Oh my.

I’m just finishing up a few pieces of erotica.

They are filthy, kinky gender fucking madness.

They are not romantic.

They are not sensual (fuck I hate that word).

They are not stories I would be okay with having arty airbrushed White people on the covers of.

They aren’t really “ethnic” enough for arty airbrushed brown people.

Two of them are pants scorchers. They are similar but one is marginally hetero flavored the other one lesbian.

There is a lot of crying, spanking and big dicking lady Leather Daddies.

From the time of my first erotic publication about what now 15 years ago or so? The market has been heavily romanticized and homogenized.

Frankly the erotica that is to my taste (I’ll give links and suggestions later) is rare.

As I’ve said before, the covers bother me. I’d rather have a plain cover though I know that’s a bad marketing move.

But, I can’t bring myself to submit to some of the few places I might sneak in because I don’t see me being marketed to.

I was just checking out one press and every category except the ‘ethnic” one was oceans of White people who are all very conventionally attractive in a stock photo kind of way, unchallenging and for me as a reader not really a turn on.

I’m in that bitter place where I feel edged out because what I think is romantic and makes me tingly in the crotchal region isn’t what brings in the big bucks.

Or maybe this is one of those angsting author things.

I don’t know.

What I mostly feel as I do my market research is this:

• Uncomfortable (pick a reason. I’m not heterosexual, I’m not White, I’m not into that being all there is)
• Transgressive in my queer up all the things attitudes towards how I write sexuality.
• Unmarketable.
• Disquiet. Where (as I believe Remittance Girl has asked) is the edge? Where is the fuck you (no that’s not how she put it) in all these nice romantic with some spanking things?

All that said, I don’t care if that’s what you like or what you write.

Shit go on with your bad self. Write it like a mother fucker and make that money if you can. That’s awesome.

What’s not awesome is that every time I go to maybe submit some smut someplace, feeling all those feelings that are not good.

When romance started filtering into the industry and there were fewer edgy (I also hate using that word in this context) markets I stopped writing a lot of erotica.

We know I don’t generally write for profit.

But I don’t want to let them molder.

I’m tempted to self publish them.

However I am not the best at that.

Self promotion isn’t my strong suit.

So I’m going to collect them up and maybe shop it to some of the more adventurous presses.

I don’t know.

I suppose the part that always gets me is the fact that there’s room for all of the things.

From boot licking in an alley nasty to the sweet sweet romantic.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

So okay what do I like? Let me show you some of my favorites. These are classics in my head:

Rough Stuff: Tales of Gay Men, Sex, and Power edited by Simon Shepphard and M. Christian.  Uh fuck this book is so hot. SO hot. Raunchy, filthy, nasty and everything I love.

If you like erotica and don’t know M. Christian’s work come on son. My favorite way to be a M. Christian pusher is his collection Dirty Words. Just get it.

Best Bisexual erotica. Get all of them.

So yes those are pretty queer but if you look at even the descriptions you’ll probably get what I’m talking about.

I’m tired and emotional. I should get my contacts out and calm down. It will be fine. I will figure it out.

In the meantime go buy a dirty book you won’t be sorry.

Am I allowed?

I am very very tired. So please excuse anything overly obvious I say or that I may ramble more than usual.

I have been working on this little loosely themed collection of erotic/explicit/literary stories. All flash sized, between 250-1000 words.

As I’ve been doing these I have all these um, let’s say academic flavored thoughts about the purpose of what I’m doing. About what I am playing with and exploring not because I think it’s commercially viable (as in publishable) but because I need to walk the land and see what’s going on.

I was listening to Junot Diaz speak (I KNOW I am kind of obsessed ok, listening to him talk about writing and reading is very soothing to me)  and he said something about art and play and I had a boom holy shit moment.

This little nerdy thing I am doing is art.

This is my art.

Holy. Shit.

For as much as I believe other writers make art, Remittance Girl, M. Christian, etc etc they make art.  In my head everyone but me makes art and is an artist and that in my head is this big beautiful lofty thing.

It is a penultimate thing to me. The height of what makes me happy.

I haven’t ever been comfortable allowing myself to try and inhabit that place. the idea that I could be an artist or that anything I do writing, crocheting, photography etc could be art I get very anxious.

