Here I blog about writing, editing, reading, books, submissions, freelancing, getting published (and rejected), journalism, revisions, life after the MFA, teaching writing, and living the writer's life. Welcome. BUT -- if you are a writer: Write first, read blogs second.




Friday, October 30, 2015

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- October 30, 2015 Edition

> Can Terry Gross really have conducted some 13,000 interviews for NPR over 40 years? If that information alone gets you excited, then this New York Times profile about the "Fresh Air" host is for you.

> How (or why) to market yourself before you even have a book to sell? The Write Life explains.


> And some tips on Pinterest, Street Teams, and Blog Sharing.

> Fascinating--and visually beautiful piece--at The Morning News, about the intersection of fiction and painting, including narrative arcs, linked scenes, emotional response, and much more. 

> I'm so proud of the Fall issue of Compose Journal, and would love to share it with you. I'm the creative nonfiction editor there, so of course I'm partial to those six pieces, but there's also a slew of terrific fiction, poetry, and an interview with Sonja Livingston about Queen of the Fall: A Memoir of Girls and Goddesses.

> The role of place in essay has been the central theme in many an anthology, including 
Here: Women Writing on Michigan's Upper Peninsula. One of the contributors, Emily VanKley, explores distance, place, geography, and their influence on the nonfiction writing process (over at Essay Daily).

> Some of the literary nonfiction world is at the NonfictioNow conference this weekend in Flagstaff. If, like me, you're not, follow some of the action on Twitter via #NFNow15 or @Nonfictionow.

> Punctuation nerds: you probably really want to know about the earliest use of the ellipsis, right? The Guardian to the rescue.

> Finally, answers to all your important writer life questions via Dear Advice Person Lady.


Have a great weekend!

Monday, October 26, 2015

Guest Blogger Vincent J. Fitzgerald on: That Writing Thing I Always Wanted to Do

You may recognize the writing instructor mentioned in this guest post. But that's not why I asked Vin to contribute a post. At my MFA graduation, a faculty mentor said he enjoyed working with me as a student, and looked forward to the future, when we'd be colleagues. I'm beginning to understand what he meant. I asked Vin to write a post because he exemplifies many of the behaviors that keep would-be writers from writing, as well as the actions that move writers from one level to the next, the steps and leaps necessary to go from secret writer to writer whose work is published.

In his other professional life, Vincent J. Fitzgerald MSW, LSW, is a psychotherapist with the Nutley (NJ) Family Service Bureau. In addition to the pieces he mentions in his post, he has work forthcoming in Longridge Review and Missing Slate. He's a father of two, and is soon to be married.

Please welcome Vincent J. Fitzgerald.

I first aspired to write when I was 17 years old. At age 44, I still aspired, and employed all known excuses for not writing: I have nothing to say. I have no voice. Print is dead!

The real barriers were poverty of drive and of confidence. From the moment I first put on a baseball mitt in Little League, I was paralyzed by fear of failure. I often asked out of lineups, exiled myself to right field, the Siberia of Little League, and never swung my bat. The same fears have dogged me through life the way Javert hounds Valjean. In my adolescence, I watched horror movies and blasted Metallica as a soundtrack to defiance while my youngest brother filled marble tablets with tales of dragons and sorcerers. I sidestepped failure at passion’s expense, until I allowed my little brother to inspire me.

In my 20s and 30s, I journaled in spurts; which is to say I whined in ink about unrequited love. I lacked the ego structure to tolerate solitude, and when I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder, my therapist helped me pinpoint the malevolent mental free radicals.

Today, I write this as both client and therapist. Anxiety is the flu of the mental health world. The symptoms suck, but hope lives through treatment and insight. When I was 43, a layoff further frazzled me to the extent I sought therapy myself, and introduced the idea of writing as a therapy topic. My therapist responded with a fleeting suggestion I give it a shot. Six sessions of redundancy forced her to diagnose me with “Ass-not-in-chair syndrome.” (No such diagnosis exists in the DSM.)

“Writing is that thing you always talk about doing, but never do," she said. "Get your ass in a chair and write. It doesn’t matter what happens.”

