My urge is to copy and paste the story here, because nothing I can say about it can do it justice, and because it's so....I haven't eaten meat since I was twelve years old, but I imagine that when you take a bite of a perfectly cooked hamburger, fresh off the grill, it's something like my experience reading "Gazebo."
There is, of course, the opening:
That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.
There are these people trying to end something, Duane and Holly, trying to end it but they can't end it. This way of honoring that our bad choices are runaway trains, as unavoidable as gravity....it's beautiful.
I'd open my eyes and look at the ceiling and listen to it ring and wonder what was happening to us.
But maybe I should be looking at the floor.
I'll never forget that line. This isn't a story; it's a tattoo.
My writer friend Kathy and I have been emailing back and forth about short stories, talking about this idea of whether something "happens" or not. And I think a lot of readers are looking for that moment in the stories they read. I think they want the stoning scene in The Lottery, if I'm being honest. Great story, but in some ways that scene is the least interesting part of it. Just sayin'.
And that's not Carver. He doesn't zoom back and spoon feed you a climax. He puts a target on the backs of two or three people and lets you witness the hunt.
I get down on my knees and start to beg. But I am thinking of Juanita. This is awful. I don't know what's going to happen to me or to anyone else in the world.
Do you clap or cry after a line like that? Maybe both.
So okay, it's happened. I'm a Carver fan. What should I read next?
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
"Karma" by Rishi Reddi
This week I read, "Karma," which was recently selected for One City, One Story in Boston. Copies of the story are being made available all over the city and you can also access it for free online HERE. And for my New England friends who weren't already planning to attend the Boston Book Festival, consider this blog post your sign from the universe. Rishi Reddi will be on hand to give a talk about her story, along with lots of other yummy, juicy author types. Let's show Boston and Copley Square some love.
"Karma" is the story of Shankar Balareddy. I like Shankar. I do. He saves the dead birds that are landing on the streets of Boston, confused by the lure of city lights at night. He cooks his wife a nice dinner. And though I was left feeling like I wished Shankar could treat himself with the same persistence and care as his beloved birds, Reddi has certainly crafted a wholly believable character, the kind of person that can't get out of his own way. There is a Shankar in all of us.
Shankar has some help in staying downtrodden though, in the form of his successful brother, Dr. Prakash Balareddy. Prakash is....Prakash is.....Prakash is an asshole. There's just no other way to say it. He kicks his brother and his sister-in-law out onto the street. He hangs out with a real hoity-toity crowd. He's entirely unlikeable. Except that he's not. I empathized with Prakash and I'm curious if other readers felt the same. We all like Shankar. We all want to point him in the right direction, away from the deceptive lights that cause him to smack against metaphorical skyscrapers. But because of the honesty in Reddi's story, we also have to admit to ourselves that if Shankar was our brother, we'd have probably tossed him out too. "Shankar!" we'd yell. "Get it together!" Watching Shankar circle the drain of victimhood would be, well, draining. Because there's a little bit of Prakash in us too.
Boston is a minor character in the story so if you love the city you'll love this read. And anyone who has any sibling issues will surely connect too.
"Karma" is the story of Shankar Balareddy. I like Shankar. I do. He saves the dead birds that are landing on the streets of Boston, confused by the lure of city lights at night. He cooks his wife a nice dinner. And though I was left feeling like I wished Shankar could treat himself with the same persistence and care as his beloved birds, Reddi has certainly crafted a wholly believable character, the kind of person that can't get out of his own way. There is a Shankar in all of us.
Shankar has some help in staying downtrodden though, in the form of his successful brother, Dr. Prakash Balareddy. Prakash is....Prakash is.....Prakash is an asshole. There's just no other way to say it. He kicks his brother and his sister-in-law out onto the street. He hangs out with a real hoity-toity crowd. He's entirely unlikeable. Except that he's not. I empathized with Prakash and I'm curious if other readers felt the same. We all like Shankar. We all want to point him in the right direction, away from the deceptive lights that cause him to smack against metaphorical skyscrapers. But because of the honesty in Reddi's story, we also have to admit to ourselves that if Shankar was our brother, we'd have probably tossed him out too. "Shankar!" we'd yell. "Get it together!" Watching Shankar circle the drain of victimhood would be, well, draining. Because there's a little bit of Prakash in us too.
