The Many Hats of a Writing Life. What's one more?

So many writers wear other hats, and I'm not just talking about non-writing careers or day jobs. I mean the different hats they don within the literary world that usually don't come with fat paychecks or profits: editing journals, publishing literary websites, running boutique publishing houses, organizing book festivals, hosting a writing conference.

I'm one of those folks who some days worry my hat rack is about to tip over. Often, I have to remember what my husband said when I headed out to Family-School Association meetings: Just. Say. No. Because I was already on two committees, or had just wrapped up five years of booking assemblies.

So I have said no to otherwise interesting sounding, tempting literary "side jobs" that didn't feel like a good fit, or conflicted with something I was already doing, or when I did not have an extra ten minutes.

But then something comes along, appearing in that sweet, rare spot (that maybe lasts two days) when I (usually incorrectly!) believe I actually do have a bit of "spare" time, which coincides with a piqued interest in the job (hat) in question. That's when I forget everything my husband taught me, my arm shoots up, and I say Yes.

My newest hat is editing craft essays about nonfiction writing for the cool literary site Cleaver Magazine. After I was published in Cleaver in June, I struck up a friendly online exchange with editor Karen Rile. She messaged me one night to see if I'd take on the job, knowing I was interested.

It was my good luck to inherit an inbox with a few good submissions already waiting, and it was even better luck to work first with writer Andrea Jarrell on her piece, doing exactly what I love—exchanging editing ideas with a writer whose work is already excellent.

 Andrea's wonderful piece will resonate with many memoir writers. In "Becoming an Outlaw (How my short fiction became a memoir),"—which is, on its own, a lovely bit of memoir—Andrea brings the writer into her writing process, her mind, and her heart. Along the way, we learn how she managed some of the bigger obstacles of memoir writing: finding the boundaries between narrator and major secondary characters, navigating the possibility of hurting a family member with our story, figuring out why she's writing at all, and how that knowledge helped impose an organizing principle on the manuscript.

I hope you'll take the time to read Andrea's work at Cleaver. And, if you're interested in writing a craft essay, we're open to submissions.

Images: Hats - Flickr/CreativeCommons-MCroft; Cleaver article illustration - Candice Seplow/Unsplash

Conference Organizer Interview: Donna Talarico on HippoCamp2015, A Conference for Creative Nonfiction Writers

I would like to say that a few years ago, I was first drawn to Hippocampus Magazine because it presented so many wonderful pieces of creative nonfiction. Truth is, as a former rider and equestrian journalist, I simply wanted to know why their logo was a seahorse. Quickly, I came to love the journal for their essays, memoir, and narratives, and discovered many new-to-me writers there. Hippocampus is presenting its first conference this August, three days of  CNF-centric celebration and education. Donna Talarico, founder and publisher, has been busy putting everything in place, but agreed to answer my nosy questions.

Q:  How far in advance did you start planning? Was it something you always wanted to do and were waiting for the right time? Why this summer?

A: Preparation began in August 2014. I’ve always wanted to extend the Hippocampus community into what we on the Internet call “IRL” – in real life! But I didn’t want to rush to do it. A conference was in the long-term plans, and I wanted to wait until we had a solid following and reputation to take on something of this caliber. 2015 is our fifth year, so it made sense to do it this year, and I gave us a year lead time to plan.

Q:  When you've attended other conferences, were you quietly taking in intel for when it was your turn? Any great examples you want to emulate?

A: I’ve been active on the speaker circuit in the web/content marketing world for about seven years or so, first in eCommerce and then in higher education. I absolutely LOVE conferences; they were always the highlight of my career. Being inspired as an attendee, being the inspiration as a presenter.

 The conference I’ve modeled HippoCamp after is HighEdWeb. I have not been energized more than when I am at these conferences, with brilliant, dynamic people. The programming is filled with variety and information and fun, and that’s exactly what I wanted to capture, only with writers instead of web geeks. (But a lot of web geeks also are writers! Like me.) I guess you could say I was taking in intel without realizing I was doing so… so I was taking notes on paper about the content, but taking mental notes about all the “what ifs” if I were to do this myself.

Q: What was the response to the call for presentation proposals? [Disclosure from Lisa: I submitted two proposals, one was accepted.]  How did you make choices? Was it a committee? What swayed, or dissuaded?