I feel nauseated and weird and generally like I am some fake ass dilettante or similar low rent poseur.

And then if I let myself think about it more I shut it down and tell myself to shut my shit mouth and get to work. I am a worker. I put my head down and get to it. I work/commute for 12 hours of my day and I go home and I fucking work.

I work.

Someone like me (poor, worker) can’t join the ranks of artists because in my head, artists are above. I am not up there.

I know that part of this is my upbringing, part of it is the depths of admiration I have for art. How much I value and respect everything I consider art.

I tell myself I can totally write and I can create and I am a creative person. I am a writer. Sometimes I think I’m a pretty good writer.

But I couldn’t consider anything I was doing art.

I wouldn’t say it.

I have had no problem personifying myself as the Rocky archetype or the laborer.  I know that my roach brain survives  I can work through everything (see me being so exhausted right now my hands are shaking but I’m at work) , My War by Black Flag is playing in my head. I am the Mother Fucker. I am a fucking Beast. I can’t be stopped.

Rawr. Flex. Be afraid.

the moment I think this is art, this is beautiful. I have a total fucking meltdown.

Okay so about a half hour ago or so I said to my best friend that my little dark end of limerence and playing with (fuck that word that starts with a J that I learned from Remittance Girl)- anyway this little thing I am doing is art.

it is my art.

It is me exploring these things. I am doing it.

Maybe because I am so tired, I don’t have the energy to put up the labyrinth in my head to let myself step out of the role I’ve assigned myself and just do my arty shit.

For me art does things. It hurts me, it makes me happy, it arouses me (yes sexually), it terrifies me, it makes me want to crap my pants, it makes me want to cry, it makes me think about it two weeks later,  I want to talk about it and chew on it.

These stories do that for me and I want to share them. Maybe they will do it for someone else.

I am making art.

It feels so strange but I want it to be okay. I want to hold my head up point at something I’ve done and be able to proclaim my artiness. If only to myself.

This is a new adventure.

Under the fold here, have a bit of one of the new things I’m working on from the collection.

At another time I might ask some questions for all however many of you read this. But not today. today I just want to enjoy feeling arty.

Minority Searching on Duotrope.

Per usual when I am in a regular submitting schedule I am using Duotrope to look for new markets, look at submission stats for zines etc.

Something I have noticed even prior to them going pay is that if one uses the descriptor: Ethnic/Cultural as part of your search string, it will cut out about 90% of magazines.

Right now I have a search going with the following criteria:

Fantasy, flash length (under 1K), electronic submissions, electronic submission.

That search returns a total of 160 listings for this search.

If I add the Ethnic/Cultural criteria the number of listings goes down to 8.

If I change that to GLBTQ the number shrivels to 5.

I change it to Women/Female Issues (also a side not wtf exactly are “female issues” who the fuck came up with that term? Does that mean stories about periods?) the search hits 6.

Changing from fantasy to General (as in not genre specific) and using no subject (Ethnic etc) I get: More than 300 results.

I add Ethnic/Culteral and get 37 listings.

I change that to GLBTQ and get 15 listings.

I change it to Women/Female issues and get 26 listings.

Okay here in a nutshell is a big problem.

Why do so many lit mags feel fine listing fantasy, experimentalism, blablabla but can’t include POC or women or Queer people with the same specificity?

I find that when I go read guidelines often I run into the same discomfort. Why go out of your way to mention you read a Toni Morrison book once, but there’s no specific mention of interest in “ethnic” or Queer stories?

Also let’s talk about Ethnic/Cultural.

Right now I have a story that is absolutely “Ethnic” in that it is not part of the White Dude’s literary Universe.  I have had one editor admit that they wouldn’t use it because it is so far outside of what’s “usual” that they didn’t think their readers would get it.

In this instance “usual” is Whiteness.

As I am writing more of these stories that are so far outside of the White Dude’s Universe, I’m seeing more and more things that are more and more deeply problematic.

It is exhausting to me to continue seeing editors/others in the lit world  flap their gums about diversity and whatnot when there is nothing to back it up.

I was just reading a zine and I honestly went back six issues. Every author was college educated, White and fairly attractive.

The fact that I am not just aware of these things but that I need to think about them before submitting to a magazine is just exhausting.

I don’t like having to pump myself up and tell myself that if I get accepted to X zine I will totally be the Brave Black Lady who broke through the Big White Wall.

