Self Promotion Dept: Back in the Saddle Again

The first piece of my writing ever published (beyond the Neighborhood News which I wrote and sold for a nickel when I was 10, and which lasted exactly two issues, until my parents found out I was hawking it to the neighbors), was a short humor essay for the magazine Horse, Of Course (thankfully now out of print), when I was 12 years old.

For a few years after college, while competing on the horse show circuit, I supported myself (no, not the horses, that was Dad’s wallet) by covering horse sports and top equestrian athletes for dozens of equestrian publications. Next, I spent a few years doing public relations for horse-related businesses.

Many years, and an awful lot of NON-horse related work have intervened, but lately, on occasion, I’m once again writing about horses. One of my essays will be included in the forthcoming collection, Why We Ride: Women Writers on the Horses in Their Lives, to be published next spring by Seal Press. It’s edited by Verna Dreisbach, with a foreword by Jane Smiley. Here’s a glimpse of the wonderful cover.

Update: I just found out the book is now available for pre-order through Amazon.

My Father, the Writing/Career Coach

My father liked to exaggerate, in a harmless way, in a way which would make others feel good and enjoy the conversation, in a way which seemed to telegraph the amplification and yet at the same time, make it inconceivable for anyone to call him on it.

When I was in my 20s, with my first real (non-freelance) job, I occasionally overhead him say, "My daughter is a top level public relations executive in New York City."

I wasn't.

Oh, I worked at a Manhattan public relations agency all right, and it wasn't exactly entry-level, though it wasn't anywhere near the top. Owing to a first-hand command of a specialized expertise (horses and the show jumping world) and a unique Rolodex of contacts (the equestrian media and elite rider-athletes), I filled a certain niche important to the most important client at that particular agency at that particular time: It was 1984 and the client, Purina, wanted major mileage from their sponsorship of the United States Equestrian Team (which would win Gold at the Los Angeles Olympics that summer).

As an ardent rider myself, and after spending several years post journalism school working as a freelance writer for equestrian magazines (translation: barely scraping by) -- yes, it was a dream job. But only to me. In the overall scheme of the New York public relations business, I was but a very small cog in a quite minor wheel.

But. My father didn't know all that, or at least, he never seemed to understand when I explained that there wasn't anything "top level" about what I was doing. I'd get angry sometimes when he wouldn't acknowledge my true status, and wondered if he wasn't proud of my real achievements.

Of course, I understood it all much better when I had children of my own.

Now that my father has been gone for a few years, something funny happens to me once in a while. On a day when I accomplish something professionally, and even more so on a day when it seems I'll never accomplish another thing, from somewhere deep in my brain (my heart?) I'll hear my father's voice.

"My daughter is a..."
"My daughter writes for…."
"My daughter is editing..."
"My daughter just published…."
"My daughter teaches…"

...and I fill in the blanks any old way I want.

I keep it to myself. I don't argue with the voice. I resist the urge to self-censor. We all need a way to keep going. Some days, that's mine.

A Writers Conference & The National Horse Show. Yes, I Do Have a Point.

When I was 21, I wrote an essay for a prominent weekly equestrian publication, lamenting that it would be the first time since I was a young child that I would not be attending the National Horse Show in New York City.

The piece was dripping with sentimentality, touching on everything which made that venerated, almost holy (and now diluted) equine gathering the tradition-laden soap institution it was: the gravitas in the announcer's voice, the celebrities and silver trophies, the horse vans unloading on 33rd Street, Olympic riders in the flesh!

I had all kinds of sound, logical reasons not to be there that particular year, and had sent off the piece – in the way things were done in those olden days – typed and folded and inside an envelope, as requested, on deadline, five weeks in advance of its anticipated publication.

Then, in the last two weeks when it was possible, my horse unexpectedly racked up enough points to qualify, and not only would I be at the National, I'd be there as the proud owner of a competing horse (alas, a professional rider would be aboard instead of me, but still). As I wandered around the National that week, I had a bit of explaining to do, since although I had phoned the magazine, it was not possible to make changes, and the editor of The Chronicle of the Horse had run my piece* on the first page of that week's special National issue. Oops.

I thought of this today because last week I wrote, with a bit of a whine, about not attending the AWP conference in Chicago this year. Wouldn't it be great if it turned out that I wound up in Chicago after all? Just like the National Horse Show 20-odd years ago?

Yes, it would be great. And false. Alas, I'm home and today, in a weak moment, I scrolled through the AWP conference schedule (hey, these are the things one does when socked with just the right combination of symptoms: cold / sore throat / laryngitis / coughing / sneezing / headache / body aches / clogged sinuses / sweats / chills / (huh, no fever) / earache).

Lots of presentations, seminars and panels sounded enticing, like these.

~The Meandering River: An Exploration of the Subgenres of Nonfiction. Because if there's one thing I love hearing at a conference, it's new fish in the nonfiction bucket.

~A Room of Her Own Foundation: Show Me the Money. Obvious.