I empower the clients I see as a psychotherapist toward self-actualization, often parenting them. My therapist parented me and made failure a safe place, hence opening a door. The only danger was relegating me to cursory journaling. I contemplated memoir to build on my undergraduate experience as an English major, when my classes were enriching, but I was bogged down by doubt and fretted about my inability to turn phrases like my classmates.

Doubt is stubborn, and my need for reassurance mandated I search for writing classes. Even if I had talent, it was no doubt raw and undeveloped, and I needed to have whatever skill I possessed sharpened by someone willing to shove me out of my comfort zone the same way my therapist did.

I live in Jersey City, home to its own art district, an established writers group, and a PATH train ride from New York City, yet I looked to the ‘burbs for a less overwhelming small town feel conducive to keeping my nerves soothed. I also wanted to go to a place where nobody knew my name. When I discovered The Writers Circle in nearby Summit, I registered prior to reading anything about the program. I sensed most of my initial writing would be a purge of painful memories and exploration into the roots of anxiety. There was much I needed to get out of my system, and I was aware from my own therapeutic practice that divulgence is the difference between sadness and depression.

The interior of the Mondo building where the class was (is still) held, is embellished with art and album covers. The immersion in creativity made me feel at home, but when confronted with classmates with whom that home would be shared, I almost absconded. Then my instructor walked in, and I was pulled to my chair. While gravitas poured from her professorial appearance, she established a quick pace, stuffed with ideas, examples and advice about craft. I couldn't help but jump in. She was tough but honest, and I decided, perhaps unfairly, that I would continue my pursuit if she spotted any talent, and quit if she did not. I am writing this blog post because the former happened.

Immersed in that no nonsense approach, and without being blandished into taking subsequent classes, I wrote and wrote, but still struggled. I welcomed assignments as a catalyst for ideas shelved for the future. Workshopping my assignments was far less threatening than I had imagined. Anxiety bullies us into believing things are worse than they are. I embraced the community of writers whose platitudes were indulging, but whose criticisms reminded me they were invested. I remember it in every group therapy session I conduct. Life is not always about content. Process has its place.

My instructor sometimes veered to cranky, but I love and need her, as children need and desire structure. I defy any reader to find the word that in my work, and I learned adverbs are anathema as strong verbs are writing’s lifeblood. A few weeks in I asked if I was wasting my time. She responded in writing I was not. The exclamation point at the end of her answer drove the point home. Writers don’t just throw exclamation points around.

Buoyed by The Writers Circle, I decided to take some risks. A blog noticed my tweets about horror films, and the editor encouraged me to submit a piece. When my essay, "How the Exorcist Possessed Me" was published, I shared the link on Twitter, and Exorcist director William Friedkin offered a favorable comment -- priceless validation from an artist I admire. Soon after, I was encouraged to submit to The Writer’s Circle Journal and "From Video Games to Baby Names"  was accepted after a competitive submission process.


From there, I answered a call for submissions to an essay anthology, Dads Behaving Dadly 2.  When I submitted my first piece, the editor’s response was positive, and he requested a second. Seeing my effort in a book convinced me: print was alive, and I am a writer. I even reached out to a nearby bookstore that offers a local author consignment program. I can’t explain the feeling of seeing my own writing on a bookstore shelf.

No endeavor humbles me like the writing process. The blend of joy and frustration is inherent, but ensures I write daily, wherever, whenever. Editors never let me get too comfortable, and my mentors remind me they too experience rejection. I revel not in their occasional struggle, but in the resolve shown by writers much further along in their careers than I am. Failure is both a safe place, and a breeding ground for growth.

Before my first pieces were published, even before I found that first writing class, I got ahead of myself and submitted to Hippocampus, the selective, online creative nonfiction journal. After an extensive period of waiting, my piece was rejected for publication. The editors at were not as impressed with me as I was, and my respect for craft shot skyward. Writing scoffs at hubris.

But rejection was a watershed moment. I was in the game, and embraced my struggling writer status. Being a struggling writer was more invigorating than being a never writer. Now, I adopt each new rejection as a growth opportunity, yet I always remember my first. It motivated me to persist, and taught me success can live in failure. Without it, I would not have received the honor of guest blogging for a former instructor turned friend and mentor whose guidance has helped me turn writing into that thing I do.

Note from Lisa: You can connect with Vin via Twitter.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- October 16, 2015 Edition

> A recent Backgrounder podcast features Anna Quindlen, novelist, essayist, and Pulitzer Prize winning columnist (and incidentally, a strong influence on me).