Boston is a minor character in the story so if you love the city you'll love this read. And anyone who has any sibling issues will surely connect too.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
"Stickmen" by Andrew C. Gottlieb...plus Thoughts on Publishing Short Stories
Today I'm going to give you my usual thoughts on my experience reading a selected short story, in this case "Stickmen" by Andrew C. Gottlieb. But because of where I discovered this story, you're also going to get my newbie musings on the submission and publication process of short stories.
"Stickmen" won the American Fiction, Vol. 11 contest for best previously unpublished short story. As someone with an infinitesimal amount of publishing creds, I was compelled to add this particular anthology to my short story collection when I saw it in the lovely Jabberwocky Bookshop, while I was attending the Newburyport Literary Festival in the spring. The idea that some kind publishing souls would actively seek out homeless short stories, these little orphans holding out their soup cups, all dirty-cheeked and hollow, spoke to my soul. I have short stories like that, stories I believe deserve a real home, a family to call their own, a decent meal and a warm bed.
I emailed Andrew Gottlieb to see if I could get the lowdown on his story's journey to publication. He was kind enough to reply.
Gottleib wrote "Stickmen" in 2001. It received first prize in the AF contest in 2009. As Denzel said, "This shit's chess, it ain't checkers." Take a wild guess what my new online friend was doing in those eight years? Submitting and editing. Editing and submitting. By Gottleib's own estimate, though "Stickmen" was a finalist in several contests and received other promising feedback, it was passed over for publication 64 times in those eight years.
I would love for someone to write a book that tracks the journey of this story, from journal to journal to contest to journal. I would drool over interviews with first readers and editors giving us insight into their rejections of a great story.
In Clint McCown's introduction to AF, Vol. 11, he takes a stab at one of the reasons why:
"While it may be simple to select the best apple from a barrel of apples, the process is more daunting when one is faced with comparing a first-rate apple to a first-rate orange, and a first-rate pomegranate, and a first-rate kumquat. Taste invariably enters the decision."
But 64? The mind reels.
"Stickmen" is the story of Jimmy Remler and his father, and though Jimmy is our narrator, he gives such a powerful voice to a man who is losing his that his father became an honorary main character. Jimmy's father is dying and has been for a very long time. He has things taken from him that we healthy people toss mindlessly amongst each other, like frisbees on a July beach. I see that here, in Gottleib's story, this passing of life from the dying to the living. It is one of the many sensitivities that pulled me into this story.
I lost a friend a couple of weeks ago to ALS. His struggles and his bravery were captured in "Stickmen." When Jimmy's mother tells him that the end could come any day, that he must be ready for it, I knew that Jimmy would never be ready. That even when we know it's coming, death shocks us.
Jimmy recounts a memory from his youth, when his father, forced to sit in the car because of his disease, watches young Jimmy fall from the jungle gym.
I knew that's what made the memory special for me. You have to admire a man who could do that every day, who could sit there missing out and knowing it.
Yes, that's it, exactly.
This story will stick with me (pun somewhat intended) for a long time, because Jimmy felt particularly alive to me. He is out there in the world somewhere now, still grieving, but no longer drawing stickmen.
If you get a chance to read "Stickmen," send Andrew Gottleib a quick note. Wicked nice guy.
"Stickmen" won the American Fiction, Vol. 11 contest for best previously unpublished short story. As someone with an infinitesimal amount of publishing creds, I was compelled to add this particular anthology to my short story collection when I saw it in the lovely Jabberwocky Bookshop, while I was attending the Newburyport Literary Festival in the spring. The idea that some kind publishing souls would actively seek out homeless short stories, these little orphans holding out their soup cups, all dirty-cheeked and hollow, spoke to my soul. I have short stories like that, stories I believe deserve a real home, a family to call their own, a decent meal and a warm bed.
