My First Six Months – Top Humor Posts

I can hardly believe it’s been six months since I started my blog in late March, earlier this year. I’ve gotten nearly 1500 hits to my blog since I started, and although I never had a goal in mind for traffic, I’m pleased to know that someone is reading.

It’s been a rewarding journey and I’m taking a moment to glance back at the months of accumulated posts and see which humor posts I enjoy re-reading. Here are my selections from the archives!

HUMOR

When I look back at the 50+ posts I’ve made in the past six months, I enjoy re-reading my humor posts a lot. One post in particular, Reasons Why Your Short Story Was Rejected, is a favorite of mine given my trials and tribulations trying to get my short stories published.

After I took a trip to Seattle in June, I came across the Fran Lebowitz Reader. I was inspired to write Reasons Why Fran Lebowitz Has Writer’s Block.

And given my undying love of New York City, I had to take a swipe at the folks that call Gotham home. During Hurricane Irene I wrote What Upper West Siders Did During the Hurricane , but I also wrote a fantasy fairytale piece about Snowy White and the Seven Smashers in A Rapper Fairytale – NYC Style.

Lest anyone think that only NYC gets my attentions, I also took a few jabs at my home state of New Jersey, with New Jersey’s Cultural Zenith – The Diner.

I hope you get to read (or re-read) some of these and have a chuckle, or two, on me!

Writing Prompt: Writers and Superheros

Go Out and Write Something Superhero!

How are writers like superheroes…or super-villians?

• Writers can leap tall deadlines in a single bound
• By day, we’re mild-mannered office workers, but by night we transform into Super-Writer!
• Writer’s Block is the Super-Villian we’re sworn to defeat.
• We’re always ready to pull another character into our twisted web

I will add to these bullet points as I think of them, but please feel free to add your own!

Lessons From the Slush Pile

As I wrote about a week ago, I’ve started volunteering for an online journal as a slush pile reader.  I’ve already read over 50 entries, which is much more than I thought I would read.

So far reading from the slush pile has been a fascinating and sobering experience for me as a writer. I feel like I’ve learned far more about the submission process from an editor’s point of view than I would have reasonably expected.

It’s difficult to imagine how many submissions editors and their staffs have to review to get to the final selections for an issue. And the experience of having so many stories put in front of you at once immediately puts you in a comparative mode. I imagine now how some teams might debate and cull down their “Maybe” list into a concise, short list of final “Yes” pieces.

‘This story,’ an editor might think to themselves, ‘is well written, but I don’t like the ending. It’s not as good as this other story I just read a half hour ago.’  Or maybe the thought is, ‘This story just doesn’t go anywhere.’ (In my own brief time as a reader I feel like I’ve read quite a few stories with an excellent premise, but the person just hasn’t taken it far enough.)

And given the pace of life at small online journals and the avalanche of submissions, it’s difficult to imagine editors requesting re-writes and working with writers to hone a piece so it can be published, even though I know it does happen and has happened to me personally a few times. It makes me that much more appreciative of an editor’s time.

Of course all of this reading and evaluating gives me ammunition to look at my own work with a critical eye, or maybe I should say a MORE critical eye.

My early lessons from the slush pile would have me asking myself a series of questions before I’d submit any of my stories to any editor for their review. I jot a few of them here for your consideration and use, as you may see fit.

• “Does this piece have enough to say?”
• “Do I take the characters far enough in this story?”
• “Is there emotional resonance?”
• “Is the premise plausible enough within the context of the story that’s been written?”
• Have I taken the premise of the story far enough?
• “How can I up the ante or increase the tension?”
• Is the ending coming too soon in the story? Too late?
• Is the ending predictable? Is it too unpredictable?

This post is probably the first of several posts I’ll make on this topic, based on other experiences I have from the slush pile.

I’d like to hear from other writers, editors or slush pile readers out there who may agree/disagree with my questions above. Maybe you have your own set of “critical questions” you ask before you submit/and or accept a story for publication and I’d like to hear about those too.

New Story Published! A Hammer and a Nail

Hi all,

I wanted to share the great news that my story A Hammer and a Nail has just been published by A Twist of Noir.

Although I usually don’t write crime fiction, this story was inside me and just needed to be written. A special thanks to A Twist of Noir’s editor for his guidance as the final version of the story was being crafted.

As always, a permanent link to the story has been added to my publications page.

Please enjoy!

Carol

Where is Farley’s Book Shop, What is Press 53, and Who is Curtis Smith?