A: For the first year, I believe we had a great response to proposals. People are still, to this day, asking if they can present (now that the conference has really gained some traction), so I know next year will bring a lot more proposal submissions from the get-go. Unfortunately, proposals are closed, but I am loving the interest and want to remind these enthusiastic folks to look out for our 2016 call for submissions, which will go out in mid to late August 2015.

We have a programming committee, and just like with magazine submissions, the proposals were vetted by a diverse group of people and voted on – yes, no, comments. I like to think of the audience first, so we chose sessions that would be of value to the attendees and tried to have variety or ones that would have more “mass” appeal that also fit the three tracks as well as the style we’re looking for in the conference--engaging, interactive. Some proposal topics overlapped with others, and some were a little too narrow of a focus for a small conference – so basically, it was a balancing act. And just like an editor never likes to turn away a great story, we couldn’t pick everything submitted.

Q:  To me, conferences held where a journal or organization is headquartered offer not just local flavor, but something more -- conference personnel are welcoming attendees to their home. Did you ever consider holding HippoCamp anywhere other than Lancaster, PA?  What does the location offer writers?

A: No. Lancaster it was! Being an online magazine means you really don’t have a true physical presence, but literary citizenship is important to me, so it made sense for me—and HippoCamp—to be part of the community I call home. Plus, Lancaster is a really vibrant city and I like giving small towns love—I do love traveling to larger cities to conferences but the pitstops I  make along the way always prove to be really eye-opening (example: I drove from PA to Minneapolis for AWP and hit all these cool places along the way).

I think there should be more exploration of these gems of cities, like Lancaster, for gatherings. Not just in the writing world, but in general. On our conference blog, Erin Dorney and Tyler Barton from a local literary group, The Triangle, have written a few blog posts that talk about why Lancaster is a great town for writers. So, to me, HippoCamp is both sharing information and sharing a slice of life.

Q: In an article in The Writer, about first-time conference organizers, you are quoted, “I want it to be affordable and a good value, and make back the money. We’ll break even, or if there is extra money, it will go to next year’s conference.”  How are you approaching meeting that goal?

A: I was so honored to be included in Melissa Hart’s article in The Writer. To explain that comment a little more, I wanted to make sure I priced it right for attendees, and then I also set an attendance goal, based on that rate, that would meet the financial commitment to the convention center. We’re just a small conference committee, and we didn’t hire anyone externally. I did talk to other conference organizers, and I do sit on a conference committee for an industry organization, so that’s been a world of help.

Q:  I noticed you're planning on an open mic, and other ways for attendees to extend their participation. Can you talk about some of that?

A: I love love love when there is excitement in the air during the whole conference. I can’t imagine a conference ending when the last session of the day is over. So I made sure that there was built in time to converse and engage in a more laid back setting—so much of the conference magic doesn’t happen in the lecture hall. No, it happens in the nooks and crannies of the hotel, or out on the town as new connections become what seems like old friends. These more informal opportunities to get together allow that to happen; and sometimes it’s not even the organized social events, but the spontaneous stuff that happens, like, “Hey, let’s go grab coffee before the readings...” moments.

Of course an open mic night is a little more structured than those organic moments I just mentioned, but this also lets others from the conference—those who didn’t give a session or sit on a panel—to have a moment to share, and shine.

Two other social activities are breakfast topic tables, which allow attendees to grab breakfast and then look for a table with a topic card – social media, editing, POV, etc. – and then sit there and spark conversation around that. (Don’t worry; not every breakfast table will have a topic because I know that there are those that just need coffee before they can form sentences, haha.)

It’s important to have ways for people to connect. While we’re in a session, learning, we’re giving our attention to the speaker and we’re quiet, strangers in a room. There needs to be space and time to open people up!

Q:  When I look at the line-up, I'm awed by some star power (Lee Gutkind, Jane Friedman), and intrigued by names that are unfamiliar, but whose topic is so interesting, I'm eager to sit in their sessions. (I'm sure I fall squarely into the 'who is she?' category myself.) How did you approach putting together the mix?

A: I don’t want to use the term underdog here, but I root for anyone that has passion and is maybe brilliant in his or her circles, but never had the chance to strut their stuff in front of others. Giving someone that first shot boosts confidence and could help propel someone into their platform. Just as it’s important to have new voices in a lit mag or on book shelves, we need fresh faces at conferences like this.