I emailed Andrew Gottlieb to see if I could get the lowdown on his story's journey to publication. He was kind enough to reply.
Gottleib wrote "Stickmen" in 2001. It received first prize in the AF contest in 2009. As Denzel said, "This shit's chess, it ain't checkers." Take a wild guess what my new online friend was doing in those eight years? Submitting and editing. Editing and submitting. By Gottleib's own estimate, though "Stickmen" was a finalist in several contests and received other promising feedback, it was passed over for publication 64 times in those eight years.
I would love for someone to write a book that tracks the journey of this story, from journal to journal to contest to journal. I would drool over interviews with first readers and editors giving us insight into their rejections of a great story.
In Clint McCown's introduction to AF, Vol. 11, he takes a stab at one of the reasons why:
"While it may be simple to select the best apple from a barrel of apples, the process is more daunting when one is faced with comparing a first-rate apple to a first-rate orange, and a first-rate pomegranate, and a first-rate kumquat. Taste invariably enters the decision."
But 64? The mind reels.
"Stickmen" is the story of Jimmy Remler and his father, and though Jimmy is our narrator, he gives such a powerful voice to a man who is losing his that his father became an honorary main character. Jimmy's father is dying and has been for a very long time. He has things taken from him that we healthy people toss mindlessly amongst each other, like frisbees on a July beach. I see that here, in Gottleib's story, this passing of life from the dying to the living. It is one of the many sensitivities that pulled me into this story.
I lost a friend a couple of weeks ago to ALS. His struggles and his bravery were captured in "Stickmen." When Jimmy's mother tells him that the end could come any day, that he must be ready for it, I knew that Jimmy would never be ready. That even when we know it's coming, death shocks us.
Jimmy recounts a memory from his youth, when his father, forced to sit in the car because of his disease, watches young Jimmy fall from the jungle gym.
I knew that's what made the memory special for me. You have to admire a man who could do that every day, who could sit there missing out and knowing it.
Yes, that's it, exactly.
This story will stick with me (pun somewhat intended) for a long time, because Jimmy felt particularly alive to me. He is out there in the world somewhere now, still grieving, but no longer drawing stickmen.
If you get a chance to read "Stickmen," send Andrew Gottleib a quick note. Wicked nice guy.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
"A Platonic Relationship" & "Eric Clapton's Lover" by Ann Beattie
I found Ann Beattie (not that she was lost) through Dan Kois, who went on a mass-market paperback binge this summer for Slate Magazine. My copy arrived from the street drug known as "Amazon Prime" two days later, smelling like an old person's shoes. Note the stains of unknown origin on the cover.
The pages are that perfect burnt gold color of old paperbacks and I have to hold it ever so gently so that it doesn't disintegrate in my hands.
I chose my first story by its title, "Eric Clapton's Lover." I went through an intense period of obsession with an Eric Clapton Greatest Hits Album in my late teens.
Writer's Note: How great is Spotify? I am now listening to the exact album I used to play on repeat while driving around my one-horse town with my best friend. "After Midnight" was our favorite song.
The second story, "A Platonic Relationship," was Beattie's first to be published in The New Yorker. She was 26 at the time.
I have swallowed the jealous bile in the back of my throat. On to the stories...
Opening lines:
(ECL) Franklin Fisher and his wife, Beth, were born on the same day of March, two years apart.
(APR) When Ellen was told that she would be hired as a music teacher at the high school, she decided that it did not mean that she would have to look like the other people on the faculty.
Gonna cause talk and suspicion, we gonna give an exhibition....
Inciting incidents:
(ECL): Franklin Junior leaves home with his new bride, a tractor-trailer driver.
(APR): Ellen gets a new roommate named Sam.
Surface problems:
(ECL): Franklin is fired from his magazine job and has to work at a movie theater that has rats in the soda machine. Beth can't get out of bed. Franklin starts to drink and seeks out women in parking lots. Beth gets out of bed and becomes a feminist, but still dates a man who tries to name her cat for her.