I don’t always want to play that role.

Most of the time I just want to be that lady Shannon who writes some cool stories that people read sometimes.

I honestly wish I could not notice these things, not think about them, have the privilege of never having to look at a magazine and say to myself well self, those are good stories but those are so not your people. RUN RUN NOW.

I my position as a distinctly not famous writer toiling away in obscurity (mostly happily) I feel powerless and sometimes want to just give up and only try to get my Whiteness friendly stories published and self publish everything else.

On the other hand, I don’t want to spend all my time doing that. I have shit to write.

Days like today, I just don’t know what to do or how to deal with these feelings so I’m going to close Duotrope and write another story because I just don’t have the energy for all of this.

Undone by my own non fictions.

Okay.

Please pardon this entry. I’m trying to work through some things and I have a situation.

So I have this bunch of essays,  I forget how many but I have them. I crowd sourced money to have them edited/get me help with them from someone I trust implicitly.

She thinks they are great. She asked the right questions.

Now here is the problem.

They are raw bleeding cheese grater on my nerves bloody.

I know I’m not afraid to be bloody, I’m not afraid to tell embarrassing stories that make me look like a dick. These are about me mainly, stuff I feel, my hurt feefees etc etc but, I cannot get them rewritten.

I start, I read the rewrites I’ve done, I rage,  I want to throw up.

Rationally I love them. They are the sort of thing I like to read. Some of them are about fairly hellish things, awful things no one really wants to hear but that I believe some people need to hear. Lost loves, my undying creepy desire for Courtney Love.

But they upset me.

I have these bodily reactions I can’t chase down to alleviate (except when they make me have to pee, true story, sometimes they just make me have to pee) and I don’t entirely know how to power through.

The pain and the stupid feelings tell me I’m on the right track. Some shit needs to hurt. For instance. When one of my best friends Od’d when I was a youngster, I went and got multi strike branded.

It was awful, my boob smelled like bacon and I was hungry,  I wanted to shit my pants and get fucked all at the same time.

That being what it is, I fully believe that it had to hurt. Otherwise what would have been the point?

So why can’t I do it?

I don’t want to barf on my keyboard (I don’t have one of those fold up washable ones), I don’t know.

I am taking it slow. The least panic inducing piece is the Courtney Love one and I have been diddling it off and on.

I’ve consulted some friends and this uh…what? Metaphorical and spiritual retiring to my fainting couch, is a sign I’m doing something right.

I want to believe that if I keep being gentle (I fucking hate that) that, the right thing will happen and I will get them done. I might even put together the chapbook I’d intended them to be.

Along the same lines, just lately I can’t seem to finish the few pieces about different painful aspects of Blackness.

Too much emotion.

Too many things that come out to translate roughtly as RAGE RAGE FUCK RAGE FUCK FUCK RAGE DIE.

So righty right.

The solution is (as the solution to all things author related) write like a mother fucker.

It hurts.

I bleed.

Keep writing.

It sucks.

I’m mad.

Keep writing.

Write it ugly, write it bloody and covered with snot and tears because that’s the only way I really know how to work.

Okay.

Go.

 

Vida said it, I said it, lots of people are saying it.

Via facebook I was directed to this entry over at VIDA. It’s a good read.

We know I’ve talked about diversity, over and over and over again.

Okay now as I’ve said before one of the biggest problems when it comes to representation not just in literature but in any media is privilege.

In this case, I’m using it to mean the privilege of being the norm or what is considered the norm.

In literature, the norm is the usually fairly well educated, work worn male genius. He is trouble,  he might be an asshole, he might be mentally ill, he might be highly prolific or only write a book ever ten years, he might be super good looking whatever.

This faceless Dude is the literary canon whether or not he deserves it or wants it.

Here is a fact of life whether it is in literature or in TV or every day life. If the only thing you need to do to be considered the average, the normal, the expected is be a White dude half your battle is won.

When it comes to literature this Dude is the history of literature, this Dude is the bar by which other literary works are measured, this Dude is The. Dude. Who is all important and all wise and we should all aspire to if not be like him, at the very least we should be worshipful because he is it.

Problem number one if we are going to be honest.

