A FREELANCER’S GUIDE TO GETTING PUBLISHED

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65+
in

LIT MAGS
us

JUNE 2019
to submit to
right now
on
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THE
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ISSUE
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TOP AUTHOR
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H O U L D W R IT ERS BE
WHO S
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IN G R IG H T N OW?
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PLUS!

Are your hobbies How to breathe Mastering

helping or hurting new life into flat the art of the
your writing? characters follow-up email
Jo
in
us
EXCERPT CONT.
on
Night of Miracles
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don’t . . . I hope this doesn’t offend
ha
you, but we don’t eat dessert.”
Lucille cannot think of one thing to
ts
say, but finally manages a stiff “I see.”
And here is a bit of a miracle right
now, because what she really, really
thought she’d say is, “Never mind,
then. I don’t want to come.”
They’re probably vegans. They’ll
probably have a square loaf of some
brownish mass on an ugly pottery
platter and a bunch of vegetables so
barely cooked they’re next to raw.
Lucille will put a potpie in her oven
before she goes over, so she can eat
when she gets home.
She goes inside, and the warmth of
her house settles around her. Come
here, dearie, says the kitchen. Come
and have a nice slice of cake.
She does exactly that. Yellow cake
with milk-chocolate frosting, a classic,
but if you use Lucille’s recipe for yel-
low cake and buttercream (Southern,
of course) it’s a bit more than a classic.
It’s a table-pounder. It’s a groaner.
“Oh, my goodness, this is five stars!”
said a woman who took the class, after
she tasted the cake. “Six!” said
another, her mouth full, and Lucille
has to agree. She never expected that
the adult response to her desserts
would be more enthusiastic than the
kids’. But then for the young children
she teaches (ages five to seven, no
older, no younger, no exception),
everything is still a wonder. One day,
teaching a fancied-up version of Rice
Krispies Treats, she had to compete
for their attention with a squirrel that
came to the kitchen window to look
in. The weather’s another distraction.
ap
Let big fat snowflakes fall, or thunder
boom, or a sudden wind whoosh
p
through the trees, and she’s lost the
N
entire class.
After Lucille eats the cake, she
av
weighs herself in an effort not to have
ee
a second slice. It does not work, which
she might have predicted, and so she
d
does have a second slice. Well, she fin-
ishes the cake. Maybe it’s two and half
Ba
slices. Maybe it’s three.
She bathes, and she supposes it’s
iG
having eaten all that cake that makes
it even more difficult than usual to get
out of the tub. Worth it.
She climbs into bed, reads for a
while, then turns out the light. She lies
flat on her back and stares at the ceil-
ing, aware of a throbbing loneliness
that comes over her from time to
time. “Lucille Pearson,” she says into
the darkness. And then she says it
again, more slowly, “Luciiiiillllle
Peeeearson.” Still not right. “Mrs.
Frank Pearson,” she says, quite briskly,
even authoritatively. That’s the one.
That’s how she would have said her
name, if she’d had the opportunity.
This is the first time she’s ever said
out loud what she would have been
saying for five years now, had she
married him. The words make for a
quick mix of emotions: First a zippy
thrill, then a big ploppy sense of con-
tentment, and it’s like butter in a pan,
that feeling of contentment, melting
and spreading out inside her. Then a
terrible bitterness, because she is not
Mrs. Frank Pearson, nor will she ever
be.
She sighs and turns onto her side.
Tears slide down her cheeks and she
wipes them away. She supposes she’ll
always cry over Frank: finding the
first and only love of her life in high
school and losing him, then finding
him again—at eighty-three!—only to
lose him again, to a heart attack, just
like that. Here, then gone again. So
very much here, then so very much
gone.
She closes her eyes and tells herself
03
to dream of him. Oftentimes, it works,
telling herself to dream of someone,
14
and her dreams are increasingly very
real-seeming. After the death of her
90
friend Arthur, she could summon him
up on a regular basis. She dreamed of
77
Arthur sitting on the porch with her,
as he so often used to do, eating cook-
21
ies, taking his tiny bites and brushing
crumbs carefully into his hand.
8
Excerpt from NIGHT OF MIRACLES: A Novel by Elizabeth
Berg, copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Berg. Used by permis-
sion of Random House, an imprint of Random House Pub-
lishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All
rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced
or reprinted without permission in writing from the
publisher.
 8
21
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90
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Contents June 2019
Volume 132 Number 6

FEATURES DEPARTMENTS
Jo

8 From the Front Lines

Flatlining
in

Boring characters make

for boring narratives:
us

here’s how to fix them.

BY YI SHUN LAI
on

10 Freelance Success
Here’s the pitch…
again?!
w

The follow-up email is a

staple of freelance writ-
ha

ing life. A big part of

mastering it? Knowing
ts

when to stop.
ap

BY PETE CROATTO

12 Off the Cuff

p

No writer is an island
How collaboration – and
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a dose of humility – can

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improve a book.
BY MELISSA HART
ee

38 Literary Spotlight
The Spectacle
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20 BY MELISSA HART
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40 Conference Insider
14 Re-breaking the bone 30 Finding joy in Sanibel Island Writers
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In theory, we all know revision is the process Conference

hard. In practice, it’s downright Ross Gay spins essays and BY MELISSA HART
devastating…but your manu-
03

poems by observing the world

script will be all the stronger for around him and questioning his
the pain. relationship to it. He is delighted IN EVERY ISSUE
14

BY MAXINE KAPLAN by what he sees.

BY TONI FITZGERALD
2 From the Editor
90

20 Creative distractions 4 Take Note

Are your hobbies helping or 34 How to pitch like a pro
77

hurting your writing? A seasoned freelancer’s quick- 42 Markets

BY JOSH SIPPIE and-dirty guide to getting
47 Classified advertising
21

published.
24 ‘Who should I be reading BY MELISSA PETRO
48 How I Write
right now?’
8

Add these recommended novel-

ists to your summer reading list
immediately.
BY JACK SMITH

Cover: Andrii_M/Shutterstock

writermag.com • The Writer | 1

FROM THE EDITOR
NICKI PORTER
Jo

Part of this night

in

Roughly this time last year, I was preparing for a Which brings us to the heart of what I was so
us

10-day tour of Spain, a country I’d studied obses- afraid of, picturing those tapas bars, imagining
sively since middle school. I knew what to pack. I my own fearful body wedged between people
on

knew where to eat. I knew a rough approximation more confident and experienced than I: I knew I
of what to say. But one small must-do on the itin- did not belong, and I was afraid everyone around
erary was keeping me up at night: Bellying up to me would know it too. I feared I would stand
w

a jam-packed tapas bar, grabbing the bartender’s motionless and silent, haunting the fringes, afraid
ha

attention, and confidently hollering my order to claim a space for myself when others were
above the roar of the crowd. more deserving. But when the moment actually
ts

It’s such a small, silly thing, right? Why wasn’t arrived, Bahrami’s mantra on my lips, I easily
I more worried about lost luggage or changing carved out my part of that night.
ap

currency or sheepishly saying “estoy embarazada” Every year I meet individuals who are afraid to
which sounds like it means “I am embarrassed” call themselves writers. “I’m not really a writer,”
p

but actually means “I am pregnant?” they confess. “I mean, I haven’t published any-
N

But in the long list of things I am terrible at, thing. I don’t have any books. I just like to write.”
“confidently making eye contact with strangers,” They talk about the publishing industry the
av

“feeling comfortable in a massive crowd,” and way I talked about my white whale of a tapas bar:
ee

“making conversation despite a nasty case of A crowded, unfamiliar place where everyone
hearing loss” all top the list. I fretted. I practiced would know they didn’t belong.
d

sample orders again and again. But nothing But here’s the thing, dear reader. If you write, the
quelled my anxiety until I read an article on navi- same mantra applies. You belong here. You are a
Ba

gating tapas bars solo by Beebe Bahrami. part of it, writing, our current culture, the industry,
Try repeating a mantra, Bahrami advised: “I all of it. You may not have a book to your name, but
iG

belong here, I am a part of this afternoon/night, I you belong at this table. You may need a little more
belong.” The words struck like lightning: I am a practice, may need to learn the language and watch
part of this night. I belong here. from afar for a bit before bellying up to the bar, but
03

All travelers must be respectful when they you are a part of this night just as much as I am.
journey to new places; you will never learn any- Countless book ideas are abandoned and for-
14

thing about your destination if you insist on gotten every year due to imposter syndrome. Do
shoving your own societal expectations between not let yours be one of them.
90

you and a new experience. But you won’t learn You are a part of this day in the writing world,
anything from standing on the sidelines with friends.
77

your hands in your pockets, either. Go forth and seize it.

21

Keep writing,
8

Nicki Porter
Senior Editor
@nickimporter

2 | The Writer • June 2019

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VP, Strategy Andrew Yeum

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ts

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Last call for entries in our spring fiction contest
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Senior Client Services Associate EXECUTIVE Our spring short fiction contest closes on May 31.
Tou Zong Her Chairman & Chief Executive Officer
Have you submitted your short story yet? Don’t
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Aubrie Britto, Darren Cormier, Chief Operating Officer miss your opportunity to win $1,000 and be
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writermag.com • The Writer | 3

 The writer’s argument for
Jo
in
political correctness
us
on
Choosing our words carefully creates a welcoming space on the page
for all readers – and it makes for better writing, too.
w
ha
ts
AS
a teenager in New York, I
often called things I
didn’t like “retarded.” It
was a common part of the lexicon of
my peer group, and I didn’t think any-
thing of its connotations or history.
But as soon as someone explained to
me that intellectually disabled people
consider that word to be a slur and
that they (and their advocates) urge
abled people to remove it from their
vocabulary entirely – citing the fact
that “the R word” has long been used
to bully, harass, and discriminate
against them – I stopped using it.
Once I heard it laid out like that, it felt
so clear and obvious that the harm I
was doing by casually throwing that
word around greatly outweighed the
small amount of conscious effort it
would take to retrain myself to reach
for a different word. It really wasn’t
hard. I slipped once in a while at first,
out of habit, but would catch myself
and say, “oops, I mean ‘that sounds
ridiculous,’” or whatever other word
more specifically described what I was
getting at.
4 | The Writer • June 2019
BY LILLY DANCYGER
ap
p
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I continue to make these adjust-
av
ments all the time in my writing and
ee
speech as I see various marginalized
groups request them, like replacing the
d
phrases “either gender” and “men and
women” with “any gender” to include
Ba
nonbinary people or not using words
like “crazy” or “psycho” pejoratively
iG
(which reinforces the stigma against
mental illness) when I actually mean
“dangerous” or “irrational.”
I make these changes because I
believe that if a marginalized group
tells you that something is harmful to
them, they certainly know that better
than you, and you should listen –
because I believe it’s the right thing to
do. But also because as a writer, I wel-
come the opportunity to become
more precise and thoughtful in my
use of language. I find words fascinat-
ing – their origins, their implications,
the subtle differences between appar-
ent synonyms. Learning new words or
finding exactly the right word for an
idea I’m trying to convey are the little
adrenaline rushes that keep me
hooked on this business. So, I follow
the current changes happening in our
language with interest, curiosity, and
a readiness to learn as the chorus call-
ing for inclusivity and respect gets
ever louder. Which is why I’m always
so surprised to see a fellow writer
joining in on the argument against
“political correctness.”
There are lots of people out there
who believe that the movement toward
more inclusive, considerate language
03
has gone too far. There are people who
would take being asked to phase the
14
R-word out of their vocabulary as a
personal affront, an attempt at censor-
90
ship, an unbearable oppression. I see
this resistance often from creative peo-
77
ple – writers, comedians, anyone who
makes their living expressing them-
21
selves, arguing that any constraint on
how they’re “allowed” to do so is tanta-
8
mount to shackles. As someone who
grew up on George Carlin and punk
rock, I understand the idea that noth-
ing should be off limits to the creative
mind. I agree, in fact.
But there’s a big difference between
shutting down whole areas of
 “If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from
the man who wrote it.” —Tennessee Williams

conversation and prohibiting subver-
sive art – which is how some people
seem to interpret the call for more
sensitive language – and merely
encouraging the reconsideration of
Jo
keep up with other shifts and devel-
opments in society, the subtleties of
human interaction of which we’re
supposed to be masters. How can a
writer expect to speak to and for the
that I felt resistant to this particular
change that was being asked of me
meant that I truly had room to learn.
So rather than arguing and telling
someone that they shouldn’t be

certain words in our lexicon that have present moment if they insist on offended, I sat with my discomfort and
hateful, violent roots, and whose con- holding onto language that the rest of reminded myself that you can’t argue
in

tinued use serves to further stigmatize us have consciously decided to leave someone out of feeling how they feel,
and marginalize groups of people who in the past? Writers should be guiding that it’s not anyone’s place to tell some-
us

are fighting for equality. Not using the the way as society develops, not one else they shouldn’t be offended. I
word “crazy” to dismiss every person straining to hold back progress. now know that there are people who
on

and idea you disagree with doesn’t I will admit that I still struggle some- take offense to the pejorative use of the
mean you can’t discuss mental illness, times. There are times when someone word “idiot,” and I’m trying to phase it
it just means you have to find more corrects me on my use of a word that I out of my vocabulary.
w

nuanced, specific ways to so – and didn’t realize could be considered offen- Not being able to use so many
ha

more nuanced, specific ways short-cut, go-to words like

to explain that you disagree “idiot” or “dumb” or “psycho”
ts

with something. can be challenging as you first

Creative people, and espe-
INSTANCES start adjusting, but that just
ap

cially writers, should be leading proves how much they’re over-

the charge as our language WHERE I DON’T used. Trying to be aware and
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evolves. As lovers of words, filter out certain words has

IMMEDIATELY AGREE
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writers should relish the made me realize just how

opportunity to become more THAT A WORD IS HARMFUL often I used to reach for them,
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precise and conscious in which that I was using them as catch-

ARE THE TRUE TEST
ee

ones we choose. These shifts all shorthand rather than

are growth, not restriction –
OF MY CONVICTIONS: spending a few extra seconds
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they’re an opportunity to learn, thinking about specifically

to sharpen and deepen our IT’S NOT UP TO ME TO what I was trying to say and
Ba

mastery of language to get finding the right word. And

closer to saying exactly what “AGREE,” BUT TO LISTEN. that’s the very definition of
iG

we mean. And isn’t that the lazy writing – falling back on

heart of this work? Isn’t that the same tired words and
what we’re here for? phrases so often that they
03

Once you start noticing patterns, sive, and I balk. Not long ago, I referred cease to have any impact on the
like how many insults commonly to a public figure as an “idiot,” and was reader. I, for one, welcome the chal-
14

directed at men boil down to insulting told that was ableist and I shouldn’t use lenge to think a little more carefully
a man by calling him a woman (“pussy,” that word. “Really?” I thought. I may about what I’m trying to express and
90

“pansy,” “bitch” (as in “don’t be a…”)), even have rolled my eyes. It felt like stretch my vocabulary to find a new,
thereby implying that to be feminine is grasping, like that person was looking better, more specific way to do so –
77

inherently bad, weak, and undesirable, for anything to jump on. “Idiot,” to me, one that doesn’t hurt anyone else in
and thinking about the broader impli- felt so far divorced from its historical the process.
21

cations of continually reinforcing that use to describe a specific type or degree —Lilly Dancyger is the Memoir Editor at
idea, untangling the unintended sub- of intellectual disability that it’s now Narratively, a Contributing Editor and writing
8

text of words we use without thinking
becomes a fascinating linguistic chal-
lenge. And what kind of writer doesn’t
like a linguistic challenge?
If a writer can’t adapt as the social
implications of certain words change,
I have little faith in their ability to
innocuous; everyone should understand instructor at Catapult, and Assistant Books Editor
that I meant it colloquially, I thought. at Barrelhouse. Her writing has appeared in
But then I realized that these Rolling Stone, Psychology Today, The Rumpus, the
instances where I don’t immediately Washington Post, and more. She’s also the editor
agree that a word is harmful are the of Burn It Down, an anthology of essays on
true test of my convictions: It’s not up women’s anger, forthcoming from Seal Press in
to me to “agree,” but to listen. The fact October. Follow her on Twitter at @lillydancyger.

writermag.com • The Writer | 5

 Jo
in
us

S TA R T
on

WHAT
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IS YOUR
ha

FICTION
GENRE?
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NONFICTION
ap

I want
something….
p
N

Which combo
Romantic best suits your
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A little darker
& fun summer-reading
fancy?
ee

What adventure
d

are you
packing for?
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New & Thrilling &

acclaimed chilling
iG

A New A whirlwind A grand

England weekend in a two-week
03

beach trip! new city! European tour!

14
90
77
21

The Nickel Boys by The Last House

8

Colson Whitehead Guest by Megan

(July 16) Miranda (May 2)
ProStockStudio/Shutterstock

Evvie Drake Starts City of Girls by Red, White and

Over by Linda Elizabeth Gilbert Royal Blue by
Holmes (June 25) (June 4) Casey McQuiston
(June 4)

6 | The Writer • June 2019

 “There are worse crimes than burning books.
One of them is not reading them.” —Ray Bradbury

It’s the most wonderful time of the year: The sun is

Which sounds
Jo

warm, skies are clear, and our bookshelves strain more up

with new titles to read. But who says you can’t your alley?
in

whittle down your TBR pile and improve your career

at the same time?
us

Here are the top books you should be reading in

your genre this summer.
Uncanny & Dark & poignant
on

unforgettable, sci-fi, written

written by a by a master
longtime favorite in his genre
w

SHORT
ha

STORIES
ts
ap
p

Describe your
2019 summer
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mood in
av

four words.
ee

Orange World and Exhalation: Stories

Other Stories by by Ted Chiang
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Karen Russell (May 7)

Who run Dark, twisty, New beginnings,
(May 14)
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the world? and moody new strength

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03
14
90
77
21

Three Women by Furious Hours: Once More We

Lisa Taddeo (July 9) Murder, Fraud, and Saw Stars: A
8

the Last Trial of Memoir by Jayson

Harper Lee by Greene (May 14)
Casey Cep (May 7)

writermag.com • The Writer | 7

FROM THE FRONT LINES
BY YI SHUN LAI

Flatlining
Jo

Boring characters make for boring narratives: here’s how to fix them.
in

T
“ his character is flat.” If
us

you’ve spent any time get-

ting feedback at all, you may
on

have heard this critique

before. I got this feedback a lot in early
drafts of my debut novel, and it didn’t
w

sell until I’d worked hard to eliminate

ha

traces of this pesky writing tic.