> Some quick tips from Women on Writing to get through National Novel Writing Month.

> Writers must read, a lot. Of course. But how can we turn off the reading-as-a-writer stance, and just read for pleasure? At Literary Hub, Jessica Ferri (and a bunch of literary folks) have some suggestions.

> Lisa Rivero offers "8 Takeaways from the 2015 Publishing Institute."  


> In "Omission," a writing craft essay at The New Yorker last month, the inimitable John McPhee on knowing what to cut.

> I recently discovered Colette Sartor's blog, where she frequently shares writing craft advice, like this one on writing about loved ones. There's also a terrific writers resource page with links to many (many!) helpful articles by others.

> Medium is making some changes.

> At the Glimmer Train blog, enjoy (especially if you watch TV), David James Poissant's "How to Balance Writing, Family, Work, and Life: An Unhelpful Guide for the Perplexed." 


>Then, for a wee bit 'o more fun, try the Los Angeles Times' "How to Be a Writer" board game (think Candyland for lit types).

> Libba Bray will crack you up with her "letters" keeping friends updated on the success of her just-published book.

> And finally, considering my Friday Fridge Clean-Out heading and the rotating array of refrigerator photos -- how could I not mention the intriguing new book, Chilled: How Refrigeration Changed the World, and Might Do So Again, by Tom Jackson. I'm going to read it.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Prepping for a Conference, Me and My Inner Italian American

Today is a conference prep day. I've had a bunch of these in 2015, after a long drought. Some of the conference appearances have come about by way of my own initial effort, while others are group affairs: another writer with energy, an original idea, and me in her contact list, graciously invites me to join a panel proposal. (And yes, some proposals were rejected, but enough were accepted.)

Each time, during the brainstorming/application/panel proposal submission process—typically many months, sometimes a full year before the conference—it all seems like such a great idea. An interesting topic! Fabulous co-panelists! Inviting location! Promising meet-ups with far-flung colleagues! A break in the routine, sometimes a night or two away from home, restaurant meals! Occasionally, a fee! And yes, to be completely honest, a new CV line.

What I'm prepping for now is a reading and panel this Friday titled, "Death: Italian American Style," at the Italian American Studies Association national conference in Washington, D.C. I'll be reading excerpts from my memoir manuscript, which swirls around my father's death and includes some of the rituals associated with my Italian American family.

This time around, the credit for the unusual, terrific panel idea goes to writer Rita Ciresi, who is one of my fellow faculty members in the Bay Path University online MFA program. Joining Rita and I are writers JosephBathanti and Marisa Labozzetta.  

I was so energized when the proposal was accepted.

Then, here's what very often happens to me a few weeks before the event. Potential problems arise: sticky logistics (family and work), scheduling conflicts, travel inconveniences, budget considerations. I begin to question the whole enterprise—time, mental energy, cost, work that will pile up. I worry that whatever I need to do—make a presentation, give a talk, read my work, or participate in or lead a discussion—I will be just awful at it.

Whose great idea was it anyway?

Then, slowly, things begin to fall into place. Challenging logistics get solved, schedules tamed, costs brought into line with available budgets. Travel arrangements solidify, work gets done ahead or (artfully?) postponed. Next, I start the preparations, and that's often the best part of the experience, because I begin to realize: Hey, this IS a good idea after all.

I decide there's no going back, so why not have some fun with it?

Prep time. Today, I'm choosing the excerpt reading selections, practicing to be sure I'll stay within my allotted 15 minutes (of reading time, not fame!), and making a few notes that could help me answer anticipated questions. And doing one of the things I love best about any conference: going over the program slowly to find the other events I want to be sure to attend.

I must admit, the IASA conference would not normally be on my radar, but now that I'm headed that way, I'm so glad that Rita reached out to me for this. In addition to our panel, I'm eager to see the one titled, "Creative Writers on Italian-American Fathers" (Fred Misurella, Vittoria Repetto, Joey Nicoletti, Edvige Giunta, Joseph Ricapito) as well as "Italian-American Daughters and Dads: Love and Loss" (Karen DeLuca, Laura Mangione, B Amore).