Everyone has successes (or failures) to share, so balancing experienced speakers with new voices just makes sense to me. To be honest, it’s really the topics and caliber of the proposal that sells it for me, not the name of the presenter, although when you’re a new conference like we are, it does make sense to have names some might know—especially when it comes to the keynotes.

Q:  I notice it's mostly individuals and not panels presenting, as is the case at so many writing conferences. Any special reason why?

A: Oh yes. I’m SO glad you asked this, Lisa. First of all, “as is the case at so many…” means a lot to me. When I take on a project, I try to find gaps to fill and ways to be different enough to stand out, yet familiar enough to be comfortable. As I answered in another question earlier, I modeled HippoCamp after the conference format that’s most exhilarating for me.

There is something so special about being in a room with one person standing in the front igniting the audience with his or her passion. I love TedTalks, for example. The classroom-style session, to me, is so engaging. It allows the presenter to illustrate (as in with visual aids) that expertise – to show, not just tell. I love when a speaker works the room and when a speaker walks us through a case study or something they’ve worked on; it’s energizing.

I prefer that type of learning to a group of people sitting and taking turns talking, although there is merit in that as well. So I varied up the format. I balanced all-conference panels featuring larger, overarching topics with break-out sessions on more specific topics. I think this format prevents conference fatigue and gives people a chance to be in a room that just lights up.

Q: You're about seven or so weeks out from the conference. Are you excited? Worried? Both?

A:  There is such a vibe and energy about the conference, and I’m hoping that it continues to be contagious among the writing community. I'm mostly excited, but we’re still a little shy of our attendance goal so I’d be lying if I said there weren’t nerves too. There is still room. (I’m talking to YOU, dear reader. And you. And you.) The actual capacity of our reserved space exceeds our conference goal, so even if we did hit that magic number, there would be room left. We want a packed house. (Note: see below for discount.)

Q:  Hippocampus Magazine has a wonderful following and reputation online among creative nonfiction writers as a place to read CNF, and a destination goal to publish work. How does the conference and the journal interact?

A: Thank you for that! We’re thrilled with our following. Our three-fold mission is to entertain, educate, and engage readers and writers of creative nonfiction. The conference fulfills all three of those points, but, really, I think of “educate” the most.

Many of the conference volunteers and several of the presenters are on the Hippocampus staff and/or were published in our magazine, so HippoCamp is an extension of the relationships we’ve built over the years, but also it has introduced us to new friends and partners. The momentum of the magazine certainly helps fuel the energy of the conference, but, at the same time, people are learning about our journal for the first time by way of the conference. It’s neat to see these connections form.

I already have ideas for next year about how the conference and magazine can play off one another even more!

 

Q: What else have you done to differentiate the conference and deliver additional options for conference goers?

A:  We're offering pre- and post-conference workshops as add-ons; people can start their HippoCamp experience early with an editing or a writing and movement workshop (the collage essays one is already sold out), or extend it with a query-writing workshop. These intensive, interactive classes can complement the rest of the conference, but I made them optional add-ons because I wanted to squeeze in as much amazing content as I could during the regular programming.

Again, I borrowed this idea from HighEdWeb where I always add on an extra workshop (and I’m giving one this year!), and it was SO valuable to get access to an expert in his or her field for a few hours and to work on something practical.

Note from Lisa:  Donna would like to offer my blog readers a $20 discount on HippoCamp2015 conference registration. Use code: ROMEOWRITES at the conference registration page.

Images: Amish sign- DavidJones/Flickr Creative Commons; Hotel - Lancaster Convention Center; 

Others courtesy Hippocampus.

A List, Fragments, and a Father's Day (Essay) Card

Every December 31, I make a secret list: places I'd like to see my essays published in the coming year. Sometimes, it actually happens. That's the case with Hippocampus Magazine, an online home for (only) creative nonfiction, a journal I have always admired.

When the editor accepted "Going Through Your Things/Superhero" (an excerpt from my memoir-in-essays manuscript) in late January, she suggested publishing in June to coincide with Father's Day. 

This somewhat unusual essay began as fragments in my head eight years ago in my father's home office the week after he died. I spent several hours looking through the things he kept on his desk and shelves, his drawers, files, and closet. That day, I learned some things, about how I thought of him when I was a child, teenager, and young adult--and about myself (not all of it pretty or tidy).