Let’s take some time to define a flat
ts

character: In literary parlance, it’s a

character who doesn’t change from
ap

beginning to end or one that lacks

complexity. Sometimes they’re stereo-
p

types, or tropes: think the hard-boiled

N

detective with a drinking problem or

the ditzy blonde in inappropriate
av

clothing at afternoon tea.

ee

But wait, you might say. Some of his sisters over their recently deceased in black talks in a baby voice all the
those tropes are successful: Check out father’s estate. One sister, the younger, is time, or if once she starts talking, she
d

Philip Marlowe for the hard-boiled a hippie type. She’s got unruly hair, can’t stop? What happens if it’s the sis-
detective or Legally Blonde’s Elle Woods. dresses in natural fibers, sits on the ter who sits on the floor who’s no-non-
Ba

But if you dig a little deeper, we can all floor. The other sister, the oldest in the sense, who just wants to be done with
agree that these characters have traits family, lives in the big city and has a job all things dead-father related?
iG

that save them from falling into boring in finance, or something very like it. She Ah. Now we have something inter-
category: Marlowe is sensitive to a fault, dresses in all black, wears skirt suits esting. Now we have characters we
and after a few false starts, Woods ends with sensible heels; her hairstyle is really want to dig into and get to know.
03

up discovering aspirations, and brains “severe.” No points for guessing how she So why is it that, despite our delight
beyond what others expected of her. talks: in clipped cadences, obviously. at discovering characters who are dif-
14

There is a reason these characters The issue here is twofold: First, the ferent and interesting, writers fail to
stand both the test of time and the characters are clearly stereotypes. Sec- default to them? We wouldn’t be inter-
90

ever-churning mill of pop culture: ond, as with most stereotypes, the older ested in such people in real life; why
Ultimately, their natural likeability sister goes on to behave in a way that would we write them?
77

comes from an element of surprise, of assuages our collective knowledge about Ultimately, it’s because people are
unexpectedness. If you think about it, this character. Predictably, the stuff she lazy. Laziness is at the heart of preju-
21

it comes from their being real. Which says all falls into this category: She’s the dice, of snap judgments, and of flat
one of our friends and acquaintances one in the family who’s very cut and characters. For writers, who have to
8

has funny little quirks that allow us to dry. She wants to do things by the letter manage complex, intriguing plots, rich
enjoy their company? Probably every and is totally unemotional. The younger settings, page-turning prose, and well-
single person we know. sister, obviously, is the one with tears rounded characters, writing characters
Piyapong89/Shutterstock

On the flip side, take, for instance, a
story I read in a past submission period
over at Tahoma Literary Review: A
young man goes home to contend with
8 | The Writer • June 2019
and snot all over her face. The reader is who feel familiar to us feels like sink-
bored; we already know these people. ing into a warm bath with a tub of
There’s no reason to read on. crème caramel and some Cadbury eggs
But what happens if, say, the sister at hand. It’s no wonder we do it.
So how do we get past this point? How
do we overcome our innate laziness or
desire to have people fit into neat, pre-
proportioned boxes of emotion? With
some help from unexpected places, I put
Jo
together some tips that I’ll definitely use
as I go into revisions for my next novel.
in
1 Recognize that singular character
us
traits close doors
At the disaster-relief agency I volunteer
on
for, we do a mind-boggling amount of
work around leadership and personal
development. Part of this is due to our
w
small team size – when we deploy, we
ha
only send out two to four people at a
time, so everyone needs to be fully
ts
aware of their own personality types
and potential weak spots.
One of my weak spots is quick judg-
ment. I like people and tend to study
them, as befits a writer, but this leads
me to assess things and personalities
really quickly. “Take care not to iden-
tify people by a singular character
trait,” said my team lead on a recent
deployment. Doing so, she went on to
say, can close doors unnecessarily.
What does that look like for a
writer? Think of it like this: If we write
characters that can be summed up
with singular actions (think catch-
phrases, for instance), then we don’t
allow them to act to their full potential,
which means that they may not be
allowed to execute the plot points we
need for a strong narrative.
2 Use real-life characters as gut-
checks when you get stuck
Scene: My friend Roz and I are taking
a walk in my California neighborhood.
It is a hotbed of xeriscaping, since
we’re in danger of drought a lot of the
time, and I point out a particularly
nice yard, explaining to Roz that our
city gave homeowners cash back for
drought-resistant yards. “But that guy
voted for Trump,” I say.
Roz is quiet for a second. “And?”
“Well, you can’t take advantage of a
cash-back offer based around envi-
ronmental stewardship and vote for
that guy!”
Roz says, “I don’t care who he voted
for. At least he’s got a yard that’s better
for the environment.”
“Ugh, no!”
Roz lets a beat go by before she says,
“You really like it when people behave
within the lines, don’t you?”
Yes, yes I do. I prefer it when people
don’t challenge what I think I already
know about their behaviors. This per-
sonal tic of mine, as you will have
already guessed, creates all kinds of
problems when I go to write characters.
Fortunately, as Roz pointed out, plenty
of people exist in real life with seemingly
contradictory character traits, all of
ap
which are sprung from very interesting
motives that make them real and plump
p
with verisimilitude. Recalling these peo-
N
ple when I fall into the rut of writing
predictable characters allows me to write
av
more interesting, believable people.
ee
3 Questions reveal underlying depths
d
Some tried-and-true advice for
writers trying to unearth a character’s
Ba
motivation is to ask questions of that
character. Some editors and coaches,
iG
myself included, encourage writers to
ask questions like, “Who would you
have over to dinner if you could invite
anyone?” and “What’s in your pock-
ets?” and “What did you dream about
last night?”
These are fine questions, but I read
something in a book geared more
toward MBAs than writers that made
me take a harder look at the questions
I’m asking of my characters.
In Difficult Conversations: How to
Discuss What Matters Most, written by
the good folks at Harvard University’s
Program on Negotiation, the writers
encourage anyone facing a difficult
conversation to turn off their internal
voice, which inevitably dictates how
you think the other person in the con-
versation should behave. They suggest
letting curiosity rule instead: finding
out what the other person thinks is
happening; discovering what might
make them think or feel a certain way.
Find that curiosity, they say, by not
letting the purpose of the conversation
be to persuade or win or get the other
person to change, or do something you
think they want. (The number of times
I’ve suggested that writers lighten up
their authorial hand in their writing
underscores this advice: The more you
direct your characters, or force them to
act outside of their natural motivation,
the more plausible it becomes that
you’ll end up with flat characters.)
The writers of Difficult Conversations
suggest that questions like this might
help you to deepen your understanding
of someone else’s position: “What else
do I need to know for that to make
more sense?” or “I wonder how I can
understand the world in such a way that
that would make sense?” For writers
trying to get to know and round out
their characters, the questions might be,
“What might have happened in this
character’s life to make them behave
this way?” or “What pieces of informa-
tion am I missing about this character
that will help me to build them out bet-
ter?” or “What else is happening in this
narrative that this character might be
affected by or can contribute to?”
03
It shouldn’t be easy to write well-
rounded characters that feel real. It
14
takes constant questioning, observation,
and more than a modicum of self-
90
awareness of who you are as a writer in
order to pull it off. But help, it seems,
77
lies partially in your own motivation to
uncover these characters and partially
21
in your willingness to push the envelope
of what you think you know.
8
Yi Shun Lai is the fiction editor and co-owner
of Tahoma Literary Review. Read about her
writing coaching and editing services; her
novel, Not a Self-Help Book: The Misadven-
tures of Marty Wu; and her daily adventures at
thegooddirt.org.
writermag.com • The Writer | 9
FREELANCE SUCCESS
BY PETE CROATTO
Here’s the pitch…again?!
Jo
The follow-up email is a staple of freelance writing life. A big part of
in
mastering it? Knowing when to stop.
us
on
w
ha
ts
L
ooking for work is an integral
part of freelance writing,
something that should be part
of your daily routine. If you’re
not pitching and following up with
those pitches, you won’t last long. The
follow-up pitch is the more pernicious
of the two because you’ve already
invested time in constructing a pitch
and now, hold up, you have to go back?
But the pitch was so good, it was so
heartfelt. How could it be ignored?
Shelve the indignation. This profes-
sion is built on neglect, rejection, pri-
oritizing, and an inadvisable amount of
caffeine. Here’s what to do and how to
do it.
10 | The Writer • June 2019
ap
p
N
av
ee
d
Ba
iG
Wait a couple of days.
Editors are looking for stories, but
that’s not all they’re doing. Unless the
piece is extremely time-sensitive – a
blog post about the Trump administra-
tion’s latest lie or a movie’s box office
performance, let’s say – give the editor
at least a few days to respond.
Cool down.
That time is also for you. When you
have a great idea for a story, you want
to share it with the world. Your mind
hums with the energy of discovery.
That can be overpowering. You need to
operate from a place of practicality, so
you can write your follow-up without
03
sounding desperate or overeager. Save
the passion for the story.
14
Be professional.
90
It’s better to err on the side of formality
than to cross over into the brand of faux
77
familiarity reserved for bad salesmen
and good morning show DJs. Start with
21
“Dear.” Use “Mr.” or “Ms.” (If you’re not
sure of the editor’s gender, use the first
8
name, or find their bio.) Can the jokes
about the Monday blahs or what you
think about the Met Gala. Nobody cares.
Magura/Shutterstock
Be concise.
Think of follow-ups as shopping on
Christmas Eve: Get in and get out. Your
 An editor who doesn’t respond to your pitch doesn’t hate you.
They’re either still whittling their to-do list down to
double digits or have no interest.
Jo
in
us
follow-up should be two or three short
paragraphs – tops – reminding the edi-
on
tor what your story covered and why it
would work for their publication.
Here’s an example:
w
ha
Dear Mr. Ravioli:
ts
How are you?
ap
A few days ago, I sent you a pitch
about Sister Pop N’ Lock, the
breakdancing 95-year-old nun
from Bethesda, Maryland, who
will be a featured dancer on
MTV’s reboot of The Grind in
January. I just wanted to see if you
received my email and clips and if
you had any interest in a story.
Again, a feature about Sister Pop
N’ Lock would provide the color
and nuance readers of Nuns
Having Fun have come to enjoy.
If you have any questions or
requests, please don’t hesitate to
let me know. My contact infor-
mation is listed below. Thank
you very much. I look forward to
hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Olive Picklefeather
Don’t send a separate email.
Include the original email so the editor
can easily refer to what you’re describ-
ing and doesn’t have to sift through
spam or deleted messages.
Let it go.
You’ve sent your follow-up email, and
you have heard…nothing. Now what?
Cry? Fill out law school applications?
Call mom?
You might want to try a final quick
hit a week later. I wanted to follow up
with you one last time before moving
on… After that, rework that pitch for
another outlet. (My record number of
attempts in finding a story a home is, I
think, five.) There is no such thing as
one true home for a story. The best
home is the one with the editor who
p
devotes the most energy and time to
N
enhancing your words and gives you
the best rate. The writing is the thing.
av
The outlet is immaterial.
ee
But let’s say your original target out-
let is the Tom Hanks to your Meg
d
Ryan. You keep at it until the editor
finally accepts the pitch. Celebrate all
Ba
you want, but you are already in a
position of weakness. Editors, like
iG
everyone else, are not saints. If you get
the wrong one, they’ll use your eager-
ness as leverage, treating you as stal-
lion that needs to be broken to suit
their benefit.
Consider this for a moment: maybe
don’t deal with the person who consid-
ers a polite email from you to be a
massive inconvenience, who can’t be
bothered to reply “yes” or “no.” A pub-
lication does not define your profes-
sional and personal worth. If it does,
perhaps you need to (re-)watch The
Devil Wears Prada.
It’s never personal.
An editor who doesn’t respond to your
pitch doesn’t hate you. They’re either
still whittling their to-do list down to
double digits or have no interest. Just
because the story is important to you
does not mean it’s important to them.
And that’s OK. Pitching is an elimina-
tion game. Now you can move on to
the next option.
For the love of all that’s holy, don’t write
to the editor demanding a response.
Nothing blows a bridge to future pub-
lication to smithereens quicker.
Time is your ally.
The longer you do this, the easier it
gets to handle the slights and focus on
the bigger picture. I have freelanced
since 2006, and I’ve submitted count-
less pitches. I have been ghosted by
strangers. I have been ignored by peo-
ple I know. I have been neglected from
outlets big and small. I stopped living
and dying with each pitch years ago.
As a freelance writer, you’re running a
business. And you can’t do your job
while pouting or pining.
03
Freelancing is about moving ahead.
You don’t have the luxury to obsess.
14
Moving on to another assignment or
doing something else in support of
90
your business – preparing taxes,
ordering office supplies, wrapping up
77
another story – is not just advisable
but necessary. You must do some-
21
thing to keep yourself sane and sol-
vent. Holding on to the past doesn’t
8
pay the bills or feed your soul. It
holds you back.
Veteran freelance writer Pete Croatto
(Twitter: @PeteCroatto) is working on his first
book for Atria Books, an imprint of Simon &
Schuster.
writermag.com • The Writer | 11
OFF THE CUFF
BY MELISSA HART

No writer is an island
Jo

How collaboration – and a dose of humility – can improve a book.

in

T
wo years ago, I sat at my
us

desk in my tiny home office

and read my newest memoir
on

manuscript out loud to my

cat – historically a diplomatic audience
for my work. Several times over 250
w

pages, I paused to weep into his fur.

ha

When I’d finished reading, I sent the

file off to my agent with pictures of
ts

Pulitzers dancing in my head.

But doubt began to plague me.
ap

I’ve been writing professionally for

two decades. I’ve learned that when a
p

piece makes me cry, an editor’s bound

N

to request revisions.
My first memoir amassed 16 single-
av

spaced pages of editorial notes before

ee

publication, while my debut novel got

a gentle overhaul from title to
d

acknowledgments page. I’ve learned to

stay open-minded and flexible, to
Ba

counter an initial desire to growl at my

editors with a cooling-down period
iG

and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. In the light

of day, and several pounds heavier, I Melissa Hart's cat Jake serves as the first audience for her manuscripts.
can embrace their suggestions and sit
03

down to revise.
My agent sent out my newest mem- She suggested I revise it so the con- project as it was. I could self-publish.
14

oir manuscript with high hopes. I’d cept of bibliotherapy – using books to Or I could embrace this editor’s
written a heart-wrenching story about help alleviate mental turmoil – would insights and trust her professional
90

deciding to homeschool my second- feel more relevant and applicable to all assessment of the book she believed
grade daughter, who suffered from readers. And then, she uttered the readers most needed right then –
77

extreme anxiety and depression, words that made me bristle like my albeit a vastly different manuscript
designing a curriculum around terrier when the cat walks too close to from the 250 pages I’d written.
21

diverse contemporary children’s nov- the dog-food bowl: My mother, herself a professional
els and inspired by studies that show “I don’t think it’s working as a writer and one-time newspaper editor,
8

correlations between reading litera-
ture and increased empathy for self
and others.
One editor, a mother herself, saw
the promise in the story. “We need this
now,” she told me. “But the manu-
script’s too personal.”
12 | The Writer • June 2019
memoir.”
A growl escaped me. I masked it as
a cough. “I’ll get back to you,” I said.
I went on a run, as I always do
when I need endorphins and mental
clarity, and considered my options. I
could find an editor who loved the
had offered wise counsel when I was
just starting out in journalism. “Be easy
to work with,” she’d told me. “Editors
have needs, too.” Of course, she’d also
taught me to be stubborn, to stay fierce
to my vision of projects that lay close to
my heart. It’s a tricky tightrope, indeed,
eliciting all sorts of questions about
why we write in the first place, why we
choose to publish, and whom we hope
to reach with our work.
If I’d stayed true to my initial mem-
Jo
oir manuscript, the story would have
reached parents like me who’d
in
decided to homeschool their
kids using a curriculum
us
based on contemporary
kid lit. That demo-
on
graphic suddenly
seemed too small for
what I believed was a
w
crucial message about
ha
the correlation between
literature and empathy. I
ts
gulped down my pride and
told my editor I’d revise according to
how she believed the story could reach
the most readers.
I longed to write a resource for
parents and other caregivers, librari-
ans, teachers, child psychologists, and
young readers themselves. My editor
asked me to compile a researched list
and two-sentence description of 500
diverse novels and memoirs written
over the past decade for tweens and
teens – stories that address issues
including racism, learning challenges,
physical disability, mental illness, reli-
gion, environmentalism, body image,
etc. Some of my memoir material
made it into the short essays that
begin each chapter, interspersed with
author interviews and my research
into studies that examined bibliother-
apy in classrooms and therapists’
office and prisons.
Some of my original manuscript
became social commentary published
in magazines and newspapers. I
printed out a handful of paragraphs
and cut them out and tacked them to
my bulletin board to await inclusion
in a future project. But I shredded a
great many of the 250 pages. They
make excellent cat litter, those wordy
white strips, and mulch for the back-
yard garden.
The galleys of my new books arrived
last month, and they were gorgeous. On Spring 2019
the cover, a figure stands atop a tower of short story contest
books, radiating power. Each novel and
memoir I describe has its moment in
the spotlight, showcasing how it reaches
young readers grappling with par-
ticular issues. For almost an
hour at the ALA Midwin-
ter Meeting in Seattle,
librarians lined up with
their galleys for auto-
graphs and to thank me
and talk about the
book. I’m not convinced
that my very personal
DEADLINE: May 31, 2019
memoir would have elicited
the same excitement. GRAND PRIZE: $1,000
I ended up with a book I’m proud and publication in our magazine
ap
of – a project that not only incorpo-
rates my voice but also the voices of
p
Enter now at
parents and teachers and therapists writermag.com/contests
N
and librarians using novels and mem-
oirs in all sorts of creative ways to
av
reach our most vulnerable young peo-
ee
ple. I learned to nudge my ego aside
and enter into the spirit of collabora-
d
tion with other professionals in the
business of bringing powerful stories
Ba
to as many readers as possible.
I finished a new middle-grade novel
iG
this year, to fill a gap I observed in my
research into the genre. Last week, I
read the final draft to my long-suffer-
03
ing cat before sending it off to my
agent. One scene, in particular, made
14
me cry.
I circled it with a loving, critical eye,
90
not unlike the way I look at my daugh-
ter – now an exuberant sixth-grader at
77
a local middle school – and her fash-
ion choices before she heads off to
21
school each day. And then I readied
the Ben & Jerry’s, along with my run-
8
ning shoes.
Contributing Editor Melissa Hart is the
author of Better with Books: 500 Diverse Books
to Ignite Empathy and Inspire Self-Acceptance
in Tweens and Teens (Sasquatch, 2019).
melissahart.com GOTHAMWRITERS. COM
writermag.com • The Writer | 13
 8
21
77
90
14
03
iG
Ba
d
ee
av
N
p
ap
ts
ha
w
on
us
in
Jo
Jo
in
us