I was in Farley’s Book Shop in New Hope, PA and it is a relatively rare kind of bookstore because it has whole sections of it’s front shelving dedicated to independent presses. I’d also recommend Farley’s because they have regular events, and I like the way that shop is curated.

One shelf in Farley’s is dedicated to Press 53, out of Winston-Salem, North Carolina (yes the same Winston-Salem of cigarette fame.) http://www.press53.com/About_Press53.html

Much to mydelight, Press 53 specializes in publishing short story collections. From their website:

Short Story Collections: Since we published our first book in October 2005, Press 53 has gained a reputation for being a champion of the short story. We publish 6-8 short story collections each year.

So there I was, perusing the Press 53 shelf when I came across a signed copy of Bad Monkey by Curtis Smith. And while I had never heard of Curtis Smith before, I came to know that he’s been nominated for a half dozen Pushcart prizes.

Regardless of his pedigree, I decided then and there that it was my sworn duty to support fellow short story writers so I dished out the $14 bucks to support Mr. Smith, Press 53 and Farley’s Book Shop all the way down the line.

I’ve read several of the short stories in the Bad Monkey collection, and they are very well written, and have an emotional resonance that I like.

Since I am a short story writer myself, I really relate to the idea that there are so many unsung, relatively unknown writers out there and thank goodness for independent presses like Press 53 who are ready, willing and able to champion such writers and works.

So – go to your nearest independent bookstore and look for an independent press label. Take a chance and buy such books, and find treasures that perhaps no one has heard of but that are worthy of better recognition.

And if it’s a short story collection, so much the better.

Flash Fiction Story: Jacob’s Beard

 

Jacob’s Beard

 

I’ve never been as heart-sick as the day I shaved Jacob’s beard. It was his twenty first birthday and he had decided to leave our Hassid family for worlds unknown.

 

Jacob was the last of the six of us, I was a year older than him. We were closer than anyone else in the family. When he told me his decision, I wasn’t surprised. He wanted to be a writer and thought he’d never experience the world if he stayed in the Hassidic community. I didn’t try to talk him out of it, but it frightened me to think of him living away from us.

 

He packed a suitcase with starched white shirts, black pants and one suit jacket. The silk tallit he had received from our grandfather lay in a velvet pouch atop the clothes. He wore his good cotton tzitzit’s underneath his shirt along with the kippah I had crocheted for him set at a jaunty angle on his head. I had embroidered his name on the side.

 

He sat on the toilet seat and held a towel across his arms as I made the first tentative snips with a pair of scissors. My hand trembled as the brown wisps fell into the towel he held across his arms. I trimmed the center portion nearly to the bottom of the cleft in his chin. I hadn’t seen that cleft since he was sixteen and he grew fuzz over it. I made my way to his left cheek and as the hair fell away I uncovered the scar he got when he fell off his bike. He was only six and went to the hospital for a few stiches. I held his hand when the doctor sewed him up and Jacob hadn’t cried. His right cheek had a lovely birthmark in the center.

 

I looked down at the towel covered with his hair and began to cry. He soothed me and said he’d write to me every week and that he would keep me in his prayers.

 

I took the towel and gathered up his hair. I carefully put it into my father’s discarded tobacco pouch. It still smelled of the sweet cherry leaves he had kept in it for stuffing the pipe he no longer smoked. Jacob made no comment as he watched.

 

Jacob left the house on a Saturday night while my family was at Shul bringing the Shabbat to a close. Jacob wrote me a note and left it under my pillow with an address and phone number in Brooklyn.

 

He wrote to me each week as he promised; his letters were filled with details of a world I knew little about. Through his eyes I saw places I had never been before and I marvelled at his ability to adapt so readily to this new life. He took a job as a delivery boy for a deli near the Bowery.

 

The day he got hit by a car was a Saturday. He was crossing Houston Street with his bicycle. My family did not answer the telephone that day. We were not home when the phone rang – we were in Shul. Jacob broke his leg in two places, but thank god it wasn’t worse; he could have been killed.

 

We listened to our messages after the sun set. I told my parents I was going to see him; they didn’t argue. The next morning my father drove me to the train station. He gave me two twenty dollar bills and told me to call if I needed anything.

 

I got out of the train in Manhattan and walked to the subway. I had memorized the directions given to me on the phone by the landlady. Mrs. Weinberg met me at the door and let me into Jacob’s apartment.

