Given my 78 submissions and 57 rejections this year, I found this timely reminder about the power of reframing.
How I Declared Myself a ‘Rejection Expert,’ and Other Stories of Creative Reframing
Category: Writing Stories
Make Money with Your Fiction: Tips for Publication
A thoughtful take on short story submissions with specific cover letter advice.
If you choose to work as a freelance writer, most of your work will be commissioned and dictated by other people. It still beats the hell out of other jobs, believe me, but the job sets inherent boundaries. You have to write content relevant to a client’s blog. You have to turn the client’s words into a coherent post, article, or book. If you choose to take the entirely traditional route and only pitch stories to magazines, you have far more control over the subject of your writing, but you probably aren’t pitching fiction or poetry. If you are, please tell me in the comments where and how you’re doing that because I would love to know.
Essentially, as a freelancer, your bread and butter comes from nonfiction pieces driven by the needs of a client. But there’s a high likelihood that if you’re a writer by trade, you also…
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My Short Story Submissions Calendar
My short story submissions calendar is a curated list of contest deadlines and calls for submission. These are opportunities I believe are at least worth considering for your stories.
Why I Write
Read my winning entry to the Kevin Smoker Scholarship for the 2016 San Francisco Writers Conference.
LitQuake 2015: The Art of the Short Story
This weekend I attended LitQuake 2015's excellent panel, The Art of the Short Story. Thanks to Mark Peterson for moderating Jodi Angel, Tom Barbash, Grant Faulkner, and Siamak Vossoughi. This is a summary of my largely paraphrased notes. Siamak wants to appeal to the heart in all of his stories to walk away with a wondrous sense of having… Continue reading LitQuake 2015: The Art of the Short Story
Why I Shut Up & Write
Where are you at 10:00am sharp on Saturday mornings? Sleeping in? Waking up? Waiting for brunch? I’m usually grabbing a seat at Mo Joe’s Cafe for a Shut Up & Write! marathon. To make it on time, I have to wake up before 8 in sleepy San Francisco to catch a just-shy-of-9 train that whisks me… Continue reading Why I Shut Up & Write
faith n’ flickers
Listen to me read this poem in the embedded player below or on SoundCloud: he lay there gasping for the numb to end his was an unfelt pain all in his head — er, heart that's what these romantics swear by their cardiovascular deity but I took pity on him nonetheless his red carnivore gravity… Continue reading faith n’ flickers
Replenished Purr
another soul / napping on you guarantees / you will feel more loved
a melted art
Once upon a Cold, we painted with our Breath, drawing grand designs with Frost. We thought the Ice would last all season, comfort of our white Chrysalis wrapping Crystal dreams. We antici- pated each coming day like a Snowflake waits for infinite friends to follow it's unique descent. We didn't fear starry hours or burned out sky because… Continue reading a melted art
Maidan Morning
From my personal journal, February 1, 2014: Seeing Maidan in person left me in a state of mild awe. How can so many souls come from near and far, gather, organize, donate, protest, fight, break, bleed, die, and wake up to do it again and again for months? There must be something here, something about… Continue reading Maidan Morning
Nomad, my first short film
http://vimeo.com/84480973 A couple meets for coffee on the last day of their relationship.
Edgemoor
Night is like a song that you can't see so you make up scenery to fill the gaps between fluorescent highways. and forests possible. Figments of figs twist with twigs into nocturnal architectures of confusing beauty. Headlights slice into your eyes and ruin the surprise so you return to sound of foggy rain and smoky… Continue reading Edgemoor
Blinks of Awe Beyond the iPad
So far only poetry lovers with iPads have been able to read blinks of awe, my new poetry book. People without an iPad can now get a better peek at the poetry in the book, which you can see, touch, and hear. I also want to learn where else people want to experience this kind… Continue reading Blinks of Awe Beyond the iPad
#haiku
On a re-reading of my previous post, I realized the end of the poem contained a haiku: On the shore’s blue blend men become boys again toes plucked from the sand That made me smile, share it on Twitter, and look for other #haiku tweets. Here are my favorites: https://twitter.com/tankaqueen/status/234750794350604289 https://twitter.com/DreamsOfTaos/status/234694424205082624 https://twitter.com/benzbara_/status/233270676251897858 https://twitter.com/aMrazing/status/232879582733295619 https://twitter.com/DreamsOfTaos/status/232230369011838976 https://twitter.com/marousia/status/232081278613213184… Continue reading #haiku
Ripping Current
I return where I was born, not physically Driving a machine that didn't yet exist through the sleepy streets nocturnal every intersection bursting with memories Past overgrown trees surrounding an elementary school I can't see Thrusting into radio static songs names scenes all unfamiliar except the change drums as predictable as heartbeats On the sandy… Continue reading Ripping Current
Expired Eyes
The scars you leave on me are just tattoos that no one else can see, they've bled ad nauseam, invisible ink pouring from the pores of lashes and old sores, a tale of muted agony tailed by the climax of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew. The stars you leave me with are just dreams that… Continue reading Expired Eyes
Without Tomorrow
The glass cracks before my eyes and I admire the fractal patterns. Branching limbs reaching for the edges, just to find them. Nails on endless rows of fingertoes too short, too close, too hurt. So hungry for an end they forget to taste. So soon we'll suffocate. But now will never breathe again. Tomorrow we expire.… Continue reading Without Tomorrow
I’m Not a Writer, I Write
The question "Are you a writer?" always makes me uncomfortable. Some days I don't write. Does that mean I'm not a writer on those days? Where does the expectation of writing every day come from? Did I find it true for myself? Did I unconsciously assume it as part of some vague notion of what a… Continue reading I’m Not a Writer, I Write
Color Me Synesthesia (audio)
Here's a recording of a poem I published a month ago, Color Me Synesthesia: (If you don't see anything above, listen to the track on SoundCloud.) before, I was but a pencil line _______________, simple little stroke, lacking even a squiggle but you you traced me well, gave me depth & Definition a flair of ink,… Continue reading Color Me Synesthesia (audio)
euloJune
Today I learned to breathe and the air was full of fragments that tasted like the moment. I didn't dare hold on. Just inhaled all I could and waved at dusk-soaked curtains and darker ocean folds and warmer nights stretching into tomorrow. A summer fever collapsed into a delicate ember with beads of sweat, pockets… Continue reading euloJune
Arsenal of Words 