NI THEORY, WE ALL
on
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KNOW R E V I S I O N I S H A R D .
ha
ts
ap

IN PRACTIC E , I T ’ S D O W N R I G H T
p
N
av

DEVAST A T I N G … B U T Y O U R
ee
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L B E A L L T H E
Ba

MANUSCR I P T W I L
iG

A I N .
03

STRON G E R F O R T H E P
14
90
77

B Y M A X IN E K A P L A N
21
8
Jo
in
WHEN
us
on
w
ha
ts
ap
p
N
I was in the querying and submission stages of my
debut young adult novel, The Accidental Bad Girl, I
av
consistently received two pieces of criticism.
The first was, “I don’t understand the motiva-
tions. I don’t understand why [spoiler alert] Gilly
would have done that to Kendall. I don’t under-
stand why Kendall wouldn’t just go to the police. I
don’t understand why.”
I summarily ignored these comments. Because
it takes such a long time to a) write a book, b)
find representation for a book, and c) get ready to
sell a book, I was able to ignore these comments
for literally years.
If I’m being honest with myself, I often
ignored these notes (generously and sincerely
given by friends and colleagues) because I
secretly believed that my readers simply weren’t
reading with enough high-level comprehension;
no one was understanding the subtlety of my
storytelling.
Or, if I didn’t ignore them, I tried to deal with
them in as offhand and surgical a way as I could:
I added passages literally explaining why my
characters were acting the way that they were act-
ing. (This, somehow, did not satisfy my critics.)
I was on the verge of writing off my dear com-
menting friends, all whom I had admired and
respected for years, as just not quite cut out for
this kind of work, when my eventual agent gave
16 | The Writer • June 2019
me the same comment, but worded in a slightly
different way.
She said: “I’m just not sure what the stakes
are here.”
And it hit me like an anvil. Oh right: stakes. If
it doesn’t clearly matter what will happen if a
character makes one decision versus the opposite
decision, then motivations truly disappear.
I could tell the readers why Kendall, my main
character, my baby femme-fatale-in-training,
didn’t go to the police at any given point in the
story, but with nothing viscerally at stake for her,
why in hell should they believe me?
And, and not insignificantly, why is that any
ee
fun to read?
The other note I consistently received was
d
concerns about the pacing. I got rejected from
more than one literary agency specifically
Ba
because of exponentially slow pacing. My prose,
basically everyone agreed, was good. My narra-
iG
tive voice was engaging. My characters were
(despite questions about motivation) vibrant and
three-dimensional. My weaving in of thematic
03
elements, like rape culture and slut-shaming, was
done effectively and well.
14
But, after a solid bang of a start to the book,
about a third of the way in, the narrative fell into
90
a dead zone – a Bermuda Triangle of plot.
At this point, I was reading the manuscript
77
over and over again, just as a matter of principle,
and I couldn’t deny it: The book stopped dead in
21
its tracks at about page 125. I started with a ton of
action up front. The plot zoomed forward, but
8
somehow, with each chapter, fewer and fewer
events of consequences seemed to occur; my
characters were just meandering from room to
room, having conversations – and none of these
conversations did anything to advance the plot.
And I had no idea how to fix it.
Then, flummoxed and verging on panic, in the
 My hero’s journey
First, I went back to basics. It’s no longer fashion-
able to teach the Hero’s Journey, and for good
reason. Joseph Campbell was a genius, but dog-
matic adherence to the structure of the Hero’s
Journey, especially in overly worshipful hands,
Jo

can lead to stolid, bloodless (metaphorically –

literally, it’s often quite bloody) writing, and the
in

storytelling is all too susceptible to reinforcing a

patriarchal framework.
us

I was and am cognizant of all of that. But I

used the Hero’s Journey anyway, and I’m here to
on

middle of read 957, I realized something essen- tell you: This is some of the best plotting advice
tial: The problems with the motivations and the you can find, and it’s just a Wikipedia post away.
problems with the pacing were intrinsically, irre- There are lots of variations on Campbell’s sys-
w

deemably linked. tems, including more modern wordings, as well

ha

The difficulty was, as boring as it was to read as Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat. I read them all and
the dead zone, that section was where I had then distilled the systems down to the main data
ts

drafted all of the good stuff when it came to the points that seemed to exist across all of them.
development of the characters and their relation- And because I’m the kind of person who needs to
ap

ships with each other. So of course no one was write things down in order to understand them, I
hooking into the emotional stakes for the charac- drew two columns in my notebook, and wrote the
p

ters, their emotions – they were bored out of their data points on the left side.
N

minds when they were reading what they needed

to read in order to hook into them. • Call to adventure.
av

And no wonder the external stakes were van-

ee

ishingly thin – I hadn’t designed the arc of the • Refusal of the call.
story in a way that would sustain them…and not
d

just sustain them, but grow them over the course • Crossing the first threshold, or as I called
of a full-length novel. it, the point of no return.
Ba

So how could I fix this? I couldn’t just scrap

the boring section wholesale. That boring section • The road of trials, or, “Fun and Games.”
iG

contained some of the emotionally resonant parts This is the point where the hero follows
of the book, especially the development of the the quest they have undertaken, meeting
central friendship, between Kendall and loner friends and foes along the way.
03

Simone. Simone had been every single reader’s

favorite character, bar none, and their friendship • Midpoint, where everything changes.
14

formed the emotional core of the story – and,

crucially, the actual writing there was working. • Bad guys close in.
90

Readers still loved Simone even though she

was mostly in the part of the book that bored • Dark night of the soul.
77

them to tears because nothing was happening. I

couldn’t get rid of it. • Refusal of return to the quest.
21

I realized that was true for a lot of the book.

There was a lot of good writing in the manuscript • Return of spirit, embarking on a slightly
8

as it was, but none of it was servicing the plot. The altered quest.
best-developed characters in the world are useless
to the reader if their development doesn’t matter • Crossing a second point of no return.
to the plot – if they never actually do anything, if
their evolving motivations don’t affect action. • Climactic confrontation with antagonist.
So I kept most of the writing. And I kept the
overall story. But I completely re-plotted it. • The road back.
writermag.com • The Writer | 17
Jo
IN ORDER TO MAKE SOMETHING REALLY GOOD,
in
us
YOU HAVE TO BREAK SOMETHING DECENT.
on
THERE’S NO WAY TO OUTSMART YOURSELF,
w
ha
TO MAKE THAT STEP UNNECESSARY.
ts
ap
p
N
av
This might seem like an obvious structure, one
that your brain should automatically tack on to
any story. But, honestly, if someone claimed to
think like this without trying, I would assume
they were either deluding themselves or that their
writing wasn’t very exciting.
People don’t organically experience time, life,
adventure, anything, really, as a series of events
with a beginning, middle, and end. Fitting our
experiences into a narrative is something we do
only in retrospect. I am of the fervent belief that
this process is the process by which we form our
conceptions about our own identity. That kind of
storytelling is the most profoundly human thing
that we do.
And that’s how I started to see my manuscript
for The Accidental Bad Girl. I took all of that
material, looked at my list of data points on a nar-
rative trajectory, and asked myself: Out of this
mass of material, what moments could fit where?
I started filling in the right side of the chart with
the plot of my novel.
To my great relief (and, to be honest, surprise),
I could, with a few exceptions, map out moments
I had already written to correspond with “fun and
games,” “dark night of the soul,” “midpoint,” and
“bad guys closing in.”
18 | The Writer • June 2019
The ending…not so much. I literally high-
ee
lighted the last 30 pages of my manuscript and
hit Delete.
d
But that act of radical excision didn’t worry me
too much, because now I had a strategy to fix the
Ba
problems! There would be nonstop action! There
would be a narrative arc with steadily increasing
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stakes! I had a strategy!
What I lacked were tactics. I played with a few
ideas of how to implement this new narrative
03
structure. In college, my process for writing papers
had been to first write a “vomit draft” of all my
14
ideas, unencumbered by the need for lucidity or
persuasion. Then I would print it out, start with a
90
blank document and actually retype the whole
thing, editing and refining as I went. I considered
77
doing that with my manuscript. It would have been
tidy – organized. I’m a chronological writer by
21
nature, so it appealed to those instincts.
But practicality raised its polite head – I had
8
already spent so long first finishing the damn thing
and then well over a year looking for an agent. If I
didn’t want to spend another two years getting it
ready to submit to publishers, then there was no
time to painstakingly retype 80,000 words.
So I did what I always do, because it is the way
I am wired: I went direct and very, very messy.
 Manuscript surgery
I started cutting and pasting huge sections. There
was no finessing, no pre-work, no planning. I
would highlight 25 pages from three quarters of
the way into the book, hit cut, move back to page
40, and hit paste. I did this all over the manuscript,
four or five different times, until the sections I had
mapped out to correspond with the dramatic arc I
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wanted were placed in the correct order.
Cutting and pasting is generally a quickly
in
achieved function. This, however, was not. This
was painful, on a visceral, almost physically pain-
us
ful level. And it wasn’t because I was harming my
precious manuscript, killing the darlings and
on
eviscerating my crystalline prose. It’s because I
was actively taking a document that made sense
and basically forcing it into nonsense. (Keep in
w
mind, this was just cutting and pasting: no
ha
smoothing out transitions, making connections
between scenes, no real writing at all.)
ts
It was hard because I was taking a 300-plus page
document that I had spent years polishing and I
ap
was, on purpose, breaking it. It defied logic, to the
point that my brain would shut down sometimes
p
in sheer self-defense, or maybe rebellion.
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But eventually I had it: a glorious disaster of a
manuscript, ready for me to make it make sense.
av
And then, slowly, page by page, chapter by chap-
ee
ter, going in rigid chronological order so that I
wouldn’t miss anything, I did.
d
On the phone with my parents, both writers
themselves, I described it this way: “It’s like I’m
re-breaking a poorly healed bone so that I can set
it properly.” I was deep in the trenches when I
said that – my husband still turns pale when I
bring up that editorial month. But I can think of
no better metaphor in hindsight. In order to
make something really good, you have to break
something decent. There’s no way to outsmart
yourself, to make that step unnecessary.
I learned that again very recently.
Back in the operating room
My next YA novel, a fantasy this time, sold to my
publisher earlier this year. It’s called Wench and
should be coming out in fall 2020. I had initially
conceived of the story as a duology, maybe even a
series opener. But when my editor bought my
pitch of 60 pages and a synopsis, she only gave
me one note: “We’d like to make this as stand-
alone as possible.”
It was a totally fair request. When a newbie
author is daydreaming about their career, fantasy
trilogies have a special aura of prestige, especially
in the realm of YA, but the fact is there are
already a ton of them – maybe even too many.
Standalone fantasies, when done well, are in great
demand for readers who love genre, but don’t
want to wait a year to finish reading a story. I’m
one of those readers myself, so, while I knew I’d
have to kill a few darlings, I was game.
However.
It should be noted that when I sent her 60
pages and a synopsis, I had a complete 500-page
draft already completed. I had drafted it in the
waiting spaces of Bad Girl’s schedule – first wait-
ing for my eventual editor to buy it, then her
notes, then her line edits, then the copyedits, etc.
All of that blank space translates into a ton of
time where one has nothing to do but either
twiddle one’s thumbs – so, instead, I wrote some-
thing new. I recommend this to all authors who
want to hang on to their sanity. And I had really
outlined this time, too, even using the two col-
umns system detailed above.
I took great pains to structure the story very
carefully, so that I wouldn’t have to again cut my
manuscript into pieces, throw them into the air
like confetti, and hope that when they landed, they
rearranged themselves in the shape of a book.
But my editor didn’t need to see that rigor-
ously structured 500-page draft to give me that
note. And now my task was to somehow super-
impose a tight narrative arc on a 500-page manu-
script that had been designed as a Part One, with
a whole Part Two to delve into speculative cul-
Ba
tures and develop the relationship between pro-
tagonist and antagonist. And, as much as I had
iG
been patting myself on the back for outlining,
conceiving of Wench as a series had allowed me
to skip making a lot of decisions: I didn’t have to
03
have a clear handle on the mysteries of, say, a
character’s history, or the origin of an artifact, or
14
even if there was going to be a love interest – I
could deal with that next book.
90
As a standalone? Not so much.
As of writing this, my first draft is due in six
77
weeks. And, with nowhere else to turn, last week I
started doing the only thing I knew might work.
21
I highlighted a 15-page stretch of text and hit
cut. I scrolled back 30 pages and hit paste.
8
Only 18 more of those to go.
Maxine Kaplan lives in her hometown of Brooklyn, NY,
where she works as a private investigator and caters to the
whims of a dimwitted but soulful cat. She is the author of
The Accidental Bad Girl and the upcoming Wench, coming
Fall 2020 from Amulet Books for Young Readers.
writermag.com • The Writer | 19
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20 | The Writer • June 2019

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Jo
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ARE YOUR HOBBIES HELPING

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OR HURTING YOUR WRITING?

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BY JOSH SIPPIE
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writermag.com • The Writer | 21

 riting, for most of us, is a hobby. When someone that you should be happy to dive into
asks what we do, we answer, “I work in the ser- on a regular basis.
vice industry,” “I’m an electrician,” or any number
of positions that don’t involve a lot of creative writ- HOBBIES
ing – or creativity in general. Given the need to There are plenty of hobbies that writ-
Jo

make money, there isn’t a lot of time to commit to our ers can pick up to accomplish this
craft; thus, managing time becomes critical to our success as writers. task of distracting themselves – recre-
in

Success as a writer, however defined, requires time. No one is waiting ational sports, video games, cooking,
for you to turn in that poem or short story or novel. You have to want it, but pottery, lion taming – if it interests
us

sometimes the more you want it, the harder it becomes, especially when you, and you enjoy doing it, why not
you hit a creative block. As anyone who has ever untangled a basketball- indulge yourself from time to time?
on

sized knot of Christmas lights can attest to, the more frustrated you get, This is your life, after all; how you
the more you try to twist and pull, the worse it becomes. It’s difficult to spend it is completely up to you. If
get yourself into the right mindset even when the time is available. you want to allow yourself to break
w

When writer’s block swoops in like the fifth horseman of the apoca- from the work that writing often
ha

lypse, the best solution is counterintuitive, given that time is a precious becomes and relax, then by all means,
commodity: Step away from the page. Engage in some kind of distrac- take a load off.
ts

tion. Anything to stop your mind from tying itself into an even more com- But remember – while you’re not
plex knot by hacking away at a keyboard when you know the quality just writing, no one else is going to be writ-
ap

isn’t there. ing it for you. There’s no denying it: If

That doesn’t mean you completely shut off your brain, however. The you get too engaged in pottery, or
p

key lies in finding an activity or hobby that still feeds your creativity even pyromancy, or scuba diving, you will
N

when you aren’t actively writing. Give your mind something else to focus spend time away from the page. And
no matter how you define success as a
av

on, something that keeps you engaged creatively but without having to
focus on that knot, and you may find that the unraveling is happening writer, losing your time to write is
ee

without you even thinking about it. never a good thing.

Managing time as a writer is a constant tug-of-war. You must be brutally Ian S. Port, author of The Birth of
d

honest with yourself about what’s important and what’s not. You have to Loud: Leo Fender, Les Paul, And The
be strict about what is worth your time. For each activity or distraction you Guitar-Pioneering Rivalry That Shaped
Ba

pursue, ask yourself: Does this complement my writing or take away from Rock ‘N’ Roll, answered pretty suc-
it? If there are distractions out there that boost your creativity rather than cinctly when asked in an interview
iG

draining it, wouldn’t that be a good investment of your spare time? what he did outside of writing. “Writ-
Let’s explore some useful distractions. ers have to be careful with how many
hobbies they pick up outside of writ-
03

ing,” he says. (His hobby is playing gui-

tar, in case you couldn’t guess from the
14

subject matter of his book.)