~What's in the Magazines: A Conversation about the Work Being Published in Literary Journals. Because usually when I think I have it figured out, I realize I know nothing.

~"Memory of Wounds": Memoirists Tell Truth, Lies, and Memory. The question is, I suppose, which are which and how does the writer tell the difference?

~Must a Memoir Read Like a Novel? I want to know the answer to this and I suspect that up until recently it was a yes. Now, I get a feeling it's changing, which is good for me, because my memoir-in-progress is essayistic, segmented and elliptical.

~Different Directions: Compiling Different Genre Anthologies for Different Markets. Because I love, love, love anthologies.

~Shameless Promotion: Get the Book to the Readers. I had 12 years in public relations. Now I'm coaching authors to do their own publicity. Still, I'm always learning.

~A Different Conversation; Teaching Creative Writing One-on-One. Because I get asked to do this, and I like the interaction, and want to know more about it.

~XX Marks the Spot: Women and Travel Writing. Because when I was lucky enough to be traveling a lot, I wasn't writing much about it. Now, if only I traveled, I'd sure want to write about it.

~Women of a Certain Age: Reprise. Not saying I'm there yet. Doesn't hurt to think ahead. Besides, much of what I love to read in nonfiction falls into this group of writers.

~Writing in Multiple Genres. I don't do much of this. Yet.

~The Voice Over: Creative Nonfiction on the Radio. Who doesn't want to have an essay on NPR?

~The Mama Drama: The Challenge of Writing About Mothers in Creative Nonfiction. Because I wonder why I write so fluidly about my father and so haltingly about my mother. (Besides that my father's dead and can't give me the cold shoulder at holidays.)

~Smart Girls: The Ambition Game. Because it's always a tangle -- writing and kids and earning money and marriage and wanting more.

~Metaphor, Selective Memory, & Misdirection: Poetry as Autobiography by Other Means. Because one day, I want to write a memoir in poetry. Hey, you never know.

~Avoiding Sick Mothers, Absent Fathers, and Losing Your Virginity: The Tropes and Traps of Nonfiction. Okay, I've never written about any of these, but I have written about sick fathers, (metaphorically) absent mothers, and losing my romantic innocence. Same thing, no?

~Literary Mama: A Model of Grassroots Literary Community Building. I heart Literary Mama. And everyone on this panel.

~How to Make Money Writing Right Now. Do I need to explain?

~Signing Your Life Away: Protecting Your Rights in the Age of Electronic Publishing. Does this automatically negate the above?

~Getting the Creative Writing Job: How We Did It and How You Can Too. I'm told it's impossible, without a traditionally published book on the CV. But you never know.

~Writing Your Passions: Forbidden Topics. Ooh. Why not?

Soon, if my erstwhile AWP-attending friends whom I've recruited to do some guest blog posts (you know who you are!) are not too tired or wifi-deprived and don't partake of too much wine at the evening receptions, then I'll perhaps vicariously get a sense of being there. And you can too. Stay tuned.

As it turned out, I attended the National Horse Show every year from around seven years old, until the National left the NYC area in the late 1990s – even when I lived in California, even when the National decamped Madison Square Garden for the NJ Meadowlands, even when I had to call in sick to work, and even when I had nursing babies. Over the years, I went from attending as a horse-crazed little girl, to a competent amateur rider, to friend of the competitors, to owner of a winning horse, to journalist covering the events, to public relations consultant for the 100th National, and eventually to a mother sharing her left-behind passions with her young sons.

I'd like to be at AWP this week. I guess I'm still at the fan / friend stage, though I'm working on admission to the competent peer group, and who knows, maybe one day I might get the chance to move into another category (I'm working on a 2010 panel proposal now).

But hey, on the other hand, I escaped the flight delays and the Chicago weather. Did I mention that here in northern New Jersey, we had 50 mph winds today?

*P.S. The Chronicle's online archives don't go back that far. Which is probably a good thing. I shudder thinking how I'd react today reading something I wrote way back then.

Writer Q & A: Tables Turned

I like doing question-and-answer interviews here on this blog and as a freelance assignment when I'm asked to interview an interesting person. The other day, the tables were turned.

I was interviewed yesterday over at Freelancedom.

Steph Auteri's questions had me remembering (mostly happily, if a bit nostalgically) some of the earlier, more unusual, stages of my career. They also made me think about what's going on now and where I might go in the future -- all signs of a good interviewer. Even if I did get a little squirmy when I had to answer.

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Labor Day Weekend Edition

Like when you just don't know what to eat and open up the fridge door and stare, or maybe decide it's time to clear out the fridge and start pulling out this and that --here are plenty of picks for your weekend enjoyment. If the three-day weekend is more of a lounge than I think it will be, I'll get more up as it meanders along. Or maybe not. Meanwhile, read, think, wonder, discuss. Report back if you like.