It begins this way:

I am going through your things, Dad, and there is the black and white Kodak picture with the curly edges, me on Thunder, just a Sunday morning at the pony rides.

Oh Daddy, please take me for a pony ride; please, Daddy, wake up; it’s Sunday morning; let’s go; you promised to take me to the pony rides. Daddy, can I please have riding lessons; Aunt Louise said she’d take me when she takes Shelly; it’s only once a week, okay, Daddy? I got straight As again, Dad, so that’s $5 each, right? Dad, look at these cool new shoes I got at the store on the ship Mommy and Cathy and I took to France this summer. Hey Dad, can we go to a Broadway play for my birthday this year; thanks, Dad; and can I bring four of my friends, too; thanks. Dad, will you get tickets for me and AnnaMarie to the David Bowie concert, the Elton John concert, Beach Boys, Chicago, Frampton, Three Dog Night, the Steve Miller Band. Cool; thanks, Dad.

* * *

When I was a child, and even through most of my teenage years, even when I was convinced he was a hopelessly old-fashioned dolt, my father seemed to be able to get anything done. Tickets to any event. The son of a friend out of a parking ticket. A nephew out of jail. A new toy every store was sold out of. Broken stuff fixed, in the house, car, factory. In touch with someone important, maybe even famous. The back story. The back way to get somewhere. The right thing to say. How to convince someone to do, or make, or arrange something they didn’t want to do or make or arrange. Reservations, when every seat or room or table or flight was booked and had been booked for months. The right amount to tip. Which person to tip, and the way to fold the bill and when to offer it and how. 

I am going through your things, Dad, and here is the canceled check for...

You can read the rest over at Hippocampus, here.

My Husband and I Didn't Have a "Meet-Cute" Moment. So of course, I wrote about it.

Personal nonfiction writers often ponder the delicate issue of writing about loved ones, in particular spouses, a subject I once spent months researching. What I found, and have observed, is that most contemporary memoir and personal essay writers fall into (or straddle) three categories:

- show work to a spouse while it's still in very early draft form, giving him/her full veto power to delete anything

- share it only in late stages of editing, with either (a) a willingness to discuss cuts, but no guarantees; or (b) just as a heads-up

- stay mum until publication

I'm mostly in the second category - b - *Honey, FYI, this piece is coming out next week, and you're in it.* But sometimes I slip into the third. Why? Because I can. Because my husband, bless him, has a sense of humor about himself and us; because after 27 years of marriage he knows to pick his battles; and (maybe best of all) because he is almost completely isolated from social media (his choice).

Seven years ago, I began a narrative essay about how we met, fell apart and come back together multiple times over 12 years. In its various incarnations, the piece grew, deepened, languished, shrank, came back to life in varying forms. 

Once, I showed a draft to a writing friend for input and -- because we had dinner planned with this friend and her fiance -- I let Frank read it, mostly so that if the topic of what my friend and I were each writing came up, he wouldn't be in the dark. He shrugged. That was four years ago. I brought the drafts out to play with a few times since, then buried it again.

Finally, last fall, something shifted. I started with a blank screen, and after only a few hours (and 7 years) of rewriting, out it went on the submission trail.

Happily, Blue Lyra Review liked it and "Not Quite Meet-Cute" is part of their newest issue, now live. Which is why, last week, I told Frank, in a by-the-way moment, "A piece I wrote about how we met and dated is going to be published." He shrugged. 

I titled this one after a line in the film The Holiday, when the lovely actor Eli Wallach (who plays a now-elderly but once famously productive screenwriter from the golden age of Hollywood), explains that the magical, sweet, sometimes comical moment when fated lovers in a film first encounter one another, is called the "meet-cute."

My husband and I didn't have one of those. 

Here's how my story begins: 

People often ask how my husband and I met, confusing meeting with meaning.I tell them the meet-cute version: it happened at a New York Giants football game, two teenagers who forgot umbrellas and shared an improvised over-sized black trash-bag poncho. It is true, this story, and you can get by with this story, entertain and please people who want to know it is still possible to be sleeping beside the love of your life some thirty-eight years after he first made you swoon. 

But it’s not that simple. 

I first saw and heard my future husband when I was twelve and he sixteen, filling multiple roles in a high school production of My Fair Lady: dreamy looks, a swath of dark curly hair, and that last name – Frank Romeo. When we finally met at that football game three years later, I was with my best friend Anne, and he with his best friend Jeff. About five weeks of double dates followed, but I failed to notice Frank’s distracted twitch. I had forgotten that I first encountered him as an actor...