READING your toe on a buried treasure chest in So occasionally these hobbies, these
90

We have to read, right? As Stephen Nassau? Whether you choose a long distractions that allow you to step away
King said in his book On Writing, “If or short piece, you have to read other from your writing, suddenly take on a
77

you don’t have time to read, you don’t people’s work to know where yours negative tilt, simply because they’re
have time to write.” This serves two fits – which website, which agent, stealing away time that could be spent
21

purposes: First, the more you read, the which publisher. on your writing. It’s like consuming
better you write. You can learn from So count reading as a de facto activ- empty calories, and I don’t know about
8

the technique of those who have pub-
lished before you.
Secondly, without reading, how
would we know where to submit that
novel about the soccer mom who
finds a severed arm in her azaleas or
that essay about the time you stubbed
22 | The Writer • June 2019
ity for writers, something you can’t
ignore or put off. No matter if it’s
audiobooks or the printed page, you
need time set aside for reading within
your realm. And this shouldn’t be an
inconvenience, either: Reading is a
constant source of fuel and inspiration
you, but I’m trying to lose some weight
around the midsection. These distrac-
tions occupy your mind, which may be
a good thing if you’re stressed and
need to step away, but again – that
writing is going nowhere if you aren’t
showing it where to go.
 But what if that distraction could
also complement your creativity?
Take it from me. I’ve spent the last
few years trying to learn the banjo, the
piano, French, Polish, Welsh, karate,
Jo
mountain climbing, and all manner of
things, but they all fizzled, snuffed out
in
by the drive to write and the inescap-
able truth that, unfortunately, there are
us
only 24 hours in the day. Surprisingly,
the only hobby that survived – and
on
continues to survive – is video games.
And there’s a reason why. Video
games, while distracting and (as mom
w
used to say) unproductive, are story-
ha
driven. I find they complement my
creativity, giving me ideas, inspiration,
ts
and fuel for writing without me
actively seeking it out. Before I know
it, after just a couple of hours, the cre-
ative juices are flowing again.
Think about the hobbies that you
hold onto and really examine them,
because inspiration strikes different
writers in different ways. Maybe you
always seem to get inspired when you’re
wakeboarding or when you’re kneading
dough. Those are hobbies to cherish.
They serve the dual purpose of provid-
ing a break from writing while still
keeping you in a creative mindset where
you generate ideas and inspiration.
In that sense, no time is lost. Any
hours you spend engaging in a hobby
that opens up your creativity is time
well spent because when you come
back to your writing, your mind has
rejuvenated and maybe, just maybe,
you’ll already have a plan in place; a
plan deduced while the second batch
of bagels were rising.
Let’s be honest: Not every hobby
works like that. Some are blatant time
suckers. Plenty of writers out there
spend time on mind-numbing apps or
online poker and don’t get anything out
of it. And that’s fine if you’re okay giving
away that much time to something that
isn’t furthering your creative endeavors,
but if you want to make inroads into a
very competitive creative writing world,
you can’t spend five hours a day win-
ning the Super Bowl in the latest rendi-
tion of Madden NFL.
Be wary of hobbies that act like
pushing the pause button on your life.
The problem is that the only one
paused is you. All you’re doing is put-
ting a bookmark in the story that
you’re working on, only to come back
to it when you don’t have anything new
to bring to the project.
MINDFUL ACTIVITIES
Not every activity that you engage in
outside of writing has to be a grand
endeavor. You don’t have to circum-
navigate the world in a one-person
sailboat or genetically modify an ear of
corn that replenishes itself all in the
ap
name of creativity. There are plenty of
activities that can serve the same dual
p
purpose of giving you that necessary
N
distance from your writing while also
engaging with your creativity.
av
Going for a walk or a run is the sim-
ee
plest thing you can do to get in a better
mindset. Sitting at a desk all day isn’t
d
always the best thing for a human
being, and taking a walk around the
Ba
block, the neighborhood, the whole
town, lets you stretch your legs and
iG
your mind. It also provides another
intangible: perspective, letting in the
world around you. Observations pro-
vide fuel for creativity as you eaves-
drop on a conversation or run your
hand along the coarse brick of a neigh-
boring brownstone.
Cleaning the house gives perspec-
tive, too. It’s therapeutic to accom-
plish a good cleansing and provides
peace of mind that settles the meta-
phorical dust kicked up by your latest
foray into writing. Plus, it will feel
good to walk barefoot across the
room without all that loose cat litter
sticking to your feet.
RESEARCH
Another way to look at this topic is
from a research standpoint. Maybe
you’re writing about a main character
who’s a surfer, and you’ve always
wanted to surf yourself. What better
time to take up a creative distraction
that you’ve never had the time for than
in the name of knowing more about it
for your writing?
No matter what you’re writing,
chances are there is going to be some
research involved. That means giving
up even more time. But if your
research doubles as a detour for your
mind, it’s like the old cliché says –
you’re killing two birds with one stone.
And it doesn’t even have to be a
major aspect of what you’re writing.
The characters you’re creating within
your writing should be like real people
themselves. That’s the goal of character
building, to make them so lifelike that
they come off the page. Well, real peo-
ple have hobbies, meaning that your
characters probably have hobbies too,
right? So why not make their hobbies
your hobbies, even if they’re tempo-
rary? If your protagonist loves garden-
ing, why not see if that activity puts
you in the head of that character even
more? And if you can drop in specific
references, like why taro plants prefer
the shade to the sun, then your credi-
bility as an author just went up and
your protagonist just started stretching
her legs for when she stands up and
03
walks right off the page.
No matter how much you love to
14
write, none of us can spend every wak-
ing second of free time in front of the
90
keyboard. The key to maintaining a
successful writing life is guarding the
77
hours, ensuring that time spent away
from the page is time that will eventu-
21
ally help your story prosper.
8
Josh Sippie is the Director of Contests and Con-
ferences at Gotham Writers Workshop in New
York City, where he also teaches various blogging
classes. His work has appeared in the Guardian,
McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Hobart, Cobalt
Review, and more. Twitter @sippenator101, more
at joshsippie.com.
writermag.com • The Writer | 23
 H O
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m e r t el y.
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24 | The Writer • June 2019
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writermag.com • The Writer | 25

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“Writing comes from reading, and reading is the
finest teacher of how to write.”
—Annie Proulx
S
erious novelists know the truth of Proulx’s words,
Jo
and so they are attentive readers. When they read
a novel, they dig deep into it. They get down to
in
its inner workings, the gears that make the
wheels turn. They think about myriad story con-
us
nections. They consider craft.
With great novels, several questions naturally arise: How
on
does this novelist create such compelling characters?
How does she handle plot and structure so well?
What makes this style so perfect?
w
As artists, novelists may read for pleasure, but they also
ha
want to take away as much as they can from the fictional
craft in action. They appreciate fresh perspectives on the
ts
world, insightful ideas – plus the various strategies for han-
dling these adeptly in a dramatic work of fiction. But they
ap
also pay attention to what the greats say: about craft, pro-
cess, and the writing life itself.
p
It all comes down to influence. If you want to be success-
N
ful in an extremely competitive market, you need to read the
best in your genre; these great works will inform your own.
av
We asked five seasoned novelists to name their important
ee
authorial influences, the greatest novelists who have made a
difference in their writing and in their writing life.
d
If you’re in the market for some good summer reading,
consider these five writers as well as the novelists who have
influenced them. Nota bene!
LAURA VAN DEN BERG
Author of four books, most recently the
novel The Third Hotel, Laura van den
Berg lives in Cambridge, Massachu-
setts. She has taught creative writing in
the MFA program at Columbia Univer-
sity, the Fine Arts Work Center in Prov-
incetown, and the Bread Loaf Writers’
Conference.
Yoko Tawada’s The Naked Eye: ‘New ways to see the world.’
In my most powerful reading and viewing experiences, I felt
like I was being consumed by the page or screen, that my own
self was collapsing into that of the book or film, that I was
outside of time. Yoko Tawada has been a very important
writer for me, and The Naked Eye (translated by Susan Ber-
nofsky) is my favorite of her books. In that novel, the narrator
travels to Germany for a youth conference and is promptly
kidnapped and held in captivity by a German man. In the
aftermath, she travels to Paris and becomes obsessed with
26 | The Writer • June 2019
Catherine Deneuve films; eventually, the stories
unfolding on the screen and the narrator’s inner
reality collapse into one, so that there’s little dis-
tinction between what is happening in “real life”
and what is unfolding on the screen. The corporeal
fades and the fictional takes over. Through dis-
rupting reality, The Naked Eye ultimately poses a
devastating question to the reader: What if the
only way to exist in the aftermath of such an over-
whelming physical and physic violation is to invent
a way to live as though you have no body at all?
I found that movement so compelling in The
Naked Eye and had Tawada’s novel in mind as I
worked on my most recent book, The Third Hotel.
The central character, Clare, travels to a film festi-
val in Havana to see the premier of a horror film,
but that is not the only screen she encounters.
There is also the film reel of memory; the city is
flooded with tourists taking photographs; there are
several films being made in secret. I was interested
in what might happen if the real-real bled into
these various “screens,” and that interest became a
guiding principle for narrative movement.
Of course, Yoko Tawada has a large body of
translated work beyond The Naked Eye. Last year,
she was awarded the National Book Award for
Translated Literature for her novel The Emissary,
and New Directions has also published a number
of her works, including Memoirs of a Polar Bear
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and The Bridegroom Was a Dog. For any reader
looking for new ways to see the world, I encour-
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age you to find her.
MARGARET VERBLE
03
Margaret Verble is an
enrolled citizen of the Chero-
14
kee Nation of Oklahoma.
Both her first novel, Maud’s
90
Line (finalist for the Pulitzer
Prize), and her new novel,
77
Cherokee America, are
Photos by (left to right): Paul Yoon, Mark Kidd, Frank Zauritz
largely set on her family’s
21
allotment land.
8
Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: ‘A
remarkable work’
Most of the written influences on Cherokee Amer-
ica are 19th- and early 20th-century nonfiction
compilations of Cherokee history and lore. But
while I was writing, lurking in my mind was one
very famous American novel, Adventures of
 WHY READ THESE GREATS?
Laura van den Berg:
“Yoko Tawada’s The Naked Eye left me
changed as a reader. Tawada uses dislo-
cations to reality to uncover the beauti-
ful and frightening layers of our worlds.”
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Margaret Verble:
“In being funny about serious things,
in
Twain is always, above all, entertaining.”
us
Peter Nichols:
“St. Aubyn’s Patrick Melrose saga took
on
me to a place in writing my novel, The
Rocks, I might have not have found
without him.”
w
ha
Bernice L. McFadden:
“In her novel Who Asked You?, the
ts
statement ‘it’s clear to me right this
minute that regret is just a wasted emo-
ap
tion’ is a perfect summation of how
Terry has chosen to write her stories
p
and live her life. As I continue to use her
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as a compass, I, too, hope to live a life
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full of experiences and free of regret.”
Duff Brenna:
“Kennedy’s example of perseverance,
determination, and grit literally influ-
enced my ability to stick with the game
itself, when rejection after rejection
made me despair and sometimes
brought me to the brink of quitting.”
Huckleberry Finn. Huck Finn isn’t taught much
anymore because of Twain’s liberal use of the
n-word. We can debate the wisdom of that self-
censorship. I see both sides. And certainly, the
book was banned for different reasons long
before our current era. Still, it’s a remarkable
work, and everybody should read it at least once.
I had to read it several times. When I was in
my early 20s, I taught it, sometimes five times a
day, as part of the junior year English curriculum
at Hillsboro High School in Nashville, Tennessee.
I taught it so many times that I wished Huck and
Jim would drown when that steamboat rams their
raft. So many times that it imprinted itself on my
brain. So many times that, decades later, I see its
influence on Cherokee America.
Like Huck Finn, Cherokee America is comic in tone. Twain
didn’t believe, and I don’t either, that writing about serious
things has to sound dead serious. It can involve dark humor.
For instance, in Cherokee America, Lizzie, a female African-
American character who has suffered the loss of a child,
warns Jenny, her younger Cherokee friend, about getting
pregnant: “‘They’ll try to sweet-talk ya. That’s for certain.
They’s got honey dripping from their mouths. They can’t do
enough fer ya. And all they’s want is to get their sticks into ya.’
She poked her snake stick straight out in the air. Thrusted it in
a jabbing motion.” Here the dark humor resides in comparing
a stick associated with scaring snakes to the male appendage.
This scene also demonstrates another Huck Finn influ-
ence. That’s a book of two races and about people up and
down the social hierarchy. People of different races and
social classes are also constantly mixing in Cherokee Amer-
ica. I consider this one of the most important aspects of the
book. People did that in 1875 in Indian Territory, and I
believe many of our current divisions are rooted in the fact
we no longer even know anybody who isn’t like ourselves.
We have to become less segregated.
Finally, Twain wrote Huck Finn in the vernacular. That
got him in trouble when it was first published, and it’s got-
ten him in trouble again, but he paved the way for the rest of
us. Cherokee America is written close to the way the charac-
ee
ters would’ve spoken. That includes the occasional use of
Cherokee and Sequoyah’s syllabary. The Cherokee Nation
d
believes the preservation of our language is crucially impor-
tant, and I agree. Preserving language is one of a novelist’s
Ba
primary responsibilities.
To give Twain his full due, he has influenced not just me
iG
but the entire course of the American novel. He’s like that
big river right down the center of the country, forceful, eter-
nal, and changing as it rolls along.
03
PETER NICHOLS
14
Peter Nichols is the author of six books
of fiction, nonfiction, and memoir,
90
including The Rocks and the interna-
tional best-sellers A Voyage for Madmen
77
and Evolution’s Captain. He has been a
professor of creative writing at Antioch
21
University Los Angeles and other uni-
versities, including Georgetown Univer-
8
sity, NYU in Paris, and Bowdoin College.
Edward St. Aubyn’s ‘the Melrosiad:’ ‘Brilliant, darkly humor-
ous prose, with lessons on economy of narrative over
decades of a story.’
What I read is largely determined by what I’m writing at the
time. Writing goes on 24/7. Driving, showering, grocery
writermag.com • The Writer | 27
shopping, reading – especially when I’m reading. My con-
scious and subconscious minds are constantly screening,
trying on for size, scenes of my work-in-progress. Reading is
processed in the same place in my brain that produces my
writing. I read what I intuitively feel will be a good fit.
Jo
In 2012, I was writing a novel that became The Rocks, a
long, chronology-jumbled narrative of several dysfunctional
in
and intertwined families. It had a sort of an English voice – I
grew up in England – so I was reading contemporary Eng-
us
lish novels that I thought might have similar turf and struc-
tures: The Line of Beauty, Booker Prize winner, by Alan
on
Hollinghurst; The Northern Clemency, Booker finalist, by
Philip Hensher.
Oh, so you can do that? I thought many times, as both
w
authors picked up and dropped whole episodes involving
ha
different dramatis personae, over long periods, as I seemed
to want to do.
ts
Then I heard the buzz, reaching critical mass at the time –
I remember particularly Francine Prose’s rave in the New York
ap
Times – about the Patrick Melrose series of novels, written by
Hensher’s and Hollingshurst’s until-then-almost-unknown
p
contemporary, Edward St. Aubyn. The first four slim Melrose
N
novels – Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother’s Milk –
had been collected in a single volume, and I began with that.
av
Each short novel described a very brief period – two days, or
ee
a single evening – in the life of Patrick Melrose, the deter-
minedly self-destructive, drug-addled, fiercely intelligent
d
wastrel of a seriously deviant English upper-class family.
Bingo. St. Aubyn’s savagely funny, plainly autobiographi-
cal stories of drug addiction and family dysfunction, ren-
dered in brilliant, mordant prose, hit my reading sweet spot
in a way that nothing had since I’d binged on J.P. Donleavy
in my early 20s. As I finished the collected volume of the
first four novels, the final volume, At Last, wrapping up the
Melrose saga, was published, and I gobbled it up immedi-
ately by Kindle.
These short books (all five now collected in 880 pages)
cover Melrose from the age of 6 – a terrible, life-defining
episode at the hands of his father – to self-lacerating and
possibly wiser middle age. I read them as a single novel.
Decades pass between each episode in Patrick’s life, and I
learned from them exactly what I needed at the time: the
great economy of leaving out years of essentially useless nar-
rative information. The reader will fill it in nicely.
But the savage humor, St. Aubyn’s cracklingly intelligent
wit, made them the most entertaining and compelling read
since…I don’t know. Stuart Little? James Bond? More so: I
savored them as nothing before or since.
That was a sweet, probably unrepeatable time in my writ-
ing life: the complementary reading of what one reviewer
called “the Melrosiad,” and writing The Rocks.
28 | The Writer • June 2019
BERNICE L. MCFADDEN
Bernice L. McFadden is the
author of 15 novels (five
under the pen name Geneva
Holliday) and winner of the
American Book Award and
the NAACP Image Award for
Outstanding Literary Work
for The Book of Harlan. She
is a visiting assistant profes-
sor of creative writing at
Tulane University.
Terry McMillan: ‘Authenticity’
I first discovered Terry McMillan’s work in 1990. I
was working at a hotel company on Third Avenue
in Manhattan, and there happened to be a Barnes
& Noble directly across the street. I was reading
voraciously and working on my own novel. I pur-
chased her novel Mama, which had been published
a few years earlier. I think I read half of the book on
the 45-minute train ride home and then finished it
that night. I was enthralled by the storyline – I
knew those women she had written about – they
were so similar to the women who’d raised me. The
characters were multi-layered, complex, endearing,
and flawed. They were authentic, and that is one of
the hallmarks of Terry’s writing style. Authenticity.
The second-best thing about her writing is the
Ba
voice. She writes in first person, and whether she
has two characters or 10 characters, all of the voices
iG
are unique. That’s not always an easy feat to pull
off. But she does it time and time again with flaw-
less expertise.
03
After I devoured Mama, I picked up her sec-
ond novel, Disappearing Acts, and then, of course,
14
I pre-ordered Waiting to Exhale, which was due
to be published in a few months. It would be Ter-
90
ry’s breakout novel, selling millions of copies
worldwide and eventually becoming a block-
77
buster movie. This event would usher in a literary
Black renaissance not seen since the Harlem
21
Photos by (left to right): Makeda Miller, R. A. Rycraft
Renaissance of the 1920s.
While writing my debut novel, Sugar, I had
8
three books on my desk: Mama by Terry McMil-
lan was one of the three. Daily, I read a few pages
from each novel before I settled down to write. It
was ceremonial, much like reading the Bible
before one gets on her knees to pray.
Encouraged by Terry McMillan’s writing style
and her success, I began submitting my own stories
for publication, and for nearly 10 years I received
one rejection letter after the next. Seventy-five in
total. I’ve been asked, why didn’t I give up? I didn’t
give up because Terry McMillan hadn’t given up on
her dream. I was inspired by her tenacity and
Jo
refusal to take no for an answer. She wrote what
she wanted to write, the way she wanted to write it.
in
And that still holds true today.
us
DUFF BRENNA
Duff Brenna is the author of
on
nine books, including The
Book of Mamie, which won
the AWP Award for Best
w
Novel, and Too Cool, a New
ha
York Times Noteworthy Book.
He is professor emeritus of
ts
English literature and creative
writing at California State
ap
University, San Marcos.
p
Thomas E. Kennedy: ‘The writer as water’
N
For me, Thomas E. Kennedy is the emblem of per-
sistence. It took Kennedy 20 years to publish his
av
first story. In the 20 years following that first publi-
cation, he has published 40 books, more than 100
short stories, and numerous essays, translations,
and anthologies. He won the O. Henry Prize in
1994, the Pushcart Prize in 1990, the European
Magazine Prize in 1995, and in 1988 he was given
the Charles Angoff Award. He won the National
Magazine Award in 2008. His works have been
translated into Danish and Serbo-Croatian. From
2010 to 2014, Bloomsbury published the four nov-
els of Kennedy’s “Copenhagen Quartet” (In the
Company of Angels; Falling Sideways; Beneath the
Neon Egg; Kerrigan in Copenhagen: A Love Story).
Kennedy’s place in American letters has grown
exponentially in the past decade, a decade in which
it seems he has come out of nowhere to establish
himself as one of this country’s most beloved and
respected storytellers whose influence has taught
yours truly to persevere in spite of all the rejections
that I (along with countless other writers) have
experienced over the course of 30-plus years of tin-
kering with words and trying to master a craft that
sometimes seems beyond my talent. Kennedy has
been my inspiration. Whenever the words won’t
come, I grab one of his books and read page after
page until Kennedy’s rhythm, his style, his tone fills
my head. More often than not, I find myself back
at my desk pounding the keys as fast as I can.
Some years ago, I asked Mr. Kennedy how he was able to
handle 20 years of rejection. He told me that he once wrote
an article about rejection and sold it to Poets & Writers. He
said he researched the subject and found out that many
writers had sent their stories out over and over, sometimes
as many as 70 times. His research told him that one of
America’s greatest short story writers, the late Andre Dubus,
had sent one of his stories out 38 times before it found a
home. The article on rejection gave Kennedy a better per-
spective on himself as a writer experiencing dozens of rejec-
tions, and he said: “You realize it’s not personal. You learn to
be the water that wears away the stone.”
I tucked that quote away. I repeat it to myself every time I
get a “thanks but no thanks” from some editor toiling to
find a story that knocks his/her socks off. I’ve been an editor
and know what it’s like to find such a treasure and be able to
send an enthusiastic “Yes!” back to its author.
When I asked Kennedy if during his period of so much
rejection had he ever thought about quitting, “sure,” he said.
“But the next day I’d be back at my keyboard. A writer pro-
duces a story in much the same way that an oyster produces
a pearl, through pain and worry and irritation, and half the
time you have trouble even giving the thing away. But don’t
dwell on it. Your business is to write the best you can. To tell
ee
you the truth, after that initial 20 years of frustration, every
time I sell a story now I still feel like a kid on Christmas who
d
just opened the greatest present ever. I feel truly privileged
to get so much attention now for doing something I love.
Ba
Writing is the reward. The rest is gravy.”
iG
STUDY THE MASTERS
“Read, read, read. Read everything – trash, clas-
sics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just
03
like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and
studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it…”
14
—William Faulkner
90
Learn what works, and what doesn’t. Great work is bound to
influence you. This doesn’t mean being a copycat or any-
77
thing of that sort; it means absorbing what you can about
effective storytelling and insightful perspectives on the
21
world. But go beyond this – find out about successful novel-
ists’ lives, the way they’ve stuck it out for the long haul, and
8
what they have to say about that precious quality every
serous writer possesses: persistence.
Jack Smith is the author of four novels, three books of nonfiction, and
numerous reviews, articles, and interviews. His collection of articles on
fiction writing, Inventing the World, was recently published by Serving
House Books.
writermag.com • The Writer | 29
 FINDING
Jo
in
us
on
w
ha
ts
ap
p
N
av
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d
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IN THE PROCESS
iG
03
14

ROSS GAY SPINS ESSAYS AND POEMS BY OBSERVING

90
77

THE WORLD AROUND HIM AND QUESTIONING

21

HIS RELATIONSHIP TO IT.