(APR): Ellen spends inordinate amounts of time cleaning Sam's room for him, replacing one albatross (her ex-husband) for another. She drinks too much beer. Sam hightails it out of town on a hot, new motorcycle, leaving Ellen behind to reconcile with her ex-husband.
I desperately want Taylor Swift and John Mayer to cover Clapton's "Promises."
Story-worthy problems:
(ECL & APR): Beattie's stories is understated. They are not the fireworks; they are the uncomfortable barbeque where your divorced parents each bring their new partner and you sit watching your mother devour the crudite and your father stare at his much younger girlfriend's ass. They aren't the murder in the dark of night; They are the days created the motive.
I love this line from ECL: "Being born on the same day seemed a very good thing to go on," he said. And this: "I realized there was nothing I wanted to say to you and there was nothing I wanted to hear," she said. Isn't that just the perfect two-line summary for a divorce that goes out as a whimper instead of a bang?
I found Ellen much less sympathetic than Beth. At least Beth shows a little verve by getting transferred out of the lingerie department at her new job for talking too much to the customers. Ellen just circles back to where she began. Having gathered the courage to leave her husband and pursue her own dreams, she lets Sam use her like a gas station and ride off into his own sunset. I want to visit her in another ten years and if she's still with her husband, or cleaning for another tenant, I'm staging an intervention.
Click HERE to read ECL on the VQR website. Gotta buy the book or snag an old New Yorker for APR. And go listen to "Lay Down Sally" while you're at it.
The pages are that perfect burnt gold color of old paperbacks and I have to hold it ever so gently so that it doesn't disintegrate in my hands.
I chose my first story by its title, "Eric Clapton's Lover." I went through an intense period of obsession with an Eric Clapton Greatest Hits Album in my late teens.
Writer's Note: How great is Spotify? I am now listening to the exact album I used to play on repeat while driving around my one-horse town with my best friend. "After Midnight" was our favorite song.
The second story, "A Platonic Relationship," was Beattie's first to be published in The New Yorker. She was 26 at the time.
I have swallowed the jealous bile in the back of my throat. On to the stories...
Opening lines:
(ECL) Franklin Fisher and his wife, Beth, were born on the same day of March, two years apart.
(APR) When Ellen was told that she would be hired as a music teacher at the high school, she decided that it did not mean that she would have to look like the other people on the faculty.
Gonna cause talk and suspicion, we gonna give an exhibition....
Inciting incidents:
(ECL): Franklin Junior leaves home with his new bride, a tractor-trailer driver.
(APR): Ellen gets a new roommate named Sam.
Surface problems:
(ECL): Franklin is fired from his magazine job and has to work at a movie theater that has rats in the soda machine. Beth can't get out of bed. Franklin starts to drink and seeks out women in parking lots. Beth gets out of bed and becomes a feminist, but still dates a man who tries to name her cat for her.
(APR): Ellen spends inordinate amounts of time cleaning Sam's room for him, replacing one albatross (her ex-husband) for another. She drinks too much beer. Sam hightails it out of town on a hot, new motorcycle, leaving Ellen behind to reconcile with her ex-husband.
I desperately want Taylor Swift and John Mayer to cover Clapton's "Promises."
Story-worthy problems:
(ECL & APR): Beattie's stories is understated. They are not the fireworks; they are the uncomfortable barbeque where your divorced parents each bring their new partner and you sit watching your mother devour the crudite and your father stare at his much younger girlfriend's ass. They aren't the murder in the dark of night; They are the days created the motive.
I love this line from ECL: "Being born on the same day seemed a very good thing to go on," he said. And this: "I realized there was nothing I wanted to say to you and there was nothing I wanted to hear," she said. Isn't that just the perfect two-line summary for a divorce that goes out as a whimper instead of a bang?