I hope you will read the rest here. And, if you're inclined, give it a boost with the Facebook Like button at the bottom of the essay on the BLR site

Editor Interview: Janna Marlies Maron on nonfiction, art, and publishing Under The Gum Tree

Sometimes I envy fiction writers and poets their riches in the literary journal jungle – the vast majority of journals (print and online) publish only, or mostly, fiction and poetry. Of those that do publish creative nonfiction, there is usually a low ratio of nonfiction to fiction/poetry. Until recently too, there were few journals that published only creative nonfiction. That's changing, and to my mind, one of the loveliest newer nonfiction-only entrants is Under The Gum Tree, which also features art alongside the prose, in both a print and digital format.

I am so excited to have my narrative essay, "Down at the Diner," included in UTGT's January 2014 issue. I'd admired the writing in the issues I'd already read (they've published 10 thus far); I was impressed by what a few of their published writers had said about the care shown by UTGT's editorial and production staff; and – not a small reason—I still love a printed product! I was also impressed by the exquisite art and visual design. So I asked publisher and editor Janna Marlies Maron if she would answer my questions about how she and her team make it shine. She not only said yes, but offered to gift a one-year digital subscription to one of my blog readers (see note at end).

Q.  As a nonfiction writer, I'm thrilled when a journal dedicates itself to nonfiction prose. And to have CNF featured alongside beautiful art is a special treat. What made you decide to focus the journal exclusively on these two forms of expression?

A. As a writer, my own work is in the creative nonfiction genre, so I’m partial. I also have a strong belief in the power of personal storytelling, and the “me too” experience that happens when writers share stories with an audience. There is something about the courage it takes to be vulnerable that creates a special and authentic connection between a storytellers and their audience.

In addition to my philosophy on personal storytelling, my professional background is in magazine publishing. So when I decided to start a literary magazine, one thing I knew from the outset is that it would be full-color and glossy in print, which is not something you usually see from literary journals. The decision to include art was largely based on that – if I was going to produce a full-color, glossy magazine, I wanted to make the most of that medium.

In my former role as a magazine editor, I longed to give a lot of space to photography, because full-page and full-spread photos are so stunning in print. But, when you work for a magazine driven by ad sales, you often have to make hard decisions about editorial space. So right away I knew I wanted to include a photo essay in every issue and that I would give as much room to it as I wanted!

We started including visual art sort of by accident. The art in the first several issues was all photography. Natana Prudhomme (who designed the logo and layout template and launched the magazine with me back in August 2011) is a painter, and I wanted to feature her work, which we did in the October 2012 issue, also our 1-year anniversary issue. Since then we have been featuring both photography and visual artists in each issue.

Q.  The animal artwork on the cover, the inside opening pages and ending pages, by Jane Garret Ryder is stunning – bold colors in a sea of stark white. And the arresting black-and-white photo essay in the center of the journal by Stephen Sheffield, seems to tell a story with words even though no words are present. Please tell me about choosing these artists/works, and how they complement the prose. 

Jane Garrett Ryder's work in UTGT

 

A. I have to credit Aimee Steffen Taber, the magazine’s designer with the artwork in this issue. Aimee is new to the UTGT team, taking over this issue from Natana.  Finding artists and photographers to feature has been one of the biggest challenges because, unlike writers who are often accustomed to submitting work if they want to get published, I don’t think the visual arts world really functions that way. So I have solicited most of the artwork we have published.

 When Aimee took over as artistic director, one thing I wanted to turn over to that position was curating the artwork and I think she’s done a superb job. Jane Garrett Ryder is someone that Aimee has worked with previously. 

The photo essay, however, came to us at the recommendation of Jason Landry, who runs an art gallery in Boston and whose photography is in Under the Gum Tree issue 9. 

Stephen Sheffield's work in UTGT

We aren’t necessarily looking for art that compliments the prose, rather we look for work that creates a visual story of some kind. If anything we are often keeping the visual elements of each issue in step with the seasons, which is partly why black and white photo essays were used in both the October 2013 and January 2014 issues – they convey a more mellow and contemplative mood that we often associate with the typical grayer and shorter days of winter.