 

I went into the bedroom; he was on the bed with his cast propped up by a pillow. My brother had become thin in the months since I had seen him. His face was pale, and he was obviously still in pain.

 

“Becca, do you think I’m being punished for working on Shabbat?” Jacob said.

 

“Don’t talk like that; I’m here to take care of you.” I began to tidy his room and shushed his talk of guilt and the sins he had committed.

 

Within a week, Jacob was able to walk with his crutches and my cooking helped put some color into his cheeks. In a moment of quiet, he admitted to me that he had second thoughts about his decision to leave. It was difficult to live without the family around him, separated from his community. He had written a few chapters of a novel, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

 

There was no question, I said, that our parents would want him to live at home until he got better. I thought it would be best for him to come home where we could care for him. Jacob didn’t argue.

 

My father drove to Brooklyn in our family station wagon. He helped Jacob get into the back seat and laid the crutches beside him. My father kissed him on the cheek and closed the car door without a word.

I won! (the Janet Reid “Sounds Like Panic To Me” contest)

Wow - I actually won the homonym contest entry that literary agent Janet Reid (aka Query Shark) hosted during Hurricane Irene. I only found out today because I had been away in Mexico, and hadn’t had the chance to check her blog until now. (Oops!)

Here is the link to Janet’s announcement of the winner (me) and the runner up entries: http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2011/09/sounds-like-panic-to-me-writing-contest.html

I’m quite thrilled to have won… believe it or not I’ve never entered a contest like this ever before so it’s a new experience.  Considering I was up against 61 other entries, I feel pretty good about the results.

Also, I wanted to say thank you to all the people who left such really nice comments on Janet’s blog about my entry.  It’s nice to feel the love!

Now I just have to figure out how to claim my prize….

9/20/11 addendum:

Based on our email exchanges today I just have to say Janet Reid was so nice, she asked me what I liked to read and tailored the prize to my preferences.  I think that is sweet as all get out.

I have to say to her again: thank you, thank you, thank you!

It just goes to show, sometimes when you swim with the sharks, you win!

Writer, Reader and now, Slushpile Volunteer

I’ve been back from Mexico for about a week now and I’ve thrown myself into editing and revising a story I’ve been working on for about a month. I’ve gotten feedback from three of my regular readers, and each one has made different suggestions and comments from which to pick and choose. The usual torture.

I continue to grapple with the material and the piece has gone from 1200 words and ballooned up to 2100 words, and now I’ve culled it back down to under 1600 words but I am unhappy with the ending. (I’m usually unhappy with my endings.) And so the toil continues.

But speaking of editing, endings and the like… I’ve also recently started volunteering as a slush pile reader for one of the journals that previously published one of my stories. It’s been fascinating to read other people’s submissions and to be in the position of deciding whether or not the material is worthy of publication. I’ve already read more than 30 stories as a slushpile reader over the last several days, and unfortunately from what I’ve read, the majority of the submissions were a “No” for me.

It is a GREAT experience for me because I see rookie-writer mistakes, crazy stories with no plot, or stories with nonsensical plots and characters, but I also see nuanced well written pieces that for whatever reason do not come together.  As a writer, seeing all of this material gives me a much deeper understanding of what editors (and slush pile readers!) have to go through in order to get to the stories that are ready for publication. It also makes me think that it’s basically a miracle that any of my stories have been published.

Have you ever volunteered as a slushpile reader for a small press journal? Have you ever edited a journal? I’d love to hear some war stories from people who are on the “other side” of the submissions process and their perspective.

The largest pyramid in the world: Cholula Mexico

While I was in Puebla, Mexico, I decided to take a day trip to San Pedro Cholula, a village about a 15 minute cab ride away from Puebla. Puebla is the 4th largest city in Mexico with millions of inhabitants, while Cholula is a small town with an ancient history.

I wanted to visit Cholula for it’s archeological site, a pyramid. The largest pyramid in the world, in fact. And the pyramid is certainly there, but the thing is – most of it is covered by dirt and looks like a hill.

Believe it or not, this is the largest pyramid in the world.

According to Wikipedia:

The temple-pyramid complex was built in four stages, starting from the 3rd century BCE through the 9th century CE, and was dedicated to the deity Quetzalcoatl. It has a base of 450 by 450 metres (1,480 by 1,480 ft) and a height of 66 m (217 ft). According to the Guinness Book of Records, it is in fact the largest pyramid as well as the largest monument ever constructed anywhere in the world, with a total volume estimated at over 4.45 million cubic meters, even larger than that of the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt which is about 2.5 million cubic meters.

