It's been a while in the making, but I've finally gotten my latest short story polished to the point where it's ready for submissions.
This story's been interesting from a process standpoint, in the sense that almost all the key elements of it have been on the page from the first draft, but the order and emphasis of those points were what I had to toy with in revisions. Which secondary characters do I need to play up or play down? At what point should this character do X? It's been the kind of story that plays to my sense of experimentation and tinkering. Probably the biggest change has been the title. From fairly early on I was calling it "Parachutist," which was a title I like for its obliqueness and originality. But very near the end of my revising, I realized that that title reflected a facet of the story that had long been revised out and to keep it would only serve to confuse. Thus, I switched to "The Tourist." Not as bold, perhaps, as my earlier title, but it definitely reflects what the story is now about. Funnily enough, in my Tumblr blog a long while back I posted the opening paragraph of this story and was all braggy about how good I thought it was. Turns out I've kept only a fraction of the language in that original intro and it's now buried somewhere on page 3. Just goes to show that you have to be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of your stories. Anyway, the first sortie is now away! (Gotta love electronic submissions!) Now, for me, it's back to the freelancing. Stay tuned for responses.
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I recently picked up a freelancing opportunity where I'll be writing introductory essays for literary anthologies. One of them is the Literature of Propaganda and the other is the Literature of Manifesto. The essays themselves are heavily proscribed pieces, in which every paragraph has a specific thesis and strict word count. Writing them ends up being more of a puzzle-building exercise than any kind of creative process. But the challenge is fairly enjoyable so far.
Of course, the fiction has had to take a backseat because of this project. Which is turning out to be a bit of a sacrifice because I've got a new short story working its way through the pipeline and I'm itching to get it wrapped up. Fortunately, most of the big short story outlets seem to be closed to submissions until the fall, so I'm hoping to get the time to put the finishing touches on it this August and start sending it out in September. I'm happy to report that my new audio-fiction story is live on the WordPlaySound website. You can now go there and listen to it through your web browser, or you can download it as a free podcast from the iTunes store. The story, My Beloved Monster, is an old one that I originally wrote back in graduate school. Over the years, I'd open it up, take a look at it and tinker for a bit. It wasn't until this past winter that I felt like I finally got it to a semi-finished state. Then, when Ryan Singleton, the editor of WordPlaySound, contacted me about recording a story, I figured this would be a good candidate. The results… well, you can listen to them now.
I just got word that the audio short story I recorded for WordPlaySound has been accepted for publication next month. Actually, I'm not sure if publication is the proper term for a recording… Maybe I should say my audio short story drops next month. Anyway, the upshot is that people will be subjected my superfluously enunciated podcast diction and my nascent audio mixing skills. Should make for an interesting listen.
A while ago a friend who runs the audio literary journal WordPlaySound asked me to try recording a story of mine and last week I finally had the time to sit down and give it a shot. Here are a few of the takeaways from the experience:
1. Garageband, which is the program I used to mix the audio, is incredibly complex but once you get a feel for it, it's also maddeningly addictive. The more I toyed with using different tracks and inserting sample loops and varying the volume on the individual tracks, the deeper down the rabbit hole I fell. Then, once I'd learn some other new trick or doo-dad, I'd want to go back and add it to all the previous stuff I'd recorded. The final mix ended up being kind of a Frankenstein's monster, which likely got better sounding as it went along. 2. It's super disorienting to record your voice. As a kid, I always thought my voice sounded strange when I'd hear it played back. Such instances were usually limited to home movies of birthdays and Christmas mornings, so at least they were a natural representation of my voice. It's a different ballgame when you're recording yourself for the purpose of being played back. I found myself weirdly over-enunciating certain syllables to a point where I sounded like I was talking in this absurdly affected British accent. 3. If you want to improve your writing, read it out loud. This is something I say to my composition students all the time and one of the tricks I use when I'm tutoring developmental writing students in the writing lab at school, but it applies just as equally to advanced fiction and nonfiction writers. Something about hearing yourself read your own writing helps cut right through the most wooden-sounding dialogue and spotlights the weakest turns of phrase. I can't recommend it enough. I'm not much of a petition-signer, but this one seems like a real no-brainer. I've had my dogs act as therapy dogs in a nursing home and seen them make a real difference. I mean, come on, it's hard not to feel better when you're petting a dog.
It is with tremendous sadness that we announce the passing of Niko Vesga-Cromley. He went peacefully at 7:20 AM on Monday, April 16, 2012. It's difficult to put our loss and sadness into words but I can unreservedly say that Niko was a fighter. There's no other way to describe the dog who went on to live a year and four months after the doctors gave him "six months at the most."
The last couple weeks his tumor got to be too much for him. The back stairs became scary. And even standing up on the hardwood floors grew tricky. All of that we were more than happy to help him with. We had no problem lending a hand or even carrying him if need be (though he hated the carrying). No, what really told us that it was time was the fact that he was uncomfortable, constantly shifting to find a position that didn't aggravate his tumor. We'd see him sprawled awkwardly on the floor, bewildered at the fact that his own body was failing him. That's when we knew. It's impossible to quantify what he's meant to us and I won't even try to do that here. But there are some things people should know about Niko. He was the most empathic dog I have ever known. He internalized our moods – be they happy, sad, nervous, or angry – and made them his own. If Natalie was doing a last minute crunch on a paper, he was there, sitting next to her, trying to calm her. If I was watching a football game, he'd bark when I'd cheer and growl when I'd curse. When Natalie and I fought, he'd try to broker a peace. In the last six months of his life he developed a new habit. On days when I'd have to wake up early for classes, if I did not get out of bed on the first ring of my alarm clock, he'd get agitated and start pawing the bed, worried I would oversleep. When he was satisfied that I was rising, he'd curl up and go back to sleep. We learn many things from our pets – things about ourselves, but, more importantly, things about life. Niko taught me about love. Unlike most dogs, he was never a font of unconditional, tail-wagging love. Rather, affection was something he doled out cautiously, reservedly. If he let you pet him, you knew you'd earned it with Niko. And if he wanted nothing to do with you (as was often the case) he felt no compunction to fake it. When he gave you his love, it really meant something. In the immediate aftermath of the decision, there was relief. Relief also after we found a lovely pet crematorium who could take him in right away and give us his ashes before we left. Then, on the drive back into town, heading toward home with his still-warm ashes in Natalie's lap, we were forced to face the horrible emptiness, an all-consuming absence. No music or talk could replace an essential sound that was now missing. We've spent the hours since alternately grieving, focusing our attention on our remaining dog, and trying futilely to distract ourselves. I don't know where it goes from here. I suppose the pain will ease in time. But it's hard to see that now. So I try to focus my thoughts only on the positive, only on memories that sustain: Niko was a good dog, a loyal dog. He always gave of himself and he made our lives immeasurably better. He will be missed. He will always be loved. This week will mark the beginning of a new phase of the publication process. It's been a long road that somehow seems to have ended up back where I began almost a year and a half ago. Later this week, my agent will begin sending out my manuscript to publishers. I'd like to think that this step of the process will be short sprint toward a successful conclusion. But long, hard experience has taught me otherwise. So I'm mentally preparing for the long haul. I'm going to try to document the phases (both internal and external) that go into this. For now, I'm waiting for the word that the first sortie has been sent out. Then, maybe I can begin to cross my fingers.
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