Apparently the requirement for good poetry nowadays is the same as the requirement for good contemporary art: that I can’t understand it.

(In fairness, that may say more about me than the poetry or the art…)

I recently read Issue 42 of the Potomac Review, and I managed to find one poem that I not only understood (I think) but also enjoyed, one poem that I definitely understood and enjoyed, and a couple that I enjoyed parts of but mostly didn’t understand. The rest… “Huh?”

I won’t tell you which category this came from, but here, enjoy the last stanza from “Signs” by Marjory Wentworth:

I have let the water pull me for miles,
for years. I’ve watched birds turn
their heads in my direction. I didn’t notice
all the signs surrounding me. But I have
felt the stars throbbing like hearts
in the darkness. It has something to do with love,
and the way it hides and waits
in places we never expect to find it.

Also in that issue was “Harvard Man” by Michelle Brafman, which was a FANTASTIC story, the kind I’d love to write myself — and think I maybe could, someday. I contacted her (via her husband’s email address, which was more or less the only thing that turned up on Google) to let her know how much I enjoyed it, and she very graciously replied with thanks and encouragement on my own writing. Another point for Nice Writers!

“Alice Dale” by Laura Albritton was the other story I quite liked.

Immediately after finishing the Potomac, I gobbled up THE KITE RUNNER (my thoughts on its AMAZING-NESS here) and now I’m onto The Cincinnati Review 4.1. It feels good to be reading this much, so hopefully I keep it up. Though writing more might not be so bad either…

Okay I admit, this story totally deserved to beat mine:

The Plainness of My Fall, by Janice Macdonald

I didn’t get into it (i.e., was indignant and doubtful) until Emmaline showed up, but then it totally swept me away.

In honor of the new month, I created a new masthead, just like I do… every month. :P

I also decided to archive all the previous mastheads, because I like them, and who knows, maybe someone else will too.

This month’s tagline (”let the poverty begin”) is in honor of my new part-time schedule, which starts in two weeks and means I’ll be earning 40% of my current salary (hence POVERTY) but writing a lot, lot more (read: MORE POVERTY). I’m really excited, but scared sh*tless at the same time.

On a related note, I’m sending my short story The Eraser out to a contest today. Wish me luck?

I received a promo in the mail yesterday for the SUN Magazine, which I had never heard of in any class or literary circle or Web site. But Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it up. I was pleasantly surprised by what I found inside.

Dear Reader,

Years ago, I was trapped in a newspaper job I couldn’t stand. Then I heard Graham Nash sing, “Make sure that the things you do keep us alive.” The next day I walked to work, quit my job, and kept walking. Better to be a pilgrim without a destination, I figured, than to cross the wrong threshold every day.”

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I FINISHED ANOTHER SHORT STORY!! YAAAAHHH!!!

Now I have to revise.

-_-

–

In general, I don’t do well with things that are hyped up. Like, god forbid I take part in a trend, right? So I refuse and resist beyond all reason (just ask Angie) and I deny myself the wonder of things like capri pants, ballet flats, and Harry Potter. FOOL! (And yes, Angie, you were right about all of the above.)

In short: me? Not so good with the fads. And in literature, writing in the first person seems to be a very, very big fad right now. It’s something I’ve always sort of thought of as a cop-out, like, shouldn’t you be able to tell a story without having to pretend that YOU are actually telling the story?

BUT. (Butt!) I’ve read a lot of great books written in first person (like anything by Paulo Coelho and Amy Tan) and I know that this stupid prejudice of mine is just that: a STUPID PREJUDICE.

Not only that, but I’ve been thinking. And let me tell you, me thinking only leads to bad things. (Often tears. My own, of course. I don’t make other people cry.) In this case, the bad thing I thought of is that I probably need to rewrite The Good Daughters. In first person.

(I bet if I’d asked Angie, she would have told me that from the start.)

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Today I stumbled across this article about Common Faults in Short Stories. At times the author is certainly harsher than I think is necessary, but he has a lot of good tips. After reading his list, I couldn’t help wondering if I should rewrite “The Tenth Time” yet again…

I also took note of his advice on being funny:

I think humour only ever exists in something that sets out to be serious. Anything that sets out to be humorous is doomed.

Aha! Perhaps that’s my problem!

My morning writing sessions have been going pretty well this week. It’s certainly much easier to focus when Riley crawls into my lap and sleeps. Before, I had to keep him in the corner of my eye at all times, since I was never really sure whether his whimpers meant that he needed water, wanted to play, or was five seconds away from peeing on the carpet.

But then again, his adorable snuggly-ness compels me to hug and kiss and pet him a lot, which somewhat reduces my productivity. I guess you win some, you lose some.

Speaking of which… A few months ago, I sent one of my stories to Junot Diaz, the fiction editor at the Boston Review whose first novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao has been quite the success both with critics and the public. He responded personally, which is wonderful and rare, and one of his comments was that my story was “strong but young.” (See the win-some-lose-some connection there?)

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