Q.  I was struck by the diverse pieces in the January issue; such different, distinct voices, and yet it seemed this way to me, all were addressing some aspect of loss. I wonder if that was intentional or happened organically?

A. I love that you find diversity in this issue. The authors are—unintentionally—all female and, to be frank, as editor and publisher I’m constantly worrying about diversity: are we representing a spectrum of age, ethnicity, and gender?  But then the stories often speak for themselves, because I see diversity in experience even among writers who are the same gender or ethnicity.

We read and make decisions to accept or decline blindly. So to answer your question, it happens mostly organically. I say mostly only because there are times where, for example, we have accepted more than one piece about, say, dealing with mental illness, and we make the editorial decision to not publish both pieces in the same issue. The goal with those kinds of decisions is to create that diverse reading experience that you’re describing. 

Q.  As a writer and reader who grew up on print, I am in love with the slick, thick paper stock, the heft, the physicality of UTGT, the way the pages, weight, and texture all contribute to the reading experience (and how great my piece looks in it!). Since you also present the journal in digital form, what keeps you publishing the print edition (and oh, please don't ever stop!)? 

A. It’s interesting you ask about the print version because when I launched UTGT I thought for sure people would subscribe to the digital since it’s so much less costly (digital subscriptions are $2/mo, whereas print subscriptions are $7/mo). But I have found the opposite to be true–people love the print, and I think it has to do with the quality of our printing. We are, I hope, unlike many literary journals in that we do a full-color, glossy magazine–it’s really more like a coffee table book than a magazine.

What keeps me publishing print editions? Technology. Really, the only reason I publish in print is that there are tools allowing me to do it. I use a print-on-demand option, so the print edition is only printed for subscribers or when someone purchases an individual hard copy. I wouldn’t be able to do it otherwise.

Q.  Aside from the traditionally referenced recommendations about reading the journal before submitting and sending only your best, most polished work, have you any submission advice for writers that may be unique to a CNF-only journal?

A. First and foremost, follow submission guidelines to a T! We read blind, and say explicitly in our guidelines that submissions with any identifying information will be automatically declined, and I can’t tell you how many submissions we get with the author’s info right there in the text.

Beyond the logistical aspects of submitting, I believe that CNF is different from other genres in that there’s a personal impetus for the writer to share this particular story. We tell true stories to connect with others through shared experience and to help each other learn and grow. And we look for stories where that comes through in a subtle and skillfully crafted way. We don’t want to be hit over the head with a moral or a lesson learned, but we do want to know why it’s important that the author share this story with the world, and how that sharing will benefit the reader–even if it is in a very small way.

Note:  To win a one-year digital subscription to Under the Gum Tree, please leave a comment here on this post by midnight on Sunday, February 9 (and be sure we have a way to contact you). The winner will be announced here the next day.

Also:  If you are headed to the AWP conference in Seattle, stop by table #U15 and say hi to the UTGT folks!

What Kind of Essay? The answer is in...the essay.

If you've been a regular here, you may know that I'm putting the final touches on a manuscript--a memoir about the relationship that developed between me and my father (just before, but mostly) after, his death, told in linked essays. 

Some are more narrative than others, some more lyrical. One is long and segmented; a few are short forms. How and why each essay takes the shape and form it does relies on so many factors, and frankly often the *answer* doesn't reveal itself until far along in the revision process.

The rest of the time, I'm typically just following some instinct that's difficult to explain. The material knows, often, what it wants to be. The story knows how it wants to be told. Lately, I trust that if I listen carefully enough and resist the urge to be right about an initial impulse, I can hear when subsequent drafts are telling me something different.

An excerpted essay from the manuscript, with the title of "Eyes, Hands, Hotel, Hospital," is included in the December issue of an online journal with its own distinctly intriguing name, Halfway Down the Stairs.

If I had listened to my initial idea of how this particular piece of the story--my final visits to my father's hospital room--should exist on the page, it might have been three separate things: a light piece about my father, afflicted with Alzheimer's, thinking the hotel was a hospital; a long (and likely maudlin and unruly) prose poem about how his eyes unnerved me; and an essay about how comforted and upset I was by the look and feel of his hands even as everything else about his body was deteriorating. 

But early pages can be squirrelly, and after a dozen or so combined drafts, I put each one away for a while. 