If we are measuring the subjective nature of what a “good” story is, it must make sense within the framework of The Dude’s universe. If a Good story must make sense in his universe, women doing things that don’t revolve around him, stories about people who are not White Dudes in peril, or stories that have no Dudes in them, stories that are about the intimacy between women, or People of Color can’t exist because The Dude has no need to either think about those things or understand them. It is The Dude’s universe.

That being what it is, the rest of us are shoveled into almost but not quite literary boxes.  If I write a story about a woman trying to give herself a pelvic exam because she is say in a panic about feeling something weird in her vagina. This story would be put into the Dubious Women’s Lit category.  Now in The Dude’s universe where women are for fucking and being understanding and being Mommies, and being hot and maybe writing about sex but only if they are young and attractive, this story can’t be good can it? In that universe, it does not work because The Dude is excluded. The vagina in the story is not there for his gaze, it’s not meant to give him a boner, it exists in a realm completely outside of The Dude.

Now, if we were going on the premise that The Dude is trying really hard to notice those of us who are not Dudes like him, he could say well I read it but it’s just not interesting, it’s not good, people don’t want to read about weird feelings in vaginas, so I won’t publish this.

In that definition of people, what about people who have vaginas? Or might have had weird feelings in them and would be into this story? The Dude would say, well there’s women’s lit. This is a Woman Story. I Do not Understand or feel it so, whatever.

I’m being hyperbolic I know.

Stay with me.

The main point is that those who are considered to be a part of what is Normal and Usual have to make the effort. Asserting that those outside of that norm are those who are responsible for inserting themselves into the norm is ridiculous but the idea persists.

The problem with that in the literary world is that, if you are not the owner of the press or magazine, you have zero power in the equation unless you are already very famous.

Let’s not bullshit each other. Yes, you can self publish, you can start your own press, you can do all sorts of DIY things but, not all of us have the time skill nor inclination.

The simple fact is a lot of us who are standing in the Other circle, just want to be read.

Some of us myself included are pretty much over and done with the idea of The Dude and his ilk being the arbiter of our art. Frankly if The Dudes of the literary world think my work is stupid and they hate it, that’s fine. It’s not for them.

There are others of us however who really want to be in The Dude’s world and that’s fine too. What’s not fine is that those people, they are often unwelcome.

Or they are told they are welcome but in The Dude’s world there is no outward sign of that welcome and frankly, none of us take The Dude’s word for it.

How to change it?

The steps towards making the literary world less about The Dude and his ilk are pretty simple but very difficult to actually do because it’s unsteady footing for the Dude and his kind.

Here’s another short list.

1. Stop talking about how diverse your tastes are. Especially if the only Other voices you talk about liking are shit you had to read in Grad school or the most famous of the famous Others just shut your mouth. Shut up. Stop talking about it like that one book you read by a brown lady is your one Black friend. Don’t.
2. Understand that while “good” is subjective, good does not have to mean it makes sense in the world and universe of The Dude. Begin to unravel your own ideas of goodness as expressed by things you can relate to on a personal level. Embrace the Other lives and voices that no, no you won’t get them on a gut level most likely but that’s okay. It is.
3. If you are really not in a position to enjoy the Other, hire someone who can. Guest editors, guest readers, expand your peer base as it pertains to people who are not hovering in or lodged in The Dude’s Universe.
4. If you want to say your publishing house/magazine whatever is diverse, be honest about that. Is it really? What doesn’t count is the one time you had a Black History Month special issue or the time you did a Lady issue. That’s a start but that doesn’t do shit to solve the problem.
5. If you are not in a position to do these things, expand your own reading verse. Read things you might not normally. If you can google, you can read. If you can read, you can find all of us who are the Other. I have faith in you Dude, you are smart.

At the end of it all, all of this for me personally is kind of mastubatory. I don’t have the kind of faith in the literary world that means I will hold onto hope of big change.  That isn’t to say I don’t pay attention or want the change, I am just in a place where I don’t believe my own future is dependent on The Dude’s of the lit world accepting me. If you feel like your future is that’s okay too.

Okay.

That was a lot of things I just said there and didn’t intend to. Now that I have it out, I’m going to go work on some things and try to get out some new submissions. What do y’all think of all this?

 

Tidbits, news and whatnot.

First a bit of business.