The Salon des Refuses is a compilation and criticism special edition by two Canadian lit journals: only the previously-rejected story need apply. It's in response to 2007 Penguin Book of Canadian Short Stories, which some thought passed over too many worthy stories (and authors). OK, I get it. And I applaud anyone brave enough to launch any new print vehicle in 2008. Still: doesn't every story in a literary journal or anthology – unless you are Alice Munro – end up being rejected at least a time or two before it's published? And isn't it the job – like it or not-- of every anthology editor to whittle down the possible contenders? Guess the folks behind the Salon just didn't like what (and who) Jane Urquhart chose. And decided to do something about it.

With thoughts of school everywhere, I'm wishing my friend Harriet Brown, who edited the funny and rueful Mr. Wrong, as well as the forthcoming Feed Me: Writers Dish about Food, Eating, Weight and Body Image, much good luck in her new job teaching in the magazine journalism program at Syracuse University's S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communication, where I got my undergraduate degree. [Yes, I have an essay in Feed Me, but I'd send good wishes to Harriet anyway!]

I'm addicted to Publisher's Lunch/Lunch Daily, for a bunch of reasons. First, it's free, which its parent, Publisher's Marketplace, though wildly informative, is definitely not. Second, anything that reminds me, on a regular basis, that there are books deals out there for writers and book ideas of every possible kind, that publishers are still hiring despite the "print is dead" rhetoric, and that agents are busy every single day nabbing contracts for completely unknown writers – well, that's the sort of encouragement I can use. Go here to sign up.

Speaking of free, you can sign up for the BookPage twice-monthly e-newsletters here.

High-paying, quality markets for personal essays and creative narrative nonfiction are around, though not as plentiful as we'd like. The Sun is an exception. It's good looking, well-edited, long-established, a monthly, and enjoys a good literary rep. And now there's this update from the submissions guidelines posted on the magazine's site:

"We pay from $300 to $3,000 for essays and interviews, $300 to $2,000 for fiction, and $100 to $500 for poetry, the amount being determined by length and quality. We may pay less for very short works. We also give contributors a complimentary one-year subscription to The Sun. We purchase one-time rights. All other rights revert to the author upon publication."

Hmm. Respectable compensation, fair rights terms, and a literary magazine that looks like a consumer magazine: in other words, I can keep it on my coffee table and visitors who never thought they cared about literary journals, may -- and do -- page through without intimidation, and without ads, too. The monthly e-newsletter, is free.

Okay, then there's this, and I’m not sure whether to be jumping in the aisles or putting on the "too good to be true" look I use when one of my kids tries to tell me something that ordinarily should be expensive, difficult and time-consuming is actually free, easy or quick.

Field Report is a new website promising a $20,000 payment each month to the author of a personal essay, judged the best by site visitors, who are fellow writer-contributors. I'm skeptical, mostly because (except for a few Google Adsense ads - and they pay next to nothing), there's no hint where the contest funds coming from. Who knows, maybe there's a noble-minded nonfiction lover behind the site. (Sure, they exist!).

The blurb on Mediabistro notes that one West Coast journalist said the San Francisco-based site has an "odd new business model." I'm hoping the emphasis in that quote isn't on "odd." Really, I hope it flies. I do. And I'd love to hear from anyone who knows more about it.

Have a great weekend.

Writing, Horses and Mentors on the Rail

I once made a sizable part of my living writing about equestrian sports (so long ago there's nothing to link to), and so when I read that Maryjean Wall retired, it struck a nerve of sorts. Wall was the first full time sportswriter to exclusively cover horse racing. I rarely wrote about racing, instead concentrating on the horse sports like show jumping, three day eventing, dressage, hunter competitions, equitation -- even endurance riding, barrel racing and polo.

I never met Wall, though I had heard of her. But someone not too unlike her was an important mentor to me – Nancy Jaffer, probably the most prominent and skilled writer covering domestic and international equestrian sports today. Decades ago she convinced editors at New Jersey's major newspaper that an occasional horse show column needed to be a permanent fixture in the sports pages -- where it belongs, still under her byline.

Jaffer has covered the equestrian events at the Olympics, World Cup, Pan Am Games and everything in-between, written or co-authored several books on training and equestrian athletes, and has made the leap to web writing look like trotting over a six-inch rail. Nearly 30 years ago, she took me under her wing when I was a college journalism student doing volunteer publicity for a New Jersey horse show, and she was incredibly gracious when about five years later, I landed on the equestrian journalism ladder and we became colleagues of a sort (she already had a secure position at the top rung, and while I left that arena long ago, she still is at the top of her game).

Wall elbowed aside the outdated thought that a racing writer had to be male, and Jaffer trounced the notion that covering horse sports belonged on the society pages. I'm sure in many ways I later benefited from both. So I'm hoping Wall has a wonderful retirement from the daily newspaper grind, and I'm also hoping the equestrian journalists who'll head to Beijing this summer – along with Jaffer – will have some sense of both of their efforts.

Thank you, I suppose, seems in order.