8

HE IS DELIGHTED BY WHAT HE SEES.

BY TONI FITZGERALD

30 | The Writer • June 2019

 E
ssayist and poet Ross Gay questions
things. It’s a quality that makes him a per-
ceptive writer.
Sometimes he uncovers the answers through
his work. Sometimes these answers just lead to
Jo
more questions.
Take a poem he’s been writing for four years,
in
about Philadelphia 76ers great Julius Erving. How
can anyone describe a moment as dynamic as a Dr.
us
J dunk? How does witnessing such a feat of athleti-
cism impact how we look at ourselves? What does
on
human flight even mean? He becomes fascinated
by underlying doctrinal concepts, he says, and he
can’t finish the poem until he’s ticked through
w
them. Perhaps there is some comfort for the rest of
ha
us in knowing that even a National Book Award
finalist needs time and space to find the words.
ts
A Ross Gay work has a distinctive point of
view. His essays and poems are by turns mischie-
ap
vous, provocative, bemused. Gay skillfully knits
crass curses to $60-SAT verbs. He tackles meaty
p
subjects such as racism (see his searing poem
N
about Eric Garner, an African-American man
who died after being put in a chokehold by a
av
white NYC cop) and seemingly simple ones like
gardening (though perhaps they’re not so simple;
the Garner poem has a horticulture theme).
Gay has written four books and co-written
two chapbooks. For his most recent work, The
Book of Delights, the Indiana University professor
assigned himself a simple task: He would com-
pose an essay each day about something he
found delightful. It didn’t have to be big. It didn’t
have to be profound. Just something that caught
his fancy.
Gay began the project on his 42nd birthday.
He admits he skipped a few days in the year. Not
many. The 102 lyrical essays that made the cut
read like poetry, all rhythmic prose and intimate
revelations and enviable sentence structure. His
topics include getting an unexpected high-five
from a stranger, a random praying mantis, nick-
names (his and ones he’s given others), pecans,
and fireflies.
Gay has been traveling the country this year
giving readings from the new book. Forty-five
minutes before one such reading, the former col-
lege football player sat for an interview. He had
yet to decide which essays he’d read that day, but
he knew his mother and brother would be in the
audience, and he wanted to select material that
would surprise and, yes, delight them. Did he
succeed? This time, there’s a concrete answer –
yes, they later reported, he did.
I read in an interview that you came to poetry in col-
lege. What about it appealed to you at that point in
your life?
I was probably feeling – I was definitely feeling
alienated in various ways, and feeling some unar-
ee
ticulated rage and sorrow about a number of
things. Once I got introduced to the right poems,
d
I became aware of maybe a way to express those
things, articulate them.
Ba
What kinds of things? Why weren’t you express-
iG
ing them?
I don’t think I knew that I felt them.
03
Well, was there a particular poem that spoke to you?
The poem that I was really changed by was “An
14
Agony. As Now.” by Amiri Baraka. The first line
is, “I am inside someone who hates me.” It’s
90
about alienation. It really gets to the root of
things that a lot of people feel, maybe
77
more acutely at different times.
21
So you decided to try writing poetry?
I think there might be a kind of reflec-
8
tion in writing of seeing what you’re
thinking. Trying to sort of drill into
what you’re thinking more accurately,
to communicate to yourself, first, what
it is that you’re feeling. Often writers
have expressed not quite knowing what
they feel or think until they write or
writermag.com • The Writer | 31

say it. So it’s a kind of dialogue on the
page. It’s not that different than a dia-
logue with a person.
Do you know where the poem is going
when you start it?
No. There are things that I do not know
that I know until I think hard in a kind
Jo
of sustained and deep way, I guess.
in
How has your work evolved or changed
as you have aged as a poet?
us
You mean, has it gotten better or
worse? [Laughs.]
on
No, not necessarily like that. I know that
as I write, I find different things were
w
easier years ago than they are now. But
ha
other things get easier with age.
I feel like over the years, I’ve become
ts
more invested in a kind of written spo-
ken voice. And connected to that, that
I’m interested in the audience in a dif-
ferent way than I was before. I’m inter-
ested in caring for my audience. I don’t
mean taking care of them. I mean
being understanding. I understand that
someone reading something that I’ve
written is a generosity.
Describe your process as you work on a
poem. Do you wait for inspiration? Do
you have set hours you write every day?
This last book of essays, I gave myself
the task to write a short essay every day
for a year about something that
delighted me, that’s kind of what the
book is. I had a task, and the task was to
take 30 minutes to draft the essay. It
wasn’t like “20 minutes at night every
night,” I would get it in whatever time.
That was the most regimented I’ve been
for a while. I was usually kind of feeling
around for it [the object of delight].
But usually it’s thinking, reading,
studying, trying to find something that
turns you on and going for a bit. I’ve
been lucky to kind of ride it for some
days. It might get quiet for a bit, so I’ll
think and try to wake it up.
Was it different to write essays rather
than poems?
Yeah. Yeah, but in part, essays are a
32 | The Writer • June 2019
I w rite
es
etim
Som
n te n ce
e
as u c h.
so m
I love
el lik e
You f e
”
h h .
“afun to write
It’s so e like that.
nt enc
a se
vocal thing, too, and I feel like it’s a thing around here.” It’s really true, but I
ap
constraint of the discipline. To take 30 do not know yet how to ask the ques-
minutes and write about something tion I need to ask or what that thing is.
p
that delighted you is not that hard. To It’s something that I don’t know that I
N
do it for 30 minutes allows talkiness, really need to explore.
like you’re talking to someone. It is a Sometimes there’s an answer. Some-
av
little like telling someone something time it’s more like a better articulation
ee
real quick. of the question.
d
The titles of your poems are so telling – What’s an example of a question that
they help tell the story just as much as the puzzles you?
Ba
text of the poem. Do you name your poems I’m writing a book right now about my
before, during, or after you write them? relationship to the land. What is my
iG
Only once in my life have I done that relationship to the land? I have a million
before. I usually do it after. It’s possible questions, but that’s probably most often
in the midst of a draft, I’ll think, “It’ll the question I return to. My questions
03
probably be called this,” but I think it’s feel specific but also philosophical.
usually after. It’s something in the
14
poem or maybe even a jumping-off
that might be left far behind in the
90
poem. It’s a way to complicate the
poem or deepen it. Sometimes it’s the
77
first line of the poem.
21
Do you know how long a poem will be
when you start?
8
No, never. If I know much about a
poem before I start, I don’t write it. I
like it because not knowing what I’m
doing, I know that I have some sort of
question that I can’t fully articulate,
and I know I’m looking around for
it. It’s a feeling of, “there’s some-
How much time do you spend writing a
poem vs. revising it?
It varies from poem to poem. Most
often I spend a lot more time revising.
Some I’ve been writing for so long, I’m
revising a lot as I’m drafting it. When I
look at the versions, many versions of
the poem, they get different, formally
Jo
different, with new words.
in
As you revise, do you ever find the
meaning or theme of the poem evolves?
us
How and why?
You find the meaning, that’s where I
on
find out what the poem’s about, most
often. I find out what it’s really about.
Because of the revising, you get the
w
words that you don’t get in the first
ha
draft, that don’t just come out of my
head. You find the images, the preci-
ts
sion of the metaphors that don’t just
hang around. I happily bang around
my head to find them.
How do you find the right words?
Probably because I’m always reading,
and I have all these models. People have
beautiful language, and I like to be in
their company. I hang out with their
books and learn words from them.
How do you know when you have the
words right?
I guess again it depends on the poem.
Fiction or nonfiction, for it to be
right, you have to think about the
words. It makes it kind of tedious, a
lovely tedium.
Sometimes I just know, and I have
really good readers. I ask their opinion,
they’re good and generous. Sometimes
I have a writing group. I have a partner
who’s a really good reader for me. And
my friends.
Line breaks are such an interesting part
of poetry because you don’t have those
in other types of writing. How do you
craft your line breaks?
It varies from poem to poem. It’s
something about the body, I always
think. A line is an indication of the
breath. The way the poem breathes is
some kind of articulation of a relation-
ship to the body. The subject of the
poem relates to the body, but that’s dif-
ferent poem to poem. It probably
changes within poems.
I have several strategies depending
on what you want to do with the
breath and time and the revelation of
information. I do like to think about
lines as ways that I’m thinking about
the body.
The first poem in Catalog of
Unabashed Gratitude [his third book,
the one nominated for the 2015
National Book Award], “To the Fig
Tree on 9th and Christian,” it starts
tumbling through the city, blah, blah,
blah. In my mind, the line breaks, they
tumble. It’s kinda obvious. I was just at
a school, and these kids were asked by
their teacher, “What do you notice
about the line breaks?” They said they
kind of tumble. You kinda fall down
ap
them, they push you forward.
Poems are kind of narrow. I spent a
p
good amount of time thinking about
N
line breaks. Then I was moving stu-
dios and digging through my papers,
av
and I found these skinny notepads I
ee
was writing the poems on. That’s what
the shape of the thing I was writing
d
on was. So that’s partly why several of
my poems are skinny. It was a formal
Ba
constraint, a formal determinant of
writing on that paper. Sometimes, it’s
iG
just a notebook that makes you break
the line.
What did writing your book of essays
teach you? Did anything change for you
after undertaking that discipline?
A handful of things changed for sure. I
did realize that my labor was in study-
ing life. I think the ground moved, so
that I became more aware, more aware
of loveliness without becoming
unaware of unloveliness.
The other thing, among a million
things I learned in the process, was how
much I love sentences. I’ve always loved
them. Sometimes I write a sentence I
love so much. You feel like “ahh.” It’s so
fun to write a sentence like that.
I realized in the course of writing
that my study is a joy. I want to study
joy. This book helped me articulate
what I think joy is – to realize that’s
what my work is curious about. Joy to
me, adult joy, is constituted as much by
our sorrow as it is by our happiness.
Joy is not joy without knowing that
we’re all going to die. Pain is present
constantly in our lives.
How do you know when a poem is done?
Friends again. Sometimes I get it, but I
really rely on readers, even when I’m
writing. With the essays, if I could not
figure them out, I’d get them to a friend
and say, “What’s going on with this sen-
tence?” I’d wonder about it, toy with it.
Luckily, I have really good readers.
I also read the poems out loud
before I’m finished to hear how other
people hear them. It helps me a lot.
Poetry has a reputation for being less
accessible than prose. Do you agree
with that, and how do you combat that
perception?
Yeah, I agree. I did notice that when
writing these essays, I tell you, it feels
very different than the book about the
land, which feels more like a poem, but
these things, they feel way more narra-
tive-based. Very often they’re a story.
Sometimes they read like a poem but
feel like something interesting that
readers might feel like is poetry.
I feel like poetry is a way of thinking
musically, thinking associatively a little
more than I am with the essays,
03
although also with the essays I’m
thinking musically and associatively.
14
Poems feel a little more in conversa-
tion with the unknown. I feel like I often
90
turn to writing a poem when I don’t
have any idea how to approach a thing.
77
So do you think you’ll finish the poem
21
about Dr. J?
I’d like to finish it. God, yeah, I hope. I
8
haven’t finished a poem for a long
time, so it would be cool to finish.
Toni Fitzgerald is a freelance writer and the
copy editor for The Writer. She’s currently writ-
ing her first book – follow her ups and downs at
writermag.com/blog.
writermag.com • The Writer | 33
 PITCH
HOW TO
Jo
in
us
on
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ha
ts
ap
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N
av

LIKE A
ee

PRO
d
Ba
iG
03
14
90
77
21

A SEASONED FREELANCER’S
QUICK-AND-DIRTY GUIDE
8

TO GETTING PUBLISHED.

BY MELISSA PETRO

34 | The Writer • June 2019

 H
aving worked as a full-time freelance
writer for just shy of a decade, I
often find friends reach out to ask
me how I do it, hoping that they, too,
Jo

can get published.

in

A part of me wants to take umbrage –

after all, you wouldn’t presume that just
us

anyone could become a plumber or reach

on

out to a dentist friend and expect them to

direct message you everything they know
w

about root canals. At the same time, I know

ha

my editors are just as interested in your

personal journeys, passions, and opinions
ts

as they are in mine. And maybe they’re more

ap

interested in your story, because you’ve

p

never told it before (whereas, like most

N

writers with a beat, I’m a whiz at spinning

av

the same narrative or making similar

ee

arguments every opportunity that I can).

To publish short nonfiction essays
d

and articles online or in print, you

Ba

need only follow a few basic steps –

iG

and they’re the same steps whether

you’re a seasoned professional or
03

a total newbie. Those of us who

14

publish often take these same steps

again and again.
90
77
21
8
Illustrations by jesadaphorn/Shutterstock

writermag.com • The Writer | 35

1 2
DO YOUR
RESEARCH
The first step is to acquaint yourself with the mar-
ket. There are literally hundreds of places that want
Jo
your writing. Familiarize yourself with what’s out
there. Publications open and close quite frequently,
in
so stay up to date. Read, read, read. Follow other
writers and editors on social media. On Twitter,
us
search the phrase “pitch me” to find editors seek-
ing stories. There’s also a site called pitchwhiz.com
on
that curates editors’ calls for pitches.
Learn the difference between a service piece
and a feature, a personal essay and a reported piece
w
framed by your personal experience. You don’t have
ha
to know all the lingo, but you do need to know what
kind of writing various publications generally pub-
ts
lish…although knowing the lingo will help when it
comes to pitching your idea (more on that in a sec).
ap
p
N
3
av
MAKE CONTACT
ee
Once you’ve matched the perfect idea with
the perfect publication, it’s time to pitch. A
pitch or query letter is composed of three basic sections:
a lede or introduction, “the what,” and your credentials as
a writer and/or on the subject you’re pitching.
Let’s break that down further:
1. A lede is the start of your pitch. Maybe you
start the pitch the same way you start the essay.
If it’s a personal essay, that may be an anecdote.
Lure us in with the inciting incident or an other-
wise dramatic moment lifted from the story. Or
maybe you’ll lede with a newspeg, something
currently being talked about in the news. Explain
clearly and concisely what’s going on (hyperlink it
to a timely article). Answer a question: Why now?
2. The next section is “the what” – a paragraph
or two that succinctly describes to the editor
exactly what you’re offering, i.e. “I’d love to write
a 1,200-word reported essay about the housing
crisis in New York, and how poor and working
class people like myself are being pushed out of
36 | The Writer • June 2019
MAKE A LOVE
CONNECTION
Sometimes you have a completed essay or an
idea for a piece that you’re eager to write. Find
the right publication for that idea. Other times, we
start with the publication in mind. Peruse the site.
As you read, ask yourself: What do I have to con-
tribute to the conversation? What hasn’t already
been said?
You wouldn’t try to sell a steamy personal essay
about the time you inadvertently attended a sex
party to Real Simple. But that idea may be just
right for Cosmopolitan or Vice. Similarly, you’d skip
Playboy if you were looking to place a breezy ser-
vice piece on caring for antique dinnerware or a
fiery op-ed on the importance of physical educa-
tion classes in school. Few ideas are inherently
good or bad – it’s all about finding a good fit.
d
the city we call home. Framed by my personal
experience, the essay will explore how services
Ba
in place to help people with rent fail to...” and so
on. If there’s a story with a beginning, middle,
iG
and end, spell that out. Explain the ending – avoid
sentiments like “find out what happens when...”
Instead, tell the editor what happens when. No
03
cliffhangers. End this section with a sentence
like, “Ultimately, readers need to know [what].”
14
Tell us what your argument is. Tell us why the
story matters. (If you didn’t lede with a newspeg
90
and there is one, you might mention it here.)
77
3. The last section is a paragraph on your cre-
dentials as a writer and/or on the subject that
21
you’re writing about. Why are you the perfect
person to write this story? Answer this question
8
here. If you’ve published similar writing before,
send the editor links, often called clips. If you
don’t have clips, that’s OK. Hopefully the story
idea is unique enough – and you’ve proven your-
self to be the right person to write it – that
they’ll take a chance.
 4
HIT SEND AND
FOLLOW UP

Publications don’t make it hard to find editors’

contact information – so long as you’ve done
Jo

your homework, they really do want your pitches.