You can read two of my poems,  Coffee Blue and Day/Dreamer respectively on page 5 of the new issue of Aberration Labryinth.\

Two new publications, poetry no less I am no poet, make my ego throb less.

What else?

Writing adventures continue. I am still pecking away at my first swords n sorcery story. I’m finding that the less I let myself go crazy with nerdy details, the more I’m enjoying the storytelling. I like that one of my main characters is a manipulative asshole who will be loved because she is an asshole and not in spite of it.

So this is sort of turning into a queer romancey swords in sorcery story. There will be sex, there will be blood.

Someone might die.

I don’t even know yet.

This is the writer at play.

What else?

I started writing another noirflavored thing. Strippers, big tits, lesbians and drug deals gone bad. Good clean fun.

I think that’s all for today I had more to say but the new firewall at work prevents me from opening the salient links.

Suffice to say, tomorrow I will be fangirling to an excessive degree about a lady I adore.

Here’s another tidbit from teh swords n sorcery story.  No context except to say that this is our second female main character, Makatza who is a Cat Woman.

“Makatza, must you always embarrass them?”

She shrugged and laid her head against his shoulder.

“That’s what they get for being stupid. I’m starving. And I want to get out of my clothes. You did send a runner?”

The priest patted her hand and fondly ruffled one of her ears.

“Yes little cat. I am sure your brave warrior queen awaits you with cakes and fine silks. When will you accept her proposal? It’s not as if you are considering another hand. What are you waiting for?”

Makatza wriggled her whiskers and licked her lips.

“I don’t know. An insane romantic gesture would be nice. And a pet.”

They walked on in silence until a woman came out of the wizards keep, arms open. It was a healer from the Comfort House.

Quickly or not so much.

Until it reaches the bottom of the page and falls away you can find my poem Freedom over at mad swirl.

Tomorrow I believe there will be two more poems of mine published for you to read. I’ll come back with links.

I’ve been kind of immersed in the costs of my writing lately.

I do a lot of poverty math, I’m not in the kind of abject poverty I was once upon a time but, the math still hits me.

In case you’re totally confused here is my thought process when it comes to any purchase over 20$.

If it is an event, I add into the costs things like, do I have an outfit, do I have to take a cab, will I have to try and leave work early (I work a swing shift so I don’t get off until 10), etc.

This is why I tell people (I talked about this recently) that conferences and whatnot are just too expensive for me.

Expense as in time off from work, cab rides, appropriate clothing if there is an evening type event, etc etc. I have to factor in if I want to use sick/vacation hours I might need later on.

So here are expenses I am thinking about right now.

Chromebook, about 300$. Now I had planned on getting a tattoo for my birthday (BIG ass Death Head moth on my chest with some Bukowski lines) but, of course my old desk top computer would cost more than that to rebuild and I’ve already lost work. The idea of the cloud computing/shit being hooked to my google account pleases me.

Second expense I am considering.

Joining AWP.  I am on the fence about that honestly. It costs 65$ which if we’re playing brings my year total writing expenses (not including any postage/reading fees) including Duotrope and upcoming Chromebook purchase at 415$ and it’s not even halfway through the year.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

Duotrope is paid, my self care book did that.

I don’t have a lot of faith in making enough money from writing to cover the rest.

I have never been in a professional organization but okay here’s the thing.

Looking at what they do, are these things I actually need?

I am not college educated, not looking for an internship or teaching position so I don’t need career help.

There’s their magazine, discounts on classes.

I am not in their town, I don’t go to writing conferences, I don’t normally have the time or ability to go to local literary happenings because I work.

So as much as I think it would be cool to join up, I probably won’t.

So we see me worrying at something until I work it out. Per usual.

In other writing business.

I have some lingering submissions out that I need to query but haven’t simply because of laziness and I actually hate doing that.

What else?

I am thinking I’m going to stop mentioning Oshun in stories. I have two active stories both with different mentions of Oshun but from the things some editors have said in rejectins, I think because Oshun is not your standard Euro woowoo goddess,  people don’t understand.

I’m disappointed in this.

Actually let me have a bitter nobody likes me moment.

I am very uh, let’s say tired of myself.

My proverbial aim continues to be way off.

I will say though that of the non form rejections I’ve gotten, some of the things editors have said have been quite lovely. Makes the rejection sting that much more or is that just me?