Centuries later, a Catholic church was built at the very top of the “hill” (the top of the pyramid). So, you see the pyramid structure at the bottom of the hill (see pic above), but then, you look waaaayyyy up to the top of the hill and you see a bright yellow church.

A view of the church from the bottom of the pyramid

 Again, from Wikipedia:

This is the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios (Church of Our Lady of Remedies), also known as the Santuario de la Virgen de los Remedios (Sanctuary of the Virgin of Remedies), which was built by the Spanish in colonial times (1594) on top of the prehispanic temple. The church is a major Catholic pilgrimage destination, and the site is also used for the celebration of indigenous rites.

You can climb to the top of the hill, or pyramid, by way of a slashed-rock walkway of near vertical incline. Many pilgrims made their way up the hill on the day I visited.

Two women make the pilgrimage up the steep "pyramid hill" - the town is laid out below

 Eventually, you come upon a vertical staircase, the last of your journey before you see the church:

Vertical staircase to heaven - just before you reach the church at the top of the pyramid

The church doesn’t look 400+ years old…

The bright and cheerful yellow paint on this church helps disguise it's age. It was built in 1594.

I wish I could show you what the inside of the church looks like, but it is not permitted. No photographs can be taken inside the church. But the thing that made an impression on me inside this church was the incredible smell. There were dozens upon dozens of live flower arrangements spread everywhere in the church, which is small inside. The entire alter was covered with them and it was lovely. Mexican pilgrims would enter the church, sit in the pews for a few minutes, make a small donation and leave.  I watched in fascination as wave after wave of people came and went. There were no services, and everyone came in and prayed silently.

When I wandered back out of the church, I couldn’t help but take pictures of the town of Cholula laid out in front of me, even though it was a foggy day.

The town of Cholula draped in fog

At the center of the town, is another fortress like structure, which is actually a convent.  It was built in 1549. Of course I wandered down into the center of town to take more photographs of this impressive structure.

Side view of the conventCourtyard of the convent

 

Courtyard of the convent

 

And while I am not a Catholic, I wound up taking one of the most memorable photos of my trip in this courtyard. A nun had come out of the convent, and had set up an umbrella with baskets of things to sell because there was a fair going on in Cholula on the day I visited (which is different story for another time.)

 

Here is my photo:

Nun in Cholula

 

 After having visited the pyramid and the church at the top of the pyramid, I got a sense of Cholula’s ancient past. But it seemed just that – the past. But when I came down into the town center to this convent and saw this nun, suddenly the past and the present had merged together and became one.

 

This woman’s life may not be all that different from her counterparts that lived in Cholula hundreds of years ago. How amazing it is, to find yourself in a place, alone with the past and the present (she and I were the only people in the convent’s courtyard when I took this photo) and to simply be there to observe it.

 

There are so many things about Mexico that I experienced that are nearly indescribable. This moment was one of those.

 

And moments like these are treasures, epiphanies and life lessons about the humanity in us all.

Candid comments on traveler safety in Puebla and Oaxaca Mexico

When I told friends that I was going to Mexico on vacation, most of them said Oh No! or It’s too dangerous for Americans! or The US State Department has warnings about travel to Mexico!

Everyone I spoke to also thought I was completely nuts for travelling alone. Solo. By myself. Me, myself and I.

But let it be said: I am a New Yorker. If you live or work in New York City, you’ve experienced the highs and lows of what human beings have to offer. Most NYers have street sense – and I’d like to think I have some.

So.

I spent 8 days in Puebla and Oaxaca Mexico by myself, with a minimal knowledge of Spanish. A woman all alone in the great big country of Mexico. And guess what happened to me? Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Not only did I meet nice and helpful people, I wandered around churches and parks, flea markets and mercados, the zocalos at night, restaurants, and shops. I took taxi’s to small villages – BY MYSELF.

I went to the huge Pueblan bus station, asked for a ticket in Spanish, found the right gate, and took a 4 and a half hour bus ride to Oaxaca BY MYSELF. (The ADO GL bus is phenomenal, extremely comfortable, has 2 bathrooms – one for men, one for women – and offers movies and a beverage service, for the not-so-back-breaking price of about $35 bucks USD).

I spoke to people on the street, asked directions in the worst imaginable broken Spanish, and ate what the locals eat in the places where the locals eat. I took out my camera whenever I fancied, and took candid shots of people everywhere. I used cash everywhere I went.