Go to the publication’s website and look for a
in

section entitled “contact us,” “write for us,”

“submission guidelines,” or something similar. If
us

the submission guidelines ask you to do some-

thing other than what I’m telling you to do here,
on

follow that editor’s instructions instead of mine

(duh). Sometimes, for example, an editor will ask
you to send a piece “on spec.” This means they
w

only consider completed drafts rather than

ha

pitches. It’s up to you if you want to write an

essay for them without the promise that they’ll
ts

publish it.
After you’ve sent off your pitch, a couple
ap

things might happen. You might get an email back

along the lines of, “I love this idea! It’s perfect.”
p

Awesome, that means you’ve just scored an

N

FEW IDEAS
assignment. Other times, an editor might get
av

back to you with a “maybe” response. Maybe

they need to clear it with the editor above them.
ee

Or they might have questions. They may suggest

a different angle or in some other way change

ARE INHERENTLY
d

your idea. The editor might take a while to

respond, they might not respond at all, or you
Ba

might get a rejection.

If you get a yes, excellent! From here, make
iG

sure you clarify the deadline (that’s when the edi-

GOOD OR BAD –
tor expects you to turn in the story), and confirm
your rate (that’s how much money the publication
03

is paying you for your services). A rate for any

given assignment can be anything from 0 dollars to
14

thousands of dollars. Check out the site whopays-

IT’S ALL ABOUT

writers.com for an idea of how rates vary.
90

If the editor doesn’t respond to your pitch, fol-

low up in a week or so. And if the answer is no, do
77

not despair! Seasoned writers like myself get lots

FINDING A
and lots of rejections.
21

The truth is that publishing short nonfiction is a

lot less about talent than it is tenacity: If there’s
8

any secret to becoming a published writer, it is

learning to weather the rejections and silences.

GOOD FIT.
Repeat the steps until you get your yes.

Melissa Petro is a freelance writer and writing instructor liv-

ing in New York City. Follow her on Twitter: @melissapetro.

writermag.com • The Writer | 37

LITERARY SPOTLIGHT
BY MELISSA HART
Jo
Writing by underrepresented voices pairs beautifully with curated
in
visual art in this multi-genre journal.
us
P
h.D. students Kelly Caldwell
and Cassie Donish run much
on
of their 4-year-old literary
magazine, The Spectacle, out
of their kitchen near Washington Uni-
w
versity in St. Louis. They’re passionate
ha
about the intersection of critical theory
and creative writing.
ts
“We’re interested in providing
space for people to do weird and
interesting hybrid and crossover
pieces,” Caldwell says, explaining that
as a scholar herself, she has found it
difficult at times to claim the identity
of poet as well. “Our goal is to open
up the space for possibility in The
Spectacle,” she says.
To that end, she and Donish and
the magazine’s genre editors also want
to emphasize the connection between
literary and visual arts. Most pieces
that appear in the biannual online
publication are paired with original
art from a variety of contributors.
“The art is either made in response to
a piece, or it’s curated,” Caldwell
explains. “Each issue becomes a small
art exhibit.”
Tone, editorial content
Caldwell and other editors at The Spec-
tacle want to give minority and queer
voices space to talk about whatever
subjects move them in the moment.
“The writing doesn’t have to have any-
thing to do with things that other peo-
ple might expect from you,” she
explains. “Writing about a black body,
a queer body, transition, queer desire –
those are all very important things and
great things, and we have published
pieces that hit those notes. But we are
38 | The Writer • June 2019
The Spectacle
also really into giving marginalized
people the permission to do what
mainstream writers do all the time,
which is just write casually about
whatever they want without it being a
burdened process.”
Caldwell herself is trans, and she
rejects the assumption that she writes
always from the perspective of a queer
theorist. “I’m really happy to see eco-
ap
poetry from a trans writer,” she
explains. “The writing doesn’t have to
p
be about gender and identity.”
N
Contributors
av
Past contributors to The Spectacle
ee
include Japanese-American writer
Karen Tei Yamashita, trans gender-
d
queer feminist TC Tolbert, and Daniel
Borzutzky – the first-generation son of
Ba
Chilean immigrants. Issue #6, out at
the beginning of 2019, includes fiction
iG
by Asian-American writer David E.
Yee and nonfiction by retired pediatri-
cian Laura Johnsrude.
Johnsrude’s piece, “Look at my
Chest,” begins:
“Tom Petty dies of a heart
attack on the day of my breast
biopsy. I picture him, this rock
star I loved, looking down at his
chest, clutching it with his
hand, and then collapsing, lying
down for the last time. If I live
as long as Tom Petty, I only
have ten more years.”
In 2019, editors ran a series of short
essays under the heading “Internet
Mythologies” that explore creative
interactions with technology.
INSIDE LITERARY MAGAZINES
“We are committed to publish-
ing work from underrepresent-
ed voices, including people
of color, women, LGBTQ and
gender-non-conforming art-
ists/writers, and people who
have disabilities.”
ONLINE, BIANNUAL WITH YEAR-
ROUND BLOG.
Genres: Fiction, poetry, nonfiction.
Reading period: Varies. See website for
details.
Length: Poetry to 8 pages; fiction/nonfic-
tion from 500 to 5,000 words.
Submission format: Online submission
manager, via website.
Payment: $50; no payment for contribu-
tions to “The Revue.”
Contact: Editors Kelly Caldwell and
Cassie Donish.
thespectaclemagazine@gmail.com,
03
thespectacle.wustl.edu
14
Contributors included digital humani-
90
ties scholars Melanie Walsh and Micah
Bateman. “We sought out people who
77
have multiple degrees, who have true
scholarly expertise, but they’re inter-
21
ested in interacting with it in a way
that’s more accessible and adventur-
8
ous,” Caldwell explains.
She was particularly thrilled to
publish three of trans poet Jos
Charles’ pieces in Issue Six. “They’re
three very small poems which unfold
with surprise,” she says. “They’re
really powerful.”
 Caldwell is also delighted to have
Aaron Coleman’s interview with Afri-
can-American poet Jericho Brown in
Issue Six. “It came out right before
Brown’s new book, and the interview
Jo
resonated with a lot of different peo-
ple,” Caldwell explains. “It was exciting
in
to have Jericho’s voice so clearly avail-
able for people to engage with.”
us
Advice for potential contributors
on
Editors at The Spectacle are always
looking for interviews with writers,
musicians, politicians, and others.
w
They request an email query before-
ha
hand, explaining whom the writer
plans to interview and why. “The
ts
Revue,” The Spectacle’s eclectic blog,
runs interviews, short poems and flash
prose, as well as humorous short pieces
including lists and comics, and book
Advertise to our readers
in print and online at:
writermag.com/authors-marketplace
CALL FOR DETAILS:
Alexandra Piccirilli, (617) 279-0213,
apiccirilli@madavor.com
“We’re definitely to 5,000 words, while poets are asked
to submit three to five poems or a total
interested in
of eight pages. Nonfiction up to 5,000
nontraditional voices, words may include literary journalism,
in people of color and memoir, and personal essay.
“An important aspect of The Specta-
queer writers, though cle is that we’re a very queer magazine,
we’ve published a lot although we’re not labeled as such,”
says Caldwell. “We’re definitely inter-
of straight writers, ested in nontraditional voices, in peo-
too. We aim to provide ple of color and queer writers, though
we’ve published a lot of straight writ-
marginalized writers ers, too. We aim to provide marginal-
with a creative, readily ized writers with a creative, readily
available space.”
available space.”
Contributing editor Melissa Hart is the
reviews, plus hybrid pieces. author of Better with Books: 500 Diverse Books
Reading periods vary, so check the to Ignite Empathy and Encourage Self-Accep-
ap
website for current information. Fic- tance in Tweens and Teens (Sasquatch, 2019).
tion writers are welcome to submit up melissahart.com.
p
N
av
ee
THE AUTHOR’S
d
MARKETPLACE
Ba
EVERYTHING THAT’S NEW & NOTABLE
iG
FOR WRITERS THIS SEASON
03
Do you have a book that you would
14
like to promote? Want to get your
work in front of more readers?
90
We’ve created a platform designed specifically for
77
authors who wish to promote their work, be it a
book, website, or special project. Target The Writer ’s
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book-loving audience today!
8
writermag.com • The Writer | 39
CONFERENCE INSIDER
BY MELISSA HART
Sanibel Island Writers Conference
Jo
Steve Almond, Julianna Baggott, and Karen Russell are just a few
in
of the experts you’ll find at this beautiful seaside conference.
us
on
w
ha
ts
N
ovember in much of the
U.S. can be a bleak
month of leafless trees
and rain or snow and
cold. Not so on Sanibel Island in Flor-
ida, home to the Sanibel Island Writ-
ers Conference. Conference director
Tom DeMarchi explains that the
beach location lends a retreat-like
vibe with an energy conducive to both
creativity and camaraderie.
Along with a four-day lineup of
workshops, panels, readings, and key-
notes, attendees enjoy walks on the
beach, night swimming, and festive
after-hours concerts and singalongs
with critically acclaimed professional
40 | The Writer • June 2019
ap
p
N
av
ee
d
Ba
iG
musicians invited to lead conference
workshops on songwriting.
“We’re open to everyone writing
regardless of genre,” DeMarchi says.
“We want everyone from absolute
beginners to people who might already
be published novelists, but feel like
they want to be surrounded by creative
people to get the juices flowing again.”
Attendees at the conference range
from high school and college students
to mid-career adults to writers in their
90s. “These older writers are at the
stage in which they want to document
their life in an interesting story to give
as a book to their family members,”
DeMarchi explains. “Older people say
03
they love the energy and openness of
younger students, and younger stu-
14
dents love having older people there
with so much experience and wisdom.”
90
A few years back, he invited a very
Photos by (left to right): Sheri Swailes/Shutterstock, Tom DeMarchi
young student to attend the confer-
77
ence. He’d received a call from the
mother of a grammar school child.
21
“She said ‘My kid won’t stop writing
stories. Can he attend the confer-
8
ence?’” DeMarchi recounts. “I said that
was totally fine, as long as she came
with him.”
What you’ll learn
Previous presenters at the Sanibel
Island Writers Conference include

