NaNo 2012

Doing it again this year. :)

Here's an excerpt:

It was raining the day they put me out of jail. Heavy drops like the sky was determined to beat me down under it. I could hear mom in my head saying somewhere the devil was beating his wife and those were her tears making their way down my face and soaking my pants. The rain got soaked up into the walkway. Could almost hear them hissing. For weeks I’d wanted some cool weather on the yard. Figures it’d come on the long walk home. Styles walked next to me, uniform creased like he was attending a funeral. Underneath all that hat and all that hair his face was creased just like his pants. Seemed like everytime he looked at me the crease got deeper and longer. Thought I saw him open his mouth to say something once or twice, but if he had anything to say it got lost in the sound of the storm.

“You going to be okay, Swift?” He said, finally.

We’d reached the gate all barb wire and doom. Remember when I’d been forced through it 8 years ago. Now I was leaving the same way. Guards stood up above me like the eyes of god watching, making sure I wasn’t doing wrong. Making sure I walked right and went down the right path. Truth be told I felt the right path was right back into that brick house. Wasn’t nothing for me on the other side of that gate. Nothing and no one.

“Yeah,” I said. “I made it this far.”

Styles spit on the ground, didn’t know if he was spitting at what I said or just in general. He grunted. Didn’t say nothing after that.

When we reached the entrance he gave me a bag. I looked in it to see everything that’d been on me when I got took. My wallet, with not a damn thing in it but wishes, prayers, and an ID. The kid in that picture looked soft and stupid.

I wasn’t much for goodbyes. I took the wallet and put it in my back pocket. Nodded at Styles and turned to go. He grabbed my arm. If I hadn’t been looking, would’ve thought my arm was caught between two 45lb plates. I tried to pull away. You didn’t let nobody grab you like that on the other side. Quick way to be somebody’s bitch. Took everything I had not to swing at a cop.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Styles pulled something white from his chest and handed it to me. His card.

“You call me, Swift.” When I nodded the crease in his forehead got deeper. “God dammit, Swift.” He said. Yelled. He tightened his grip on my arm. “You don’t belong in here. Everybody saw that. Don’t end up back here like so many of you do.”

I nodded again. Something he saw must’ve satisfied him because he let go of my arm. I rubbed it. Not like I was hurt, just wasn’t used to people grabbing me the way he did.

“We had some good times,” Styles said. “Considering your situation.  I’m not opposed to having a few more outside of here.  Call me.  You owe me a game of chess.”

Here are my stats:

I feel good about this one. Hoping to finish or come extremely close. :D

On rejection and being burnt out.

I submitted a short story I wrote to three publications.

The first responded:

Thank you for your submission to the Urban Resistance. Unfortunately, it's not what we are looking for at this time.
We wish you good luck in placing this piece and hope you continue to submit your work to us in the future. 

I was not put off by this.  I wrote and revised the story for class.  I know of the issues and only submitted the story as part of a class assignment.  Still, every writer is hopeful for acceptance and acknowledgement.  Every writer, I imagine, secretly hopes that some stranger will read the submission and say, "This is amazing. I must publish it."  So, while I was not put off, some part of me was still disappointed.  It is tempting to take such rejection as a rejection of self.  Stories are a part of the writer, and saying, "This is not good enough," is almost like saying, "YOU are not good enough."  It's tempting to think that, but I have been taught well and have friends who have been through this, so I avoided depression.  This time.

The second rejection was more positive:

Thank you for submitting your manuscript to 10,000 Tons of Black Ink. Unfortunately, our editorial staff has decided to pass on your piece, "On the First" at this time.
We found this to be a thoroughly gripping story. It is well written and does not strike a false note. The description of three children watching TV was very accurate and natural—all acting their ages, arguing, giving in to one another as they wait for their dissolute mother to come home.  The language is a nice blend of adult remembrance and childhood naivety: “When [the microwave] is turned on for too long it protests it use by making a whining sound which burrows into the headache inducing centers of one’s brain and activates the pain centers.”  You might, however, take a look at the scenes and descriptions that do not move the story forward or give the reader an insight into the characters. You begin the piece by having the narrator tell us this is the night things changed. How is that statement addressed in the end? In what way have things changed? To a degree this is left to the reader, but a somewhat stronger allusion to your intent might be more effective. Overall we found this to be a very strong piece, but perhaps one final polishing draft from being ready.  Though we are unable to publish your work this time around, we wish you luck in your endeavors and look forward to reading more of your writing in the future.

Yes, more personal.  This one sounds like they read my story.  Actual comments.  This one actually made me smile.  Not only because they look forward to reading more of my writing in the future, but also because some of the comments from this publication are similar to those from my writers group. I never thought I would be published for this story, but hearing stuff like this makes me want to go back and revise the story and try again.  Maybe then it would be ready.

The third said:

Thank you for submitting "On the First" for inclusion in Nine. We haveread and discussed the story, and have decided to pass on it. It's not amatter of the writing so much as the content. We choose stories that havea strong plot and characters, and this is a bit too far toward theliterary and away from the genre. We like to ride that line, but not quitethis far. Good luck placing this elsewhere, and thanks again for thinkingof us.

Not quite as personal, but still, it feels good to hear the reason for rejection is that it is not genre enough.  That's good, as the story wasn't genre at all.  As far as rejections go, that's about the least offensive reason one could give. I'll chalk that one up to not reading the types of submissions this particular publication wants. 


Although this class did force me to submit my stories to publications, something I had long wanted to do and could never work up the nerve for, it beat me down in other ways.  Most of the students were not serious writers, others were not writing at the level I felt capstone course warranted.  I had to read and comment on about 25 stories in the span of 4 months in conjunction with the writing I needed to do for the class.  This wouldn't have been a problem if the writing had been quality, but it is very frustrating to me, as a person who takes the craft very seriously, to waste time in class explaining that this story is not a story because this "story" has no plot.  At this level, every story should be a story, I believe, and time spent discussing the stories in class should be focusing on character inconsistencies, dialogue, padding, what is aiding the story and what isn't.  If the writer isn't aware that the story does not have a plot, it is my belief that these other, more minor, and just as important things will be unheeded.  


So, because of this class, I haven't written creatively in about a month.  This blog post is the most substantial thing I've written since then.  It feels good, Brian.  It feels right.  


Maybe I should go tighten up a story and peddle my wares elsewhere.  


Edit no Jutsu:


Also, I got a cat.  

She's pretty much the best cat ever.  A gift from the best girlfriend ever. <3

The only problem is, said cat likes to attack said girlfriend's hair and face when we sleep.

Kittens. :) :(