I found Ellen much less sympathetic than Beth. At least Beth shows a little verve by getting transferred out of the lingerie department at her new job for talking too much to the customers. Ellen just circles back to where she began. Having gathered the courage to leave her husband and pursue her own dreams, she lets Sam use her like a gas station and ride off into his own sunset. I want to visit her in another ten years and if she's still with her husband, or cleaning for another tenant, I'm staging an intervention.
Click HERE to read ECL on the VQR website. Gotta buy the book or snag an old New Yorker for APR. And go listen to "Lay Down Sally" while you're at it.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
"The Messenger Who Did Not Become a Hero" by Douglas Watson
One of my most recent writing goals was to subscribe to a lit mag. After months of vacillating, I finally settled on One Story. Only the rocket scientists among you will figure this out but the gist is that you receive one story every three to four weeks. I love that I know I'll read the entire thing and it's also pint-sized cute. Note comparison size with equally esteemed literary magazine in picture below.
Now on with the story. It should go without saying that lovers of literature should have the patience to give stories a minute to form before we make any rash decisions. That being said, aspiring writers are berated and barraged with the lament that WE MUST GET TO IT! or terrible things, things much worse than eternal oblivion, will befall us. Who can blame me if I've become part of that culture where something must explode or die or cheat or implode in the first sentence, lest we should become momentarily bored?
If, and I still think it's a big if, an immediate inciting incident is one of the rules, then Watson breaks that rule. We have (gasp) about a page and a half of backstory before the proverbial crap hits the fan and everything changes for our new friend, the unnamed messenger.
First line: There was a messenger who was stuck working for a no-good king.
Inciting incident: The messenger lays eyes upon the woman of his dreams, she of the wispy-hair and revolutionary predilection. It is love at first sight.
Surface problems (spoiler alert): His true love is shot and dies in his arms. He is captured by the king who he betrayed and banished to Sumatra. His ship wrecks. He has his Tom Hanks moment in the sun. Like Tom, he seeks salvation and travels over harsh lands until he comes upon the city of Our Zurich. I realize that this all sounds very morose but it's actually hilarious if you get this kind of humor. I laughed out loud in several places.
Story-worthy problem: In the messengers's own words to the people of Our Zurich, "Are you misspending your life?" It is, I think, probably the question of our time. I love that Watson put this SWP into the context of a different era because it wouldn't have been as effective if the messenger was some poor 21st century office worker trapped in a cubicle. The resolution is satisfying because it is not entirely fulfilling for the protag. His life was not wholly misspent. He had awoken. He had escaped. The flip side of this is that he waited too long and was old, so he soon dies, but not before he realizes that, "Life thrummed in all things."
It's an unexpected, poignant, funny and weird story that I hope everyone will check out.
Friday, August 2, 2013
"After Rosa Parks" by Janet Desaulniers
I mentioned last week how influential Hooked by Les Edgerton has been in my reading and writing. This week, I edited three short stories and watched as the inciting incidents connected to the surface problems which both led organically to the story-worthy problem. I finally get cause and effect and can feel my story-worthy problem guiding my way. Pun intended: I'm hooked. Not only has this approach changed how I write and edit, but it has changed how I read. I'm picking up books at random and seeking out the inciting incident. I'm barraging my husband with plot summaries and talk of the all-encompassing "SWP." On tap this week: "After Rosa Parks" by Janet Desaulniers.
Opening Line
Ellie found her son in the school nurse's office, laid out on a leatherette fainting couch like some child gothic, his shoes off, his arms crossed over his chest, his face turned to the wall.
Inciting Incident
You know when you were a kid and your mom used to respond to some generic childhood crisis with the wise question, "Wouldn't life be boring if we were all the same?" After reading this story I'll pose a question to you, dear obscure short story blog readers. Wouldn't life be boring if the inciting incident was obvious? If we all saw the same inciting incident in a story? When we read, don't we want to delve into the dance of creation along with the author?
I'm going out on a limb but I'm going to argue that Desaulniers breaks some rules here and begins with some significant backstory. The inciting incident, the disruption to Ellie and Cody's stability, comes later with her brother Frank's cancer diagnosis. That's what changes everything.