Jo
in
us
on
w
ha
Alastair Moock plays at the 2018 Sanibel Island Writers Conference.
ts
novelists Carl Hiaasen and Tim
O’Brien, poet Richard Blanco, nonfic-
tion author Susan Orlean, and punk
rock legend Henry Rollins.
Numerous best-selling authors will
appear at the November 2019 confer-
ence, offering workshops in fiction,
nonfiction, and poetry. Novelist and
short story writer Steve Almond will
teach a workshop on characterization
as well as lead a small-group manu-
script workshop on creative nonfic-
tion. Novelist and memoirist Joyce
Maynard will lead a workshop on writ-
ing memoir, while novelist Julianna
Baggott will teach a workshop focused
on young adult fiction.
Michael Ruhlman, who attended
the Culinary Institute of America as a
journalist, will share his knowledge of
food writing. Screenwriting professor
Mark Evan Schwartz will teach a work-
shop on screenwriting, while author
and activist Stephanie Elizondo Griest
will talk about travel writing. Poets
Major Jackson, January Gill O’Neil,
and Annemarie Ní Churreáin will lead
workshops in poetry.
For an extra $100, participants can
meet privately with a writer, agent, or
editor to discuss a particular manu-
script or participate in a small-group
manuscript workshop led by a
ap
CONFERENCE:
Sanibel Island Writers
p
Conference
DATES:
N
Nov. 7-10 2019
av
COST:
$300-$550;
ee
scholarships available
LOCATION:
d
Sanibel Island, Florida
Ba
CONTACT:
Director Tom DeMarchi at
iG
tdemarch@fgcu.edu
www2.fgcu.edu/siwc
presenter, in which writers discuss and
critique each other’s manuscripts.
Featured presenters
Participants will gain insights into pro-
fessional publishing from Jill Bialosky,
executive editor and vice president at
W.W. Norton & Company, as well as
from literary agents Christopher
Schelling and Jenny Bent.
DeMarchi is excited to welcome
novelist and short story writer Karen
Russell to the 2019 conference, as well
as mystery and crime novelist Joe Clif-
ford. Songwriter John K. Samson, who
records and tours as a local musician,
often teaches a workshop at the
conference in which he shows slides of
paintings that have inspired his songs.
“He performs the song and annotates it
as he goes along, talking about the
decisions he makes relating to rhythm,
tempo, and how chords come together,”
DeMarchi says.
Another singer-songwriter, Dan
Bern, teaches an interactive workshop
in which attendees sit in a large circle
and start singing together, making up
verses. “They get into the spirit of writ-
ing a song and becoming uninhibited,”
DeMarchi says. “He talks about all the
things you see in poetry workshops –
attention to language and rhythm –
and about the same things you see in
fiction workshops, like character and
suspense development in narrative.”
Advice for first-time attendees
The casual beach atmosphere of the
conference lends a feeling of celebration.
Participants and faculty mingle to stroll
along the beach, get together for meals,
and play shuffleboard beside the pool
until the wee hours. While conference
staff provide morning coffee and pas-
tries and a nightly cocktail party with
appetizers, participants are responsible
for their own meals. Often, they get
together with writers they’ve just met to
take advantage of local restaurants.
As at any conference, making an
03
effort to be outgoing and friendly can
greatly enhance your experience.
14
DeMarchi tells first-timers at the con-
ference to show up with an open mind
90
and a great deal of enthusiasm. “Bring
a big notebook and some writing uten-
77
sils,” he suggests, “along with some
sunscreen and bug repellent.”
21
Don’t forget your swimsuit…and,
maybe, a guitar.
8
Contributing editor Melissa Hart is the
author of the middle-grade novel Avenging the
Owl (Sky Pony, 2016) and Better with Books: 500
Diverse Books to Ignite Empathy and Encourage
Self-Acceptance in Tweens and Teens (Sas-
quatch, 2019). melissahart.com.
writermag.com • The Writer | 41
MARKETS
COMPILED BY TONI FITZGERALD
Literary advantages
Even though many don’t offer payment and some are more popular
Jo
than others, literary journals are a great way to get your writing’s foot in
an editor’s door. Some writers may overlook smaller publications in or-
in
der to concentrate on bigger projects, but doing so could be a mistake.
Whether you’re looking to apply to an MFA program or want to build
us
your publishing portfolio, having your work appear in a literary maga-
zine or journal can be a big first step toward your dream career.
on
The magazines listed here are a sampling of what the industry has to
offer. Find more at writermag.com.
w
ha
Information in this section is provided to
The Writer by the individual markets and
ts
events; for more information, contact
those entities directly.
F = Fiction N = Nonfiction P = Poetry
C = Children’s Y = Young adult O = Other
$ = Offers payment
F N P O ALASKA QUARTERLY
REVIEW Publishes fiction, short plays,
poetry, photo essays, and literary nonfic-
tion in traditional and experimental
styles. Submission by regular mail only
with SASE. Unsolicited material read
between Aug. 15 and May 15. Contact:
[Genre Editor], Alaska Quarterly Review,
University of Alaska Anchorage, 3211
Providence Dr. (ESH 208), Anchorage,
AK 99508. uaa_aqr@uaa.alaska.edu
aqreview.org
F N P $ THE ANTIGONISH REVIEW
Features short stories, articles, essays,
poetry, book reviews, and translations.
Considers stories from anywhere, origi-
nal or translations, but encourages
Atlantic Canadians and Canadian writ-
ers, and new and young writers. Quar-
terly. Contact: The Antigonish Review,
St. Francis Xavier University, P.O. Box
5000, Antigonish, Nova Scotia B2G 2W5,
Canada. 902-867-3962. tar@stfx.ca
antigonishreview.com
F N P $ ANTIOCH REVIEW Publishes
fiction, essays, and poetry from emerg-
42 | The Writer • June 2019
ing and established authors. Reading
period: Sept. 1 to April 30 (poetry) and
Sept. 1 to May 31 (essays and fiction).
Submit by postal mail only with SASE.
ap
Quarterly. Contact: [GENRE] Editor,
The Antioch Review, P.O. Box 148, Yel-
p
low Springs, OH 45387. 937-769-1365.
N
cdunlevy@antiochreview.org
review.antiochcollege.org/antioch-
av
review-home
ee
F N P APPLE VALLEY REVIEW
d
Online literary journal published twice
annually, featuring poetry, short fiction,
Ba
and essays. Seeks work with both main-
stream and literary appeal. No genre fic-
iG
tion, scholarly work, erotic, or violent/
depressing works. Submit via email. Con-
tact: Apple Valley Review. Leah Brown-
ing, Editor. editor@leahbrowning.net
applevalleyreview.com
F N P O BATEAU Features previously
unpublished flash fiction, literary trans-
lations, poetry, playlets, flash nonfiction,
comics/graphic stories, and B&W illus-
trations. Submit by online submission
manager or by regular mail. Biannual.
Contact: Bateau Press, c/o Dan
Mahoney, College of the Atlantic, 105
Eden St., Bar Harbor, ME 04609.
dan@bateaupress.org bateaupress.org
F N P $ BAYOU MAGAZINE Bian-
nual literary magazine publishing poetry,
fiction, and nonfiction. Pays for fiction
manuscripts. Submit through online sub-
missions manager or regular mail. Reads
submissions between Sept. 1 and May 1.
Contact: Submissions Manager, Bayou
Magazine, Dept. of English, University of
New Orleans, 2000 Lakeshore Drive,
New Orleans, LA 70148.
bayoumagazine.org
F THE BITTER OLEANDER Features
short, imaginative fiction. Submit fiction
by online submissions platform only.
Biannual. Contact: The Bitter Oleander
Press, 4983 Tall Oaks Dr., Fayetteville,
NY 13066. info@bitteroleander.com
bitteroleander.com
F N P BOOTH JOURNAL Publishes
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, comics, and
lists. Accepts submissions September
through March. Submit by online sub-
mission manager only. Biannual print
journal. Website updated weekly. Con-
tact: Booth Journal. booth@butler.edu
booth.butler.edu
F N P $ BOSTON REVIEW Accepts
fiction max 5000 words. Submit through
online submission manager only. Poetry
and book reviews also accepted. Con-
tact: Boston Review, P.O. Box 425786,
Cambridge, MA 02142.
review@bostonreview.net
bostonreview.net
03
F N P $ BOULEVARD Publishes fic-
tion, nonfiction, and poetry, showcasing
14
established writers and new writers with
exceptional promise. Submission period:
90
Oct. 1 to May 1. Submit by submission
manager system ($3 fee) or by postal
77
mail (free). Triannual. Contact: Boule-
vard Magazine, 4125 Juniata St. B, Saint
21
Louis, MO 63116.
editors@boulevardmagazine.org
8
boulevardmagazine.org
F N P O THE BLOTTER Accepts short
prose, microfiction, poetry, photo essays,
journalism, and monthly columns. Prefers
email submissions. Contact: The Blotter
Magazine, P.O. Box 2153, Chapel Hill, NC
27516. mermaid@blotterrag.com
blotterrag.com
F P BLUE MOON LITERARY & ART
REVIEW Publishes poetry and fiction of
all genres, from literary fiction to murder
Jo
mystery. Especially interested in short
stories and excerpts from novels in prog-
in
ress. Contact: Scott Evans, Editor, 327
12th St., Davis, CA 95616. 530-902-0026.
us
evans327@comcast.net
bluemoonlitartreview.com
on
N BRICK Accepts only nonfiction sub-
missions. Features literary nonfiction
w
about arts and culture: book reviews,
ha
personal essays, memoirs, interviews,
and letters. Two reading periods: Sept. 1
ts
to Oct. 31 and March 1 to April 30. Con-
tact: Brick, P.O. Box 609, STN P,
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4, Canada. 416-
593-9684. info@brickmag.com
brickmag.com
N P CANADIAN LITERATURE Quar-
terly magazine publishing original, previ-
ously unpublished nonfiction articles and
book reviews about any subject related to
writers and writing in Canada. Accepts
some poetry by Canadian citizens. Submit
using online submission manager. Con-
tact: Canadian Literature, The University
of British Columbia, #8 – 6303 NW
Marine Drive, Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z1,
Canada. can.lit@ubc.ca canlit.ca
F N P CIMARRON REVIEW Features
previously unpublished fiction, nonfic-
tion, poetry, and art. Submit through
online submissions manager or regular
mail with SASE. Quarterly. Contact:
Cimarron Review, 205 Morrill Hall, Eng-
lish Dept., Oklahoma State University,
Stillwater, OK 74078.
cimarronreview@okstate.edu
cimarronreview.com
F N P CONJUNCTIONS Online jour-
nal publishes contemporary innovative
fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry.
Submit by regular mail only with SASE.
Biannual. Contact: Bradford Morrow,
Conjunctions, Bard College, 21 E. 10th
St. #3E, New York, NY 10003.
conjunctions@bard.edu
conjunctions.com
F N P CRAB CREEK REVIEW Inter-
ested in publishing both emerging and
established writers of fiction, creative
nonfiction, and poetry. Reading period
Sept. 15 to Nov. 15. Submit through
online submission manager only. Con-
tact: Crab Creek Review. Email from
website. crabcreekreview.org
F N P $ CRAZYHORSE Publishes fic-
tion, poetry, and nonfiction/essays.
Interested in an eclectic mix of writing,
from mainstream to avant-garde. Sub-
mission period: Sept. 1 to May 31, except
during January and July. Submit by
ap
online submission manager only ($3 fee).
Biannual. Contact: Crazyhorse, Depart-
p
ment of English, College of Charleston,
N
66 George St., Charleston, SC 29424.
843-953-4470. crazyhorse@cofc.edu
av
crazyhorse.cofc.edu
ee
F N P $ EPOCH Publishes literary fic-
d
tion, poetry, essays, screenplays, car-
toons, graphic art, and graphic fiction.
Ba
Reading period: Sept. 15 to April 15.
Submit by regular mail only with SASE.
iG
Triannual. Contact: EPOCH magazine,
251 Goldwin Smith Hall, Cornell Uni-
versity, Ithaca, NY 14853. 607-255-3385.
epoch.cornell.edu
F N P $ EVENT Publishes fiction, non-
fiction, and poetry. Publishes mostly
Canadian writers, but is open to anyone
writing in English. Most creative nonfic-
tion accepted through the nonfiction con-
test only. Triannual. Submit online only.
Contact: Event, P.O. Box 2503, New
Westminster, BC, V3L 5B2, Canada. 604-
527-5293. event@douglascollege.ca
eventmagazine.ca
F N P $ EXISTERE Biannual art and
literature magazine, accepting poetry,
fiction, interviews, reviews, and essays.
Submit by email. Contact: Existere: Jour-
nal of Arts and Literature, S13 Ross
Building, York University, 4700 Keele St.,
Toronto, ON, Canada, M3J 1P3.
existere.journal@gmail.com
yorku.ca/existere
F N FICTION SOUTHEAST Online
weekly literary journal dedicated to fic-
tion under 1500 words, as well as an
occasional essay, review, or interview.
Submit via online platform only. Con-
tact: Fiction Southeast. Email from web-
site. fictionsoutheast.com
F N P O THE FLORIDA REVIEW
Submit fiction, nonfiction, graphic nar-
rative, or poetry through online submis-
sion manager only for a small fee.
Contact: The Editors [Indicate Genre],
The Florida Review, Department of Eng-
lish, University of Central Florida, P.O.
Box 161346, Orlando, FL 32816.
flreview@ucf.edu floridareview.cah.ucf.edu
F N P O FLYWAY: JOURNAL OF
WRITING & ENVIRONMENT Digital
magazine accepting submissions of fiction,
nonfiction, poetry, and visual art. Particu-
larly interested in pieces that delve into the
environment or human place, but submis-
sions of any subject will be considered.
Reading period Sept. 1 to Nov. 30 and Jan.
15 to March 31. Submit using online form
only. Contact: Flyway, Department of
English, 203 Ross Hall, 527 Farmhouse
03
Ln., Iowa State University, Ames IA 50011-
1054. flywayjournal@gmail.com
14
flywayjournal.org
90
F N O FOLIATE OAK LITERARY
MAGAZINE Looking for previously
77
unpublished quirky flash fiction, short
creative nonfiction, and comics. Submit
21
using online submission manager. Con-
tact: Foliate Oak Literary Magazine.
8
foliateoak@gmail.com foliateoak.com
F N P FOURTEEN HILLS Publishes
original fiction, literary nonfiction,
poetry, and cross-genre work. $2 submis-
sion fee. Biannual. Submit by online sub-
mission manager only. Contact: Fourteen
writermag.com • The Writer | 43
MARKETS
Hills, SFSU Dept. of Creative Writing,
1600 Holloway Ave., San Francisco, CA
94132. hills@sfsu.edu 14hills.net
N FOURTH GENRE: EXPLORA-
TIONS IN NONFICTION Explores the
Jo
boundaries of contemporary and creative
nonfiction. Personal essays are welcome
in
as well as memoirs, personal critical
essays, and literary journalism. Reading
us
period: Aug. 30 to Nov. 30. Check sepa-
rate guidelines for “Writer as Reader”
essays. Biannual. Contact: Fourth Genre.
on
genre4@msu.edu
msupress.msu.edu/journals/fg
w
ha
F N P $ THE GETTYSBURG
REVIEW Publishes fiction, essays, and
ts
poetry by beginning and established
writers and artists. Reading period: Sept.
1 to May 31. Quarterly. Contact: Mark
Drew, Editor, The Gettysburg Review,
Gettysburg College, 300 N. Washington
St., Gettysburg, PA 17325.
www.gettysburgreview.com
F P N O $ GRAIN MAGAZINE Seeks
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, art, satire,
novel excerpts, long poems, and plays by
Canadian and international authors. Sub-
mit between Sept. 1 to May 31 for poetry
and nonfiction, Dec. 1 to May 31 for fic-
tion. Quarterly. Contact: Editor, Grain
Magazine, P.O. Box 3986, Regina, SK, S4P
3R9, Canada. grainmag@skwriter.com
grainmagazine.ca
F N P GREEN HILLS LITERARY
LANTERN Online journal that accepts
fiction (short stories, short-shorts, and
novel excerpts), creative nonfiction, and
poetry. Specify genre. Annual. Contact:
Green Hills Literary Lantern, Dept. of
English and Linguistics, Truman State
University, Kirksville, MO 63501. Adam
Brooke Davis. adavis@truman.edu
ghll.truman.edu
F N P $ GRIST: A JOURNAL OF THE
LITERARY ARTS Features fiction,
poetry, and nonfiction about the writing
process. Publishes online and print ver-
44 | The Writer • June 2019
sions. Reading period: June 15 to Sept.
15. $4 reading fee. Submit online. Con-
tact: Grist: The Journal for Writers.
gristeditors@gmail.com gristjournal.com
F N P GULF STREAM Online maga-
zine seeks distinct, confident fiction,
nonfiction, and poetry. Publishes new
and established writers. Reading period:
Sept. 1 to Nov. 1 and Jan. 1 to April 1.
Submit via online portal only. Biannual.
Contact: Gulf Stream Magazine, FIU
English Dept., AC 1 338, 3000 NE 151
St., North Miami, FL 33181.
gulfstreamlitmag@gmail.com
gulfstreamlitmag.com
F N P HAYDEN’S FERRY REVIEW
Features poetry, fiction, creative nonfic-
tion, translations, and art by new and
ap
established writers and artists. Check
website for theme. Submit by online sub-
p
mission manager only. $3 reading fee.
N
Biannual. Contact: Hayden’s Ferry
Review. haydensferryreview@gmail.com
av
haydensferryreview.com
ee
P O INTERIM Features poetry, transla-
d
tions, criticism, and work in hybrid
forms. Biannual. Submission period:
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June 1 to Sept. 1 and Dec. 1 to March 1.
Submit by online submission manager
iG
only. Small reading fee. Contact:
Interim. Email from website.
interim.squarespace.com
F N P O THE LITERARY REVIEW
Publishes fiction, literary nonfiction,
poetry, and translations. Each issue fol-
lows a theme. Quarterly. Submit by online
submission manager. Reading period:
Check website for details. Contact: The
Literary Review, Fairleigh Dickinson Uni-
versity, 285 Madison Ave., Madison, NJ
07940. info@theliteraryreview.org
theliteraryreview.org
F N P O THE LOUISVILLE REVIEW
Publishes contemporary writing, with an
affinity for new writers of fiction, poetry,
creative nonfiction, drama, and writing
by children (K-12). Reading period is
year round; submissions accepted via
regular mail or online portal. Contact:
The Louisville Review. Spalding Univer-
sity, 851 S. Fourth St., Louisville, KY
40203. 502-873-4398.
louisvillereview@spalding.edu
louisvillereview.org
N LUNA PARK REVIEW Publishes
essays, reviews, commentary, and inter-
views about the literary magazine world.
Contact: Luna Park. lunaparkreview.com
F N P $ MICHIGAN QUARTERLY
REVIEW Publishes fiction, creative
nonfiction, critical essays, and poetry.
Awards annual cash prizes for the best
stories and poems published each year.
Submit online for a $3 reading fee. Read-
ing periods: Jan. 15 to April 15; Aug. 1 to
Nov. 30. Contact: Michigan Quarterly
Review, 0576 Rackham Building, 915 E.
Washington St., Ann Arbor, MI 48109.
734-764-9265. mqr@umich.edu
michiganquarterlyreview.com
F N P O MID-AMERICAN REVIEW
Publishes contemporary fiction, poetry,
nonfiction, and translations. Submit via
regular mail or online submission man-
ager. Contact: Mid-American Review,
Department of English, Bowling Green
State University, Bowling Green, OH
43403. mar@bgsu.edu
bgsu.edu/midamericanreview
03
F N P $ THE MISSOURI REVIEW
14
Publishes fiction, essays, and poetry.
Submit by online submission manager
90
($3.50 fee) or by regular mail (no fee).
Quarterly. Contact: [Genre] Editor, The
77
Missouri Review, 357 McReynolds Hall,
University of Missouri, Columbia, MO
21
65211. question@moreview.com
missourireview.com
8
F N P $ MUD SEASON REVIEW A
monthly online digital and annual print
journal seeking the best in fiction, non-
fiction, poetry, and visual art. Work
should teach something about life as well
as the craft of writing or visual art.
Simultaneous submissions accepted.
Written feedback provided for an addi-
tional fee. Submit via only platform only.
Contact: Mud Season Review. Email
from website. mudseasonreview.com
Jo
N P MUDLARK: AN ELECTRONIC
JOURNAL OF POETRY AND POET-
in
ICS Online journal featuring poetry and
essays on poetics. Submit by email or
us
regular mail with SASE. Contact: Wil-
liam Slaughter, Mudlark, Department of
on
English, University of North Florida, 1
UNF Dr., Jacksonville, FL 32224.
mudlark@unf.edu www.unf.edu/mudlark
w
ha
F N P NATURAL BRIDGE Submit pre-
viously unpublished literary short fiction,
ts
personal essays, poetry, and translations.
Submit by online submission manager ($3
fee for nonsubscribers) or regular mail
(free). Biannual. Contact: Natural Bridge,
Dept. of English, University of Missouri-
St. Louis, One University Blvd., St. Louis,
MO 63121. umsl.edu/~natural
F N P NEW DELTA REVIEW Features
fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry
as well as book reviews and interviews.
Submit by online submission manager
only ($3 fee). Biannual. Contact: New
Delta Review, Dept. of English, 15 Allen
Hall, Louisiana State University, Baton
Rouge, LA 70803. editor@ndrmag.org
ndrmag.org
F N P $ NEW LETTERS Publishes fic-
tion, essays, poetry, and art. Also open to
critical discourses about writing, art, or
culture, as long as that writing is, in
itself, lively, fresh, and vivid. Quarterly.
Check website for reading period. Con-
tact: New Letters, UMKC/University
House, 5101 Rockhill Rd., Kansas City,
MO 64110. 816-235-1168.
bkmk@umkc.edu
newletters.org
F N P $ THE NORTH AMERICAN
REVIEW Publishes poetry, fiction, and
nonfiction with a special interest in envi-
ronment, gender, race, ethnicity, sexual
orientation, and class. Quarterly. Submit
using online submission manager; $3
reading fee. Contact: North American
Review, University of Northern Iowa,
1200 W. 23rd St., Cedar Falls, IA 50613.
319-273-6455. nar@uni.edu
northamericanreview.org
F N P NORTH CAROLINA LITER-
ARY REVIEW Publishes interviews and
literary criticism about local writers and
poetry, fiction, drama, and creative non-
fiction by North Carolina writers or set
in North Carolina. Check website for
themes and reading periods. Submit
through online submission manager.
Contact: North Carolina Literary
Review, East Carolina University, Mail-
stop 555 English, Greenville, NC 27858.
Margaret D. Bauer, Editor.
ap
bauerm@ecu.edu nclr.ecu.edu
p
F P $ NOTRE DAME REVIEW Wel-
N
comes fiction and poetry that take on big
issues. Reading periods: Sept. 1 to Nov.
av
30 and Jan. 1 to March 31. Submit online
only. Biannual. Contact: Notre Dame
ee
Review, B009C McKenna Hall, Univer-
d
sity of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN
46556. 574-631-6952. ndreview.nd.edu
Ba
F N P PAINTED BRIDE QUARTERLY
iG
Journal of fiction, nonfiction, and
poetry. Check website for contests and
themed issues. Submit using online sub-
missions manager. Contact: Painted
Bride Quarterly, Drexel University.
pbq@drexel.edu pbq.drexel.edu
F N P $ THE PARIS REVIEW Interna-
tional literary magazine featuring fiction,
poetry, interviews, and essays from
established and emerging writers. Quar-
terly. Submit by regular mail only with
SASE. Contact: The Paris Review,
[Genre Editor], 544 W. 27th St., New
York, NY 10001. theparisreview.org
F P THE PATERSON LITERARY
REVIEW Accepting poems (under two
pages) and short fiction (under 1500
words). Reading period June 1 to Sept.
30. Submit by mail with SASE. Contact:
Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Executive Direc-
tor, The Paterson Literary Review, Pas-
saic County Community College, One
College Blvd., Paterson, NJ 07505. Email
via website. patersonliteraryreview.com
N P PILGRIMAGE Welcomes literary
nonfiction, fiction, and poetry with
themes related to soul, spirit, place, and
social justice. Submit by regular mail or
online submission manager. Contact:
Juan Morales, Editor, Pilgrimage Maga-
zine, Colorado State University-Pueblo,
Department of English and Foreign Lan-
guages, 2200 Bonforte Blvd., Pueblo, CO
81001. info@pilgrimagepress.org
pilgrimagepress.org
F N P PLEIADES: LITERATURE IN
CONTEXT Literary biannual featuring
poetry, fiction, essays, and book reviews.
Submit during July and December only
via online submission manager only.
Contact: Pleiades, Department of Eng-
lish, Martin 336, University of Central
Missouri, Warrensburg, MO 64093. 660-
543- 4268. pleiadesmag.com
F N P $ PLOUGHSHARES Publishes
fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Each
issue is guest-edited by a prominent
writer. Reading period: June 1 to Jan. 15.
Prefers submissions by online submis-
sion manager for a $3 fee (free for sub-
03
scribers). Triannual. Contact:
Ploughshares, Emerson College, 120
14
Boylston St., Boston, MA 02116. 617-
824-3757. pshares@pshares.org
90
pshares.org
77
P N $ POETRY MAGAZINE Pub-
lished monthly by the Poetry Founda-
21
tion. Accepts previously unpublished
poetry submissions. Provides compensa-
8
tion at a rate of $10/line or $150/page of
prose. Submit using online submission
manager only. Contact: Poetry Founda-
tion, 61 W. Superior St., Chicago, IL
60654. 312-787-7070.
info@poetrymagazine.org
poetrymagazine.org
writermag.com • The Writer | 45
MARKETS
F N P POTOMAC REVIEW Publishes
fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Submit
by online submission manager only.
Biannual. Contact: Potomac Review,
Montgomery College, 51 Mannakee St.,
MT 212, Rockville, MD 20850. potomac-
Jo
revieweditor@montgomerycollege.edu
montgomerycollege.edu/potomacreview
in
N THE QUARTERLY CONVERSA-
us
TION Looking for book reviews, essays,
and interviews that address literature
on
from original perspectives. No poetry or
fiction. Submit query or completed arti-
cle with two writing samples by email.
w
Contact: The Quarterly Conversation.
ha
editor@quarterlyconversation.com
quarterlyconversation.com
ts
F N P O QUARTERLY WEST Features
fiction, flash fiction, nonfiction, and
poetry by new and established authors.
Looks for writing that is exciting, chal-
lenging, risky, unpredictable, and differ-
ent. Submit by online submission
manager only; $2 reading fee for poetry
and fiction. Contact: Quarterly West.
quarterlywest@gmail.com
quarterlywest.com
F N P QWERTY Publishes literary fic-
tion, genre fiction that subverts conven-
tion, experimental work, creative
nonfiction, reviews, and poetry. Submit
via online submissions manager only.
Contact: QWERTY, University of New
Brunswick, Department of English, P.O.
Box 4400, Fredericton, NB E3B 5A3,
Canada. qwerty@gmail.com
qwertyunb.com
F N P REDIVIDER Seeks previously
unpublished fiction, literary nonfiction,
poetry, and graphic narrative. Submit to
appropriate genre editor through online
submission manager. Biannual. Con-
tact: Redivider – Emerson College,
Department of Writing, Literature, and
Publishing, 120 Boylston St., Boston,
MA 02116.
editor@redividerjournal.org
redividerjournal.com
46 | The Writer • June 2019
F N P O REQUITED Online journal
publishes fiction, essays, reviews, poetry,
drama, sound, and critical works. Prefers
shorter submissions. Direct submissions
to appropriate editor per guidelines on
website. Submit through online submis-
sion manager. Contact: Requited.
requitedjournal@gmail.com
requitedjournal.com
F N P ROANOKE REVIEW Features
short fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.
Reading period: Sept. 1 to Jan. 31. Sub-
mit by online submission manager.
Annual. Contact: Roanoke Review.
review@roanoke.edu
roanoke-review.squarespace.com
F N P $ ROLLICK MAGAZINE Inde-
pendent online magazine publishing cut-
ap
ting-edge contemporary literature.
Essays, poems, short stories, memoirs,
p
confessionals, experimental writing,
N
postcards, reviews (of film, music, TV,
theater), and satire accepted. A monetary
av
prize is awarded for the most popular
ee
post in each issue. Submissions via email
only. Contact: Rollick Magazine.
d
submissions@rollickmag.com
rollickmag.com
Ba
F N P $ THE SUN Publishes an eclec-
iG
tic mix of essays, fiction, interviews, and
poetry. Requests query for interview
pieces. Favors personal writing but also
looking for provocative pieces on politi-
cal and cultural issues. Discourages
simultaneous submissions. Submit
online or by postal mail with SASE.
Monthly. Contact: Editorial Depart-
ment, The Sun, 107 N. Roberson St.,
Chapel Hill, NC 27516. 919-942-5282.
Email from website. thesunmagazine.org
F N P $ SYCAMORE REVIEW
Accepts fiction, poetry, personal essays,
and art. See website for our genre editors’
aesthetic statements. Reading period:
Sept. 1 to March 31. Submit by online
submission manager only; $3 reading
fee. Biannual. Contact: Sycamore
Review, Purdue University, Department
of English, 500 Oval Dr., West Lafayette,
IN 47907. sycamore@purdue.edu
sycamorereview.com
N THOUGHT NOTEBOOK A bian-
nual journal providing a global platform
of thought for emerging and known
writers. Submissions under 3000 words
should be based on a true story with an
aim to help understand ourselves and
society. Check website for journal theme.
Submissions via email only. Contact:
Thought Notebook.
regularsubmissions@thoughtcollection.org
thoughtnotebook.org
F N P $ THE THREEPENNY
REVIEW Features poetry, short fiction,
memoirs, essays, and criticism about the
arts. Accepts submissions by regular mail
and by online submission manager.
Reading period: Jan. 1 to June 30. Quar-
terly. Contact: The Editors, The Three-
penny Review, P.O. Box 9131, Berkeley,
CA 94709. 510-849-4545. Wendy Lesser:
wlesser@threepennyreview.com
threepennyreview.com
F N P $ THE TISHMAN REVIEW Pub-
lished online, electronically, and in print.
Seeks work that offers new insights into
the human condition. Simultaneous sub-
missions allowed year round through
online platform only. Genres include
short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction,
03
and book reviews. See website for reading
periods. Contact: The Tishman Review.
14
thetishmanreview@gmail.com
thetishmanreview.com
90
F N P WORLD LITERATURE TODAY
77
Award-winning journal featuring world
literature and culture for over 80 years.
21
Features fiction, nonfiction, poetry,
interviews, and translations on literature,
8
politics, and culture. Submit year-round
via email or postal mail. Contact: World
Literature Today. University of Okla-
homa, 630 Parrington Oval, Suite 110,
Norman, OK 73019. See website for edi-
tors’ email addresses.
worldliteraturetoday.com
Classifieds
READERS should use caution when entering into any
legal contract with a literary service offering agenting-
EDITING/CRITIQUING
type assistance; publishers who charge, rather than
pay, an author for publication; publishers who require PROFESSIONAL EDITOR, Award-winning Author
a purchase before publication and contests that charge (Bantam, Berkley/Ace, others) offers extensive
high entrance fees. The Writer also recommends critiques, respectful in-depth editing. Fiction, non-
requesting a list of references and submission fiction, juvenile/YA. Carol Gaskin 941-377-7640.
guidelines before submitting a manuscript. If you have Email: Carol@EditorialAlchemy.com or website:
any concerns regarding the advertiser’s commitment
or claims, please contact the advertiser and make
www.EditorialAlchemy.com
certain all questions are answered to your satisfaction.
Jo