At some point, I realized that it was all connected to those final days, everything running together, a collage of eyes and hands, memories of all the fine hotels we'd stayed at during my childhood, and finally, the reality of the hospital. It wasn't three pieces, it was one -- and a rather straight-ahead narrative essay at that

Which is not to say it might not have worked the other way, ten other ways. But this way felt right.

Here is part of middle of the essay, a section where I write of my father's confusion about where he was.

In the hospital, I asked my father if he wanted me to rub on some hand cream. He shrugged, but I did it anyway. I thought, What the heck, it will kill some time. After, he began what had, at least while I'd been here, become his daily litany of why he must be allowed to leave this place:

They can't keep me here against my will.
I know the law.
If I want to leave, I can you know.
Get them to call me a taxi.
Where's my suitcase? I want to go.
Get your mother; she'll know what to do. (This one I could not help laughing at out loud. My father always did everything related to travel, finances, and dealing with management or authorities; and he always reminded everyone that he alone was qualified to do so.)
Take me home.
I want to go home.
Why can't I go home? (This one I had trouble answering, even glibly, because I wanted to know the same thing. Why couldn't my mother allow him to come home—to his 5,000 square foot house, the one with extra bedrooms and spare bathrooms and wide doorways, the one built with polyester money—instead of making nursing home arrangements?)
Where is my ticket, my passport, the concierge?
When is that damned bellboy coming back?
They make me wait, for what?

I hope you will hop over to Halfway Down the Stairs (where there is a lot of engaging work), and read "Eyes, Hands, Hotel, Hospital."

Editor Q & A: Suzannah Windsor, of Compose, on Starting the Journal, Submissions, and Full Plates

Over the past six months, I've been getting a new view, from the other side of the desk, as creative nonfiction editor for the new online journal Compose. We're now in the middle of reading, selecting, and editing material for the Fall 2013 issue (the journal's second).  Founder and editor-in-chief Suzannah Windsor (you may know her as founder of the group blog Write It Sideways), took a few minutes to talk to me about her journal start-up experience and plans.

Lisa Romeo:  To date, about fours months into the process of inviting submissions for future issues, what has surprised you the most -- pleasantly or not -- from the editor's seat?

Suzannah Windsor: I have to say I was surprised by the number of submissions we received in the first month, because I assumed things would be a bit quiet in the beginning. I've also been pleasantly surprised at the quality of the submissions; the majority are polished and professional, even if not quite right for us. While we've received some submissions from newer writers, many are MFA graduates with several publications already under their belts. Others have collections of short stories or poetry forthcoming or published by small presses. It's lovely that we're getting a combination of new writers, emerging writers, and established writers all at once, and it's encouraging that they're interested in working with us, in particular.

LR: What has the experience been like for you in setting up the journal, establishing submission guidelines, creating the editors' roles, and more or less mothering the whole enterprise into existence?

SW: It's been a whole lot of work and plenty of trial-and-error to get where we are today. Many of the problems or inefficiencies we've faced have been things that couldn't really have been anticipated until they happened, so we've had to think on our feet. The biggest challenge has been just getting everything in place and running smoothly. There's a big difference between starting a literary journal and building a successful literary journal, and that's both an exciting challenge and an incredibly daunting task. Even when I think I've gotten ahead of my to-do list, there's always plenty more I could be doing.

LR:  If I'm not mistaken, Compose has editors who live on three different continents. Was that your intention, to infuse the editorial decision-making process with an international world view, or just coincidence?

SW: At the moment, we're divided between the United States and Australia, but if you count our home countries, we range from the US to Canada, Australia, Cuba and Dominican Republic. It wasn't at all intentional, but I do think an international perspective is an advantage. Because we're an online publication and our readers are from all over the world, we want to be able to provide them with a culturally diverse reading experience.

LR:  Surely with your work on Write it Sideways, and your own personal creative writing, as well as a busy family life, you had a lot on your agenda already. So what was it about the idea of an online literary journal that spurred you into action? 

SW: I'll admit—with four children (including toddler twins)—I am committed-to-the-max at the moment. But, I'm also aware that in a few years all of my children will be in school and I'll suddenly have a lot more time to commit to my work. Between now and then, I'd like to build up my writing and editing experience as much as possible. Compose has been a good step toward gaining that experience, but it's also something I've wanted to do for a long time because of my love for reading and writing short fiction. The journal is both good experience and a passion project.