Never, EVER did I feel in danger.

Not even when I went to the huge, somewhat dark and close-quartered mercado in the city of Oaxaca – when the staff of my hotel told me not to go because they thought it was not safe for tourists! I walked through the mercado, bought a cookie and a glass of juice, smiled at some of the old ladies selling fried crickets, and walked around at ease.

The only precaution I took while in Mexico was that I did not drink the local water. I drank only bottled water,  used it to brush my teeth, and all of the drinks I ordered were without ice. But, I ate soup at least a half dozen times, I ate green salads (to the horror of some who warned me not to), and I ate street food. I ate candy bars made of pepitas and honey. I never got sick. I never had a stomach ache. I never had any digestive trouble of any kind.

Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that every place in Mexico is safe. I imagine it’s not. Everyone talks about “the trouble near the border”. It’s as if someone from New York would feel badly if they heard there were riots in Chicago. We wouldn’t like to hear that, we wouldn’t want it to happen, but it wouldn’t be something that would affect us directly while walking down the streets in New York. So it is in Puebla and Oaxaca, it is not touched by the troubles at the border.

So if you have a sense of adventure…if you want to experience the richness of Mexican culture, cuisine, and heritage, then plan a trip to Puebla or Oaxaca and leave your fears at home.

Also – a smile is free, needs no translation and is always well received!

Photos from Puebla and Oaxaca Mexico!

Photos of my trip to Mexico are now up for viewing on my site: http://cdeminskiphotos.shutterfly.com …

The first page is Faces of Mexico, which is an homage to the people of Puebla and San Pedro Cholula, the first two stops on my trip to Southern Mexico.  The people I saw in Mexico really inspired me, their faces were so expressive and wonderful.

Man taking a rest on a bench near the Puebla Zocalo

My hope was to capture images of people going about their daily lives, and I took a lot of photos of people buying and selling things, sitting at rest, making food, praying in church, and just doing what they normally do. I especially treasure some of the photos I got of parents and children, because I really observed a lot of tenderness and care of children while I was in Mexico.

Little girl held by her father at an open air market in Puebla

I will write other posts about Puebla, because I kept a travel journal while I was away and I want to share more of my observations from the trip.

The second page is dedicated to my visit to the state of Oaxaca. Oaxaca is a state filled with contradictions. One the one hand you will see crushing poverty, as it is one of the poorest states in Mexico, and yet you will also see a tremendous amount of culture and artistry everywhere you go in Oaxaca.

One face of poverty in Oaxaca

Oaxaca is home to several archeological sites and I am thrilled to say I was able to visit Monte Alban, which is a Unesco World Heritage site. It is no wonder why, once you have been there. On the bottom of the Oaxaca photo page I posted a film strip of 13 photos from either the Monte Alban site directly, or some of the artifacts from Monte Alban which are housed in a museum of culture, which is attached to the church of Santo Domingo de Guzman in the city of Oaxaca.

The wonder of Monte Alban in the Mexican state of Oaxaca

In addition to Monte Alban, I also toured the place where Dona Rosa’s family makes black pottery in the Oaxacan countryside, and I visited a family of wood carvers on that trip as well. The amazing craftspeople that I met are documented on my Oaxaca page too.

Dona Rosa's Black Pottery Shop - Oaxacan countryside

I hope you will take a look at the nearly 100 photos I have posted on those two pages – with more to come! I took nearly 600 photos on my trip, and I know there is so much more to share about these amazing places in Mexico.

Please enjoy!

Two New Stories Published!

Hi all, I’m back from my trip to Mexico, and I will have numerous postings and pictures to share – BUT – in the meantime while I was away, I’ve had two new stories that had been accepted for publication get put up on their respective online journal sites.

I’d love to know what you may think of them, PLEASE FEEL FREE to leave comments here on either of the stories.

The first story is a flash fiction piece called The Return of the Lone Ranger, published by Bartleby Snopes. This story is a kind of snapshot character study, and a bit of a melancholic homage to the kinds of innocent shows that were on television in the 1950′s and 60′s.

The second story is also flash fiction. Lancaster has been published by Halfway Down the Stairs.  I have visited the city of Lancaster, PA many times, and it is nothing like the Amish farming community nearby. It is more gritty and urban. In the center of Lancaster you will find an art school, and there are many art galleries sprinkled around the downtown area. This story is about a man who comes in contact with a free spirited artist, and what happens as a result.

Thanks for reading!!