ADVERTISERS We do not accept ads from agents

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or businesses that charge a reading or marketing
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cost of services, resume of service providers,
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time writers. Honest, constructive, meticulous
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HOW I WRITE
BY ALLISON FUTTERMAN

Elizabeth Berg
Jo

A
prolific writer, Elizabeth
in

Berg is the author of many

best-selling novels, includ-
us

ing Durable Goods, Joy

School, and Oprah’s Book Club pick
on

Open House. Her latest, Night of Mira-

cles, is a follow-up to her popular 2017
novel The Story of Arthur Truluv,
w

though readers can also enjoy the book

ha

as a standalone work. Her novels have

been published in 30 countries, and sev-
ts

eral have been adapted into movies for

television; she also hosts intimate one-
ap

day writing workshops for writers. In care given by nurses. In some respects, I the terrible times in which we are liv-
2018, she received the Illinois Literary feel that I’m still nursing: I want my ing. I wanted to remind myself of the
p

Heritage Award from the Illinois Center work to comfort people. When I first inherent goodness of people and of the
N

for the Book. Although Berg’s plots started getting published, an editor told worth of kindness. Writing it put me in
vary, there are certain constants to be me that my essays were consistently the a different “head;” I actually woke up
av

found that appeal to her readers: Love, most-read pieces in the magazine. She happy again. After I finished the book,
ee

loss, hope, compassion, and humor all said, “You have the common touch.” I I missed the fictional town I’d created.
can be found in her narratives. do have a lot in common with my read- So I did a second book about Mason,
d

ers. And that comforts me. called Night of Miracles. And then,
Story ideas since the newspapers continued to
Ba

Oftentimes at readings, an audience Whether good writing can be taught make me want to pull my hair out, I
member will ask, “Where do you get I think that writers are born, not made. went back to Mason yet again. The
iG

your ideas?” This question perplexes They tend to be people who feel things third in the series, The Confession
me because I find life so interesting strongly and to notice details others Club, will be out this year.
and complicated and rich with mate- might pass right over. They have a way
03

rial. Maybe it helps that I tend to focus with words, of course. Mostly, though, Crafting dialogue
my books on “ordinary life,” but I can they seem to have a need to get what’s I love listening to people talk. Eaves-
14

take a trip to the grocery store and inside them, out, whether it is pub- dropping is my school for dialogue! As
come back with ideas. It’s a matter of lished or not. I do think innate talent is writers need to read to be better writ-
90

keeping your eyes and your ears – and important, but writing techniques can ers, they need to listen to people talk in
your heart – open. I subscribe to the be taught. Writing exercises can inspire order to write good dialogue. Notice
77

idea that writers write about the same and can lead to essays or stories or accents and colloquialisms. Ellipses.
things over and over, in different ways. even novels. Also, most writers need Tone. Obfuscation. Defense. Openness.
21

encouragement – a little can go a long Malapropisms. Vulnerability. Bring a

Themes of kindness, compassion, way. Having an audience can provide a notebook to a cafe and write down
8

and forgiveness sense of legitimacy, too, even if it’s only what you hear. (Discreetly!) Practice
Many people know that I was an R.N. 10 people sitting around a table, as writing dialogue where less is more;
before I became a writer. The themes they do in my workshops. give your reader credit for being able
Photo by Teresa Crawford

that you mention are certainly part of to read between the lines.
being a nurse, and I think you’d be Choosing to write a sequel
hard-pressed to find anyone who didn’t When I wrote The Story of Arthur Tru- Allison Futterman is a freelance writer based
appreciate the physical and spiritual luv, it was to escape from the news and in Charlotte, North Carolina.

48 | The Writer • June 2019

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Jo
YOU CAN’T FIND THIS IN PRINT.
in
us
on
w
EXCERPT From Night of Miracles by Elizabeth Berg.
ha
ts
Surely you’ve had this happen. You are
seated by choice or misfortune in a
ap
window seat on an airplane. You look
out as the plane takes off, rises up
p
higher and higher, levels off. If you
N
chance to glance down, you see a par-
ticular kind of order not realized on
av
earth. You might feel a kind of hope-
ee
fulness at the sight of houses clustered
together in their various neighbor-
d
hoods, at roads running straight or
artfully curved, at what look like toy
Ba
cars. You see the lakes and rivers,
occasionally the wide stretch of ocean
iG
meeting horizon. You see natural
quilts formed by the lay of fields and
farmlands, you see the grouping of
trees into parks and forests. Some-
times you see the splendor of autumn
leaves or Fourth of July fireworks. Or
sunsets. Or sunrises.
All of this can inspire something
unnameable but nearly graspable, a
kind of yearning toward a grand
possibility.
And then you land. But what if you
landed differently?
Diamonds in a Box
After she has dried and put away her
supper dishes, Lucille Howard sits at
her kitchen table and contemplates
what to do with another empty eve-
ning. A few years back, she might
have sat out on the front porch with
her former neighbor and then room-
mate, Arthur Moses, a man too good
of heart for this world, in Lucille’s
opinion, though she and many others
profited plenty from his continual
kindness.
She pushes herself up from the
table and goes out onto her front
porch to stand with her hands on her
hips, taking in a better view of the
night sky. From the kitchen window
the stars are so clear they look like
diamonds; out here, it’s even more
glorious.
As a child, Lucille thought stars
were diamonds, and that if only she
03
prayed in the right way, the cigar box
she kept under her bed would be filled
14
with them some morning, and she
could make a necklace out of them.
90
Never happened. Well, of course it
never happened, stars are not dia-
77
monds. They’re suns, really, just balls
of gas. If there’s one thing Lucille
21
hates, it’s how science has to rain on
whimsy’s parade: Rainbows not a gift
8
from leprechauns offering pots of
gold, but only a trick of refraction. A
blue sky not a miles-wide painting
done by a heavenly hand, but mole-
cules scattering light. Still, when
Lucille sees the stars strewn across the
sky on a night like tonight, they’re
Jo
in
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EXCERPT CONT.
on
Night of Miracles
w
diamonds, and she thinks they might
ha
end up under her bed yet. Maybe
she’ll put a box back under there. Tra-
ts
dition. Whimsy. Hope. Magical think-
ing, oh, she knows it’s magical
thinking; and she knows, too, that
she’s more prone to it now than she
ever was. But what fun to imagine
kneeling down to lift the dust ruffle
and just check. And there they are at
last, diamonds in a box, shining so
hard they light up the surprised oval
of her face.
It’s cold enough for a jacket, this being
the first of October, but Lucille is still
in the habit of summer (the roses still
blooming!) and so has neglected to
put one on. It feels like too much
work to go back in and get one, so she
settles into a rocking chair, wraps her
arms around herself, and moves vig-
orously back and forth. There. That’s
fine. It’s good for you to be a bit
uncomfortable from time to time,
especially if you’re only a few steps
away from relief. People forget about
the value of adversity. It was some-
thing she always tried to teach her
fourth-grade students, how adversity
can strengthen character. She also
tried to teach them the value of hav-
ing to work for something instead of it
being handed to you the instant you
said you wanted it. That’s what hap-
pens these days, no one waits for any-
thing. But Lucille used to give her
class construction-paper coupons
with points for good behavior or for
scholastic merit; and when they had
enough points, she’d bake them a little
baby pie in a five-inch tin, whatever
ap
kind they wanted, and they got to
keep the tin. They’d loved that. Once,
p
a boy named Danny Matthews had
N
wanted to cut his pie up so that every-
one in the twenty-three-pupil class
av
could have some. That had been a
ee
good lesson in mathematics. Danny
was one of those kids who was never
d
much liked, no matter how hard he
tried. He was a very clumsy boy (the
Ba
kids called him Mr. Magoo for the
way he tripped over and bumped into
iG
things), and perpetually disheveled.
Well, Lucille liked him and his
crooked grin, and he loved her—he
might act up with others, but he
always listened to her. She heard he’d
enlisted and gotten killed in Afghani-
stan.
It was true what they told her on
the first day of teachers’ college: you
never forget some of your students.
For Lucille, it was the cut-ups she
could never keep from laughing at,
the dreamers she had to keep reeling
back into the classroom, and little
Danny Matthews, with his ragged
heart of gold.
Lucille gives herself a challenge:
she’ll stay out here until it feels like
her teeth might chatter. Then she’ll go
inside, draw a bath, and have a soak in
Epsom salts. One thing she’s grateful
for are the grab bars she’s had
installed, though even with them, get-
ting herself down into the tub is a her-
culean task that reminds her a bit of
elephants lowering themselves onto
tiny stools, the way they used to have
to do in the circus. She’s glad no one
can see her, the way she grunts and
huffs and puffs. Lord! they would say.
Why don’t you switch to showers?
You’re eighty-eight! True, but mostly
she feels like she’s sixty-eight. When
she was sixty-eight, she felt like she
was forty-eight. And so, although she
knows the logic is off, she tells every-
one that she feels forty-eight.
Lucille will not give up her baths.
No. In the tub, she is what she thinks
being stoned must be like: she enjoys
03
a feeling of timelessness and wide
content. A floaty, perfumed detach-
14
ment. After her bath, she’ll read her
Maeve Binchy book, and then she’ll go
90
to sleep.
Maeve Binchy died young. Sev-
77
enty-two. Lucille bets there are sev-
enty-two-year-olds who can still do
21
the splits. If she could have given
Maeve Binchy a year from her own
8
life, you can bet she’d have done it.
She actually cried when Maeve
Binchy died; she sat in a kitchen chair
and twisted a Kleenex in her hands
and cried, and she felt a little tornado
of frustration in her midsection
because there was another good one,
Jo
in
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EXCERPT CONT.
on
Night of Miracles
w
gone too soon.
ha
Well, bath and bed and then
another day will be done, and she’ll be
ts
another step closer to the exit grande.
She’s not morbid, she’s not sad, she’s
just a realist. She is closer to death.
Everyone is, from the moment they
slide out of the womb. From time to
time, Lucille even feels a jazzy jump of
joy, thinking about the journey to the
place no one knows about, really,
never mind the stories of the bright
light and the tunnel and whatnot. No
one really knows.
Just as she’s ready to get up and go
inside, she sees the neighbor who
bought her old house, right next door
to the smaller house she lives in now,
which was Arthur’s house. He willed it
to Maddy Harris, the girl who used to
live here with them, and Lucille now
rents it from Maddy, if you call “rent”
simply taking care of the place. The
neighbor is coming out to walk his
dog. Lucille has nothing against dogs,
but that one is the ugliest thing she’s
ever seen. An ancient, mid-size gray
mutt who looks like he needs a shave.
Bugged-out eyes like a pug. A bit
bowlegged. A tail that looks more like
Eeyore’s than a dog’s. And his name:
Henry. Now, why in the world would
you give a dog that looks like that a
name befitting a king?
“Hello, Lucille,” the man calls over.
“Hello, Jason,” Lucille answers, though
she muffles the name a bit. Is it Jason?
Or is it Jeremy? Or Jeffrey? It’s a little
past the point where she can ask; the
neighbors have been there for almost
a year. The J. person, his wife, Abby,
and their ten-year-old son, whose
ap
name is...well, for heaven’s sake. Starts
with an L. Liam? Leroy? Lester? She
p
closes her eyes to concentrate. Lin-
N
coln! That’s it. Another strange name,
if you ask her. What’s become of Spot
av
and Rex and Champ for dogs? What’s
ee
become of Mary and Sally and Billy
for children?
d
This is what happens. You live past
your time of importance and rele-
Ba
vance and the world must be given
over to the younger ones. Lucille is all
iG
right with that notion. As the old folks
yielded to her as a young woman, she
will yield to the young folks coming
up after her. But there is one thing
she’s going to get before she is here no
more.
And that is a very specific miracle,
which she feels is owed her. In spades.
Lucille has kept her eyes closed and
is startled now by the sound of foot-
steps: J. and his dog, coming up onto
her porch. She cries out and leaps to
her feet.
“Sorry,” the man says. “Did I scare
you?” “Yes!” “I’m sorry.” “It’s all right.”
She pulls her hand down from where
it had flown up onto her chest.
“I just wanted to ask you if you’d be
free to come to our house for dinner
tomorrow night. Abby’s been meaning
to ask you forever, but we—”
“Tomorrow night? What time?”
“Seven?” “Seven! How can your son
wait that long to eat?” “Six?” the man
asks, smiling. “That’s better.” “Okay,
good, we’ll see you then.” J. pulls at the
leash, but Henry apparently has no
interest in going anywhere. He stares
up at Lucille as though he’s forgotten
something in her house and won’t
leave without retrieving it.
“Run along now, Henry,” Lucille
says. “Obey your master.”
The dog moves closer to her, sniffs
at her toes, then at the hem of her
pants. “I was just going in ...” she says,
and Henry barks: once, twice,
excitedly.
Lucille puts her hands on her knees
and bends toward the dog. “What is it,
03
girl?” she asks. “Is Gramps in trou-
ble?” She looks up at J., grinning.
14
Night of Miracles 11
The man stares at her blankly.
90
“Lassie?” Lucille says. “Who’s that?” “A
show that used to be on TV? About a
77
collie dog? And his boy, Timmy?”
“Ah,” J. says. “Right.” He pulls
21
harder at the leash and the dog finally
comes to him. “See you tomorrow.”
8
“I’ll bring dessert,” Lucille says. She
has some cake left over from the last
class she taught. Her baking classes
have been getting so popular that she
recently put an ad in the local paper
to hire some help.
The man turns around. “Uh, we