Surface Problems
Oh there's a lot to pick from here. Ellie is a struggling single mom to young Cody, a child with a nervous stomach and a sensitivity to the sharp edges of the world that let's us know the future and all of its blemishes will be hard on Cody, and Ellie in turn. Cody's an old soul, and what's worse for an old soul than a cookie-cutter public education? Uncle Frank has come to help since the divorce went through, but his belly hurts too, for more nefarious reasons.
Story-Worthy Problem
If you haven't read anything by Parker Palmer, who writes about education but who really writes about life and justice and courage, please give him a try. He changes the shape of your brain and heart. He refers in his work to something called "The Rosa Parks Decision." To paraphrase, it is the moment in your life when you decide to live on your own terms, at whatever the cost, because the cost of living under someone else's thumb will forever be too great once you see your world through your new eyes.
This is the story-worthy problem for Ellie. She's not the child quivering on the diving board, afraid to jump in. She's the kid that won't even get off the bench, too resigned to the certainty that she'll fail to even stand up. I imagine, though don't know for sure, that this moment of diving into the deep end, of reclaiming one's tenacity and hope, is common after divorce. Ellie decides that if she can find her own terms, and then live by them, she and Cody will find their place in the world. They'll both be free.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
"A Real Doll" by A.M. Homes
I took a little time off from the blog because my "vacation" has been chock-full of family, writing, mini-golf, and bay swims. But my fingers have been getting twitchy.
Today I'm going to share my reading through the lens of the book Hooked by Les Edgerton. The talented and lovely Ms. Lori Goldstein was kind enough to read the first five pages of my WIP and referenced some key concepts from Hooked. I can't thank her enough.
I'm sure this will come as a shock to the seven people that read this blog, but I'm an untrained writer. I took one creative nonfiction course in college and I'm quite sure the professor hated me. Us Type A people make the worst creative writing students. Alas, I'm trying to learn as much as a I can the old-fashioned way: by reading tons of books on craft. Hooked makes it simple. Well that's not quite right. If it was simple I would be on my book tour instead of writing this blog for you seven people. Better put, Hooked points you in the direction of Mt. Everest and says, "Go climb that." But at least I have a better idea of which way I'm walking now.
In an attempt to put these ideas to use I'm trying to find the elements discussed in Hooked in the books and short stories I'm reading. These include the inciting incident, the surface problems, and the story-worthy problem. I'm also going to highlight opening lines of the stories I read.
It's ironic that the first time I'm doing this on the blog is with "A Real Doll" because this story is so off-the-charts unique that to try to reign it into my neat boxes feels like lassoing a wild stallion. But lasso I will.
Opening lines:
"I'm dating Barbie. Three afternoons a week, while my sister is at dance class, I take Barbie away from Ken. I'm practicing for the future."
Inciting incident:
The story begins when the narrator, Jenny's brother, notices that his sister's Barbie has come to life.
Surface problems:
Where do I begin? In any intense sexual relationship between two young people, problems are expected. When one of those young people is a Barbie, things can get really complicated. You might give Barbie too much Valium, overestimating her tolerance. You have to decide what romantic gift to buy her. Do you get her the pool, snowmobile, or grand piano? And of course, you have to compete with the anatomically incorrect Ken.
Story-worthy problem:
It seems reasonable, as someone who has only known and never been a teenage boy, that all sorts of strange things must go through boys' minds on the topic of sex. I think that if we are all being honest with ourselves, it isn't what this boy does to Barbie (and Ken for that matter) that is strange, but rather Homes's ability to so vividly enter the mind of a pubescent teenager and to capture the force of his infatuation. As I read, the question that drew me forward was: What is wrong with this kid? That's the story-worthy problem that engaged me. When he callously dumps a recently deformed Barbie at the end of the story, I think the answer is revealed: nothing. He's just a teenage boy. It's A.M Homes that is the exceptional one.
Click HERE for a full-text version of "A Real Doll."
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