Given that I've written about my father for more than eight years now, that I've been fortunate to see many of those nonfiction narratives and essays published, and that I'm just wrapping up a revision of the memoir manuscript (moving it from an essay collection to a more linear narrative)—these sessions seem custom planned just for me.

I'm now in the pre-honeymoon phase of conference-going: excited, curious, and ready (almost). I just need to pay a few bills, answer a dozen student emails...
  
(p.s. It may be a long shot, but if any blog readers will be there, please be sure to say hello!)

Top image: Flickr/Creative Commons - Julie Garcia

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Why Am I (still, again) Writing About Postpartum Depression? Because 21 Years Later, It Lingers

Twenty-one years ago at this time, my first child was 10 months old, and I remember thinking, it's got to end soon…but it didn't: "It" being postpartum depression. 

I've written before about how PPD disrupted my early mothering, but today I have an essay at Brain, Child which addresses an aspect of PPD I've become significantly more interested in as my two sons have grown—the effects of PPD on a mother as time passes.

For me, and I suspect for many others, PPD didn't just disappear and leave no scars behind. 

Here's an excerpt:

"Because here’s the truth about what comes after severe PPD goes away: the deepest, darkest clouds may wash away in a few months, or a year, or in my case, about 22 months. Your therapist may wean you off the anti-depressants which saved your sanity (and probably your marriage). You may have more good mornings, and eventually only the kind of mornings when you wake up and you are no longer already crying. You may not any longer be overcome, hourly, with feelings of guilt, shame, hopelessness, and fear. All this may happen, and you may begin to enjoy your child (or children), sink into your role as their mother, relish your little family—but. That will never feel like your right or your natural state, and you may, at any given stressful mothering moment, think you certainly are going to drift away, back down that hole. The truth about having survived severe PPD is that it is incipient. It lingers. There is a legacy. Its shadow, the fact of its presence in your history, never goes away.

And you are a different person for it. You are a different mother."


If you're a frequent visitor here, you know that I don't do much advocacy in the pieces I publish, but this one is important -- to me and maybe to a lot of other women. I believe it will resonate for many mothers who don’t feel comfortable talking about PPD's after-effects. I'd love to start a conversation about that, and I hope you'll pass the essay link along to anyone you know who may be affected by PPD. Wouldn't it be great if it also sparked some discussion among those who study maternal mental health?

As always, thanks for your support. 

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons - miyukiutada

Friday, October 2, 2015

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- October 2, 2015 Edition

> The New York Times reported last week that print book sales are up, e-book sales are down, as readers "return" to the physical book. Huh.

> A photographer got bored, and went in search of the best writers in his state to shoot (on film). Luckily, he lives in Maine, otherwise known as Writertown, USA.

> Here's a fascinating interview (at Jane Friedman's excellent blog) with Richard Nash, publisher of Soft Skull Press, that ranges from traditional publishing to unusual ways authors and readers can connect, to...well, just about everything. (It's originally from 2014, but appeared then in the subscription-only web magazine Scratch; and it's all still--maybe more--relevant today.)

> If you like this kind of link round-up, check out Literary Links at the Masters Reviews blog.

> By now, it may be that every living personal essay writer (and reader and editor) saw, and possibly shuddered about this piece in Salon: "The First-Person Industrial Complex" which explores the price of revealing (sometimes squirm-worthy) private lives in public.

> There's a new interview at Literary Mama with my friend Candy Schulman, on the craft of essay writing. Candy's guest post here (from 2010!), explaining how the mind of a personal essay writer works, is still heavily trafficked.

> This week, Your Blog Connection featured yours truly, talking about how I try to make this blog helpful to other writers. 

> And if you want to add more online resources to your list, try this list of 120 "most helpful websites" for writers.

> Finally, at the Princeton Alumni Review, my boss at Montclair State University (where I sometimes teach a creative nonfiction course), offers a thoughtful and funny take on words that are frequently mistaken for one another, in "Diction Slips."

Have a great weekend!

Reminder - If you live in the New York City metro area, consider this Sunday's (10/4) first Manhattan show for This Is My Brave: 12 writers, poets, and singer-songwriters on the subject of living with mental illness. I've got a ticket giveaway going on at my post from earlier in the week with the founder. Click here (or scroll down one post) for details. Closes at 5:00 EASTERN time tonight, 10/2.