The time I was entombed

I made a comment elsewhere that makes it sound as if I don’t appreciate my publication in the venerable Ploughshares several years ago, and I think I should walk that back, because the experience was invaluable even if the story itself was/is pretty meaningless.

I had rough times in my MFA program, mainly because I prioritized smug lyricism over story, and early on Richard Bausch called me out on that, sort of memorably. So when Al Young conducted a visiting writer’s workshop, beginning with a grave speech about how essential it is for the main character to change by the end of the story, I was nervous. See, he had my manuscript in hand, a story in which a guy sits at a bar in front of a big painting of Dolly Parton, thinks about his life, leaves the bar. That’s freaking it. 20+ pages.

And then he said my character never changed. I braced for another MFA beat down. But no, he said it was a good story any way. I think he used the word ‘ineluctable.’

Several months later, Young called the dept asking for that “woman with the brown curly hair” who had written a story he liked. He wanted me to make the revisions and send it to him for an issue of Ploughshares he was editing with the theme of “Believers.”

So that happened. A pub in Ploughshares, graduation and immediate employment, and I didn’t write for years. When I did write, I played with novel projects and had no interest in literary short stories—too much cancer and divorce amongst the middle class—and journals made me sad because I was convinced that the only reason someone would crack Ploughshares to read my story was to see if they could do better than me.

Then years later, Ploughshares offered authors the opportunity to join their digital archive. I opted in, and the rush I felt from seeing my work online was powerful, which in turn sent me into the world of online lit where what I read was so exciting that my love of short story was re-ignited.

I don’t have an ending for this. Oh, almost forgot. When Young called the dept, the receptionist got over excited for me and kept saying it was Andrew Young who needed to speak with me asap. That was confusing.

all fiction is fantasy, part 2

the majority of my students want to write science fiction, fantasy, horror, alt history, children’s stories, rom com and satire. some of them will take a stab at surreality or themes of contemporary alienation. some will attempt complex, paranoid thrillers. very few are interested in domestic realism or political/cultural subjects unless the stories feature some moment of extreme violence or are set in the past. I rarely see regional writing unless that region is part of a coming of age story. they all write at least one coming of age story, as we all do, eventually.

the coming of age story is often as close as they come to writing conventional literary stories, and even then they don’t like the term literary, preferring market terms that describe content over labels that describe . . . oof.

the bad news is that these students, even the ones who are technically sophisticated, are still finding it tough to get into grad writing programs. the good news is that it’s not as rough as it used to be. eighties minimalism is loosening its grip, and the “workshop story” is fading into myth, as elves and mages grab their seats at the seminar table. an influx of pop writers, along with the usual suspects, will be great for programs. I hope.

we talk a lot about what a real writer is, and we say impossible things like, "a writer writes every day." Ugh. a writer, given the chance, will eventually come to write every day. may I amend that threat to something more honest? a writer reads every day, and with luck, she'll do so fearlessly.