So..right.

I don’t know.

I sort of feel like a lot of things I’ve written lately are not really palatable to people other than me. So per usual I worry about that. On one hand fuck it, on the other fuck I wanna get published more.

I need to work through it.

To that end I will inflict more of my yes this is nice but not for our fine magazine things on more poor editors.

One acceptance and one rejection this weekend brought my current overall acceptance rate according to Duotrope to 35.3%*.

I am going to specifically look for somewhere to place my little body image essay with the pictures.

I have no idea who might want that.

So there.

I have work to do. No more nobody loves me style pouting.

 

News in my wee world.

As I’ve been grinding away I have some news.

I have SIX rejections already for this year. I’m feeling like that is pretty good. I’m on a bit of a tear and at rejection #66 of the 100 rejections I’m going for.

I have four pieces scheduled for publication this year thus far.

Most of my rejections have been fairly good ones. A couple of editors have said really nice things about my work.

The bad part is that I feel like my aim is off again.

This happens to me now and then. My instinct for where my work would work out is off. I don’t know why or how but that’s where I’m at right now.

What is funny about the situation is that, even last year I’d stop submitting entirely for a couple of months to work it out. Right now I don’t want to do that at all.  I am putting my head down and doing what I do and making myself get shit done. I’m scared, I’m paranoid. I have moments where as I am submitting, I freeze up and imagine that the editor is going to see my name and groan.

I imagine that in some Sooper Sekrit Editors Room somewhere, editors are shaking their beardy (everyone has beards in my imagination) heads and saying very solemnly, “do not want”.

I let all those thoughts roll right on through my head.

This is one of those things about my personality I tried really hard to change for a long time. I am prone to believing that anyone who knows my name probably hates me, hates my shoes, hates my writing and thinks I’m a dumb asshole.

Over the years, my poor best friend has had to talk me down off of that crazy ledge more than once. Then I would feel so terrible for thinking so little of people I really like.

At this point, I’ve learned that it’s kind of better to just let it happen for a little while, then keep it moving.

I have shit to do, I have no time for my own bullshit.

So, right now I am prepping two more non fiction pieces to be flung out at the world.

There is this other thing I feel like I need to figure out.

I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m kind of embarrassed about it so I need some time. I know, it’s shocking that I’m not letting all of my ass hang out on the internet.

Other news?

I found the Chromebook I want and will be buying that instead of a 36th birthday tattoo. Unfortunately my PC at home has become too unstable for me to work on and I honestly can’t handle handle losing more of my work. Not the ideal way to spend birthday money but, I have to work.

How about some links?

If you haven’t been published in Smokelong and you write flash fiction, go enter this right now. A no entry fee fellowship thing that pays. I think that is really amazing and beautiful.

Go read How a Wound Heals by Roxane Gay at the Rumpus. Fuck I love her.

While you’re there Jerry Stahl has some events upcoming so see that here. Read more of his OG Dad Column.  Another person I say loudly FUCK I love him.

Now, if you were never a little Black Girl I need you to go read this. Also if you were ever a little Black girl. Just, just read it.

Last for right now, go read this. I saw this just now via my friend Haddayr and damn it. Gorgeousness.

I have work to do.

Things I’m thinking about.

Go forth and read some stuff. Feel free to come back and leave links for stuff for me to read if you think I’d be into it.

 

 

Things to relearn.

So far this year I’ve written some new horror stories.  I haven’t actively pursued having any horror published in a few years and while I’ve been doing market research I noticed a few things.

Horror magazines tend to be far more strict about formatting. Most I’ve been interested in submitting to specifically state that submissions must adhere to manuscript format.

It’s interesting to me that even some of these magazines that don’t do print, still insist on manuscript format when we know that in an online environment that makes for a bit more work on the part of the editors who have to reformat for online publication.

I find this a tad puzzling, especially publications that don’t have a print history.

Especially the sites that I know (because I’m nosy) run on a wordpress type platform. I know how taxing it can be to move text and have it still look right.

I wonder if it is part of the whole idea that if someone follows that directive they are likely to have a better submission? Is it a stopgap measure to immediately weed out the undesirables? A lot of the non genre zines I read and/or submit to have some quirk in the guidelines that is specifically for this purpose.

I would really be into seeing some interviews type things about this.