LR: Is there anything you are planning or hoping that Compose can do that other online literary journals are not doing?

SW: I hope we'll be known for featuring established voices alongside emerging ones, because I know from experience how exciting it is to see your work published in the same issue as a writer you admire. It can give a struggling writer a real confidence boost. Aside from that, I hope that we can consistently publish quality work and simply be known as a great read. Whereas some journals are only read by the writers who submit to them, I want us to reach a much wider audience. 

LR: Can you give my readers who are writers any submission tips either for Compose in particular, or for online journals in general (or both)?

SW: When someone submits something that is obviously not a good fit for Compose, I have a good idea that they haven't done their homework. First, always read the submission guidelines thoroughly. Most journals have similar guidelines, but some prefer to have a cover letter with a short bio included, some don't accept simultaneous submissions, and some even want a statement about why you believe your work fits their vision. 

Second, read at least a few pieces from the journal to get a good feel for what they publish. A piece that's perfect for The Missouri Review most likely won't be right for Caketrain. Each publication has its own aesthetic, so take note of genre, style, tone and length.

Third, don't submit until you're sure the piece is ready. We've had several pieces withdrawn shortly after submission, with the writers saying they need to make some changes. Not only does this indicate to us that the writer submitted too soon, it's also a bit of a hassle from the editors' side if they've already started to read and consider the piece. Let your work sit for a week or two after you think it's done, and you'll probably find it could still be improved.

LR: Here's something writers wonder about and debate. When you see that a writer has sent a simultaneous submission, does that make you read it and respond quickly so that you don't chance losing a great piece; or does a simultaneous submission make you think it may be out at a large number of other journals, and there's a good chance it will be withdrawn, so it falls to the bottom of your list?

SW: I really don't think it makes a difference either way unless I think the piece is something we'd really hate to lose. I don't read submissions in full until the senior editors are ready to accept something, but I do get a sneak peek at everything when I assign pieces to editors for reading. So, if I were to see something that captivated me enough in the opening lines and compelled me to read the entire piece right away, I'd probably get the editors to read and vote on it right away. But, I would do the same whether the piece was explicitly labeled as being a simultaneous submission or not. Unless a journal's guidelines state no simultaneous submissions, I think we all expect them nowadays.

LR: There's been some push-back lately among print journals about the proliferation of online journals, some of which seem little more than an individual collecting submitted poems, stories and essays, and putting them up on a blogging platform with little editorial development and scant readership, amounting to a publication credit line on a resume or CV that's hardly more credible than a personal blog or amateur site. Thoughts?

SW: I completely agree. There are thousands of these sites, many of which I assume are read only by the people published in them. Let me say that our process bears no resemblance to these sites, and neither does our product. I often hear from our readers how much they're enjoying our first issue, which means we're already reaching and connecting with people. When a submission comes our way, it receives multiple reads and opinions, and almost every long-form piece we've accepted goes through at least one careful revision with a senior editor. 

Writer Eva Langston, a contributor to our Spring 2013 issue, has said “The editors encouraged and supported me through the process [of editing my story]. I was amazed they put so much time and energy into my dinky two-page story. And yet, I was glad for it. They had me change 1% of my piece, but it made the story 100% better.” 

Still, I hope people don't confuse these amateur sites with some of the longer-standing online journals that publish excellent work but are simple (and perhaps dated) in their design. On the other hand, there are plenty of good-looking sites that publish unpolished work. Design is nice, but content has to be the end focus.

LR: You decided from the start to include the three major genres – fiction, poetry, nonfiction – as well as artwork, feature articles, interviews and book excerpts. Some journals start out with more limited offerings. What made you want to present the full spectrum right from the start, and in retrospect was that a difficult way to begin?

SW: Yes, it was ambitious, but I figured—why tiptoe our way in? If the perfect editors hadn't presented themselves in each genre, I might've just stuck with poetry and fiction, but things have worked out really well in that respect.

LR: What do you hope a reader takes away from each issue of Compose?

SW: If everyone who reads our journal could go away remembering just one piece, and have that piece come back to them again and again—a particular line, an image, a conflict—then mission accomplished. Many of the pieces from our first issue have had that effect on me, changing my life in some small way. Also, because the majority of our audience are writers as well as readers, I hope they'll come away from reading Compose with a renewed desire to write.

You can read another interview with Suzannah at Review Review. The submissions guidelines for Compose are here.