday, I ventured out by myself and went to AWP Heat: The Fire Inside  at Dillon’s. I picked up my fabulous shirts from Meg. I heard more writers reading fabulous work, including Len Kuntz, Sara Lippmann, Ben Tanzer, Timothy Gager and Bonnie ZoBell. (If I missed you, let me know and I’ll add you!) It was overwhelmingly great.

Saturday, the book fair was open to all and I stopped and talked to many great people, especially everyone at Press 53. Added bonus: I met Roxane Gay and she knew who I was!!!

Monday was topped off with a poetry reading. Patty Paine did a fantastic job.

(More later–I hope–my mifi is dying)

AWP on my Mind

I can hardly believe that A) I’m going to Boston for a week and B) I’ll be leaving soon. I made a list of places I wanted to submit before I left and when it got to be the tenth, I starred the most important places. My starred places are complete. There is one contest (Arizona Mystery Writers) that I still have time to enter, but I don’t want to stress over it. They changed contest directors and it was sweet to receive an email inviting me to enter but…eh. I have a piece started, but I don’t know if I’ll get it finished in time.

The NEA was the most important thing. I read the comments from people on Zoetrope. They said not to stress over it, just send your best writing. (And this year I did a bang-up job on my description!) I had intended to send two short stories and a novel excerpt. I re-read them and changed what I submitted. Fingers crossed that I get the thick envelope in November.

And the Valentine’s day story… Husband is not big on holidays, but he agreed that I’d get a rose on my birthday and on Valentine’s Day. This year, he ended up working with Norm the Annoying Ogre and forgot. He felt bad about this, but oh well. I left to go grocery shopping. When I returned, he had crafted this:

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A rose out of a wild rose bush stem and a sprig of rose hips, construction paper and poinsettia leaves. (Yeah, he is awesome.)

On Sunday, I got a bouquet of six real ones. I cut down three and put them here, in my office.

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Well, thanks for checking in. I’m off to do pilates. See you in March.

(*These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your experience may vary.)

Name Dropping & Linking All Over the Place

After posting last time, I went shopping. Upon my return, I found an email from one of the women in my RL writer’s group. There was a writer’s conference in Westfield on Sunday and if I was willing to drive, she’d pay my conference fee. On Saturday, Husband took me to Eden so I’d know my way to her house. We stopped in and had a lovely visit. Then on Sunday, she and I went to the gorgeous Patterson Library.

It was the first time they had done a conference there and kudos to Peter Hamilton for putting it together. Mary Jo and I went to the same sessions. The first was done by James Goertel who tackled the Writer’s Craft . He’d just gotten back from AWP (I was so jealous! He could have heard Roxane Gay  give a reading while he was there. I would have!) and even though James was tired, he was a motivated instructor.

We broke to listen to LouAnne Johnson, author of My Posse Don’t Do Homework which turned into the movie Dangerous Minds. She read from Muchacho. It was very entertaining. She sat at the same table as we did for the lunch which was held at the church across the street.

After lunch was Marketing Your Work by Linda Lavid. I thought it was informative and I found out a few things I hadn’t known. Some things I was doing already and it turns out they were the ‘right’ things to do which was gratifying to hear.

Then, the people who signed up drew numbers to choose the order to read their work. I went second and read “Wildflower Wishes.” Mary Jo went fourth and read from her book, “Under Cover.”  While the conference had been scheduled to go until after six, we got out of there around 4 p.m. It was a great day all around.

Facebook revealed a chance for women’s essays to be included in an edition of Brevity titled Ceiling or Sky: Female Nonfictions after the VIDA Count and in response to the recently revealed VIDA and its nearly identical pie graph which shows 75% of most magazine’s contributors are male. I sent in “Finding Peers.” An editor of the new cool zine to read, Jumping Blue Gods asked for my submission. (Much appreciation to Jennifer Bridges!)

Robert Tucker at Chrysalis Reader sent the edits he made to “Delaware and the Rip-Off King.” We disagreed on a single line and he agreed to use the one I offered, so that is now wrapped up.

This past Saturday, I happened to see in Gusto that there was a reading being done at the West Falls library. I went and listened to Jeff Schober. Oddly, as he was signing my book, he mentioned the Arcade & Attica Railroad Mystery Train. Turns out, he was writing the script for this year’s production and he had been an actor in the last one with Betty. Tiny little world, isn’t it?

Then, later on this past Saturday, there was the most awesome news: The return of NPR’s Three Minute Fiction! Round Eight was announced. In case you missed it, hit the link above. I heard about it on FB before the show started and didn’t take long to come up with a story and write it. Seriously, maybe an hour tops to write–though I think it was closer to twenty minutes. I’d thought of an ending line, then two characters arrived, and as I wrote toward the end line, the story took me to a different place.

I trimmed it until I could read it in under 3 minutes, then read it to Husband, who–get this–thought it was nice. I sent it in. Usually, I end up with regret when I send things in so soon after they’re written, but the next morning, I still thought it was a good story.

On Monday, I sent it to Chyo, and except for one word choice, she thought it was fantastic. I wound up in a brief email exchange with Long Distance Friend and sent it to him. He not only liked it, but wanted to share it with his Secret Girlfriend. Now, I wait on Guy Roz and the judges at 3MF to decide if they like it, too.

In a teensy tiny way, I’m a bit on edge over the idea of finally having one of my stories chosen by 3MF. I mean I am the self-proclaimed Susan Lucci of this contest. Can I give up that continuing sting of disappointment? Well, it’s out of my hands now. And if it isn’t chosen as the winner, I hope it isn’t chosen as an also ran. I have three magazines I want to submit the story to. Sigh. We’ll see how it goes. In the other rounds, I’d written to win. This story I wrote because it was something I wanted to read.

Speaking of which.. One of the things Chyo said was that the story I wrote was a piece which would cause her to look up other work by the same author. She then told me of series of books she’s bought because of short stories she’d come across in an anthology. So, while I’m waiting on yet another person’s thoughts on Ellie’s Elephants, I’ve opened up the third book of the Dreaming Lettie series, and I think I’m falling in love all over again… How could I forget about the Dreads!

Until next time!

*These are just my creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.