In the meantime I’m relearning how to do manuscript format, it’s a tedious process. I write single spaced without a lot of formatting or indents so I spend a lot of time trying to make sure I’ve done it correctly. Mainly because I don’t want to get shitcanned because my spacing isn’t perfect.

In my case that isn’t really a problem with following instructions. More an issue of my spatial perception and I can’t always tell visually when I’ve done it correctly. Also a problem with my vision.

But all I can do is do my best. I’m not mad if a story gets shitcanned and unread because I did something wrong. That is an editors prerogative.

I do all right.

In the meantime. While I am getting my horror related shit together, can we talk about the fact that I have a tiny bit of money left to play with and how I”m ordering some lit stuff?

I just spaced out.

Fuck I am so exhausted y’all. It’s been a bad round of insomnia and I am proper fucked. So that’s all for now.

Candy and bullshit.

Candy.

I finished reading The June Issue of Everyday Genius.

I really enjoyed it. The diversity of style, subject matter and even some formatting delighted me. Noah Eli Gordon’s poem Why I am Not an Academic was lovely.  I really love the art on the cover and on the inside.  The whole little book is a good experience from cover to the kitty at the end.

I love collections/anthologies so much. I was familiar with some of the authors and some like Noah there are new to me.  I feel like I’m being fed tiny morsels of delicious desserts. My strak of good words in the new year continue.

I just started reading the January 2012 edition of Poetry Magazine.  This poem Among the Gorgons by  Michelle Boisseau is fucking gorgeous. You can listen to her read it there at the link. I’m not reading this in order. I’ve been skipping around in the magazine and there are some really beautiful poems in this edition. Another one I recommend picking up.

Words in the New Year are amazing. I have three paperbacks of varying sizes in my bag right now and though one of them is a chunky little thing I am so happy. I noticed last night that when I’m in a write like a mother fucker and make ALL THE THINGS mood I tend to read far less critically. I just want to enjoy, I want to be fed nutritive bits of words to support me through writing my own.

I also have less patience for what I tend to see as useless criticisms. I have a hard time reading some of the conversations at websites I frequent because I am not sure if people are just trying to out clever each other or are being real. My tolerance for that kind of thing is fairly low as it is but when I’m in this particular mood it vanishes.

What else?

How about some other stuff to read?

This article at Litreactor is on a lesson it took me years to learn. For years if something wasn’t perfect right out of my brain I tossed it. I enjoy a lot of the articles over there and have been posting comments and in the forums when I remember but I’m terrible at that sort of thing.

You should also probably go read the December issue of Pank if you haven’t already. This story by Tawnysha Greene, oh shit. Seriously, I read it twice and both times said out loud Oh. Shit. Not in a bad way you understand, more in my absurd hand flapping holy fucking shit this is good what do I do now kind of way.

OH the Rumpus is doing a thing with their Last Book I loved series over on Tumblr.  Do you tumblr? I do and you can find it here. Don’t expect greatness there. My tumblr is basically me cracking my skull and dumping my brain out on the internet. It really is an archive of the random shit that goes through my head, fashion, photos, squeeing.

Did I mention I got two more acceptances? Both poetry to the same zine. It’s rare I get poetry accepted and more rare that I have more than one accepted and I am very excited about that.

Can we talk about Antonia Crane’s Thighs? She wrote an essay that is up at Salon.com right now called My Lucky Thunder Thighs.  We know I love how she writes and that I really enjoy this essay. Outside of their comments sections being full of douchebags,  I’m not a Salon fan and frankly looking at their Body Issues section I am unmoved to tell the truth. From the stock photography (really kills some of the beautiful content, See Anna March’s piece here) to well..yeah. I don’t like Salon. If I read it, it’s only to read people I already know.

Antonia’s piece inspired me to write my own little body thing. Not something I would try to get into Salon ever because I’m fat and would need to add photos of my fatness to go with the piece. Do people do that anymore? I don’t want pro beautiful photos, I’m talking  Instagram styled selfies with #nofilter because I enjoy making people uncomfortable.

This might be something I will have to release myself because I don’t really know where/who would take the piece with the photos.

I think that’s all for now. I need to make a new pot of tea and finish transcribing some new tiny flash pieces and poems.

One last thought, does a tiny essay with photos count as experimental? I don’t know.