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I can be credibly accused of countless writing indiscretions. Indulging in idioms and clichés. Focusing almost exclusively on first-person stories about sad, inarticulate men. Using the word indiscretions for no discernible reason.
Of my indiscretions, I’d say the most egregious is my compulsion to say goofy things in my stories. Read more . . .
Image by Grooveland Designs
When I was an editor at a lit mag, I read a lot of short story submissions. Among the ones that didn’t make it, each had the spark of something good. Maybe an evocative image or a deft line of dialogue. Maybe a fun voice or a great first line. It was frustrating when these stories didn’t work, not because I'm jaded or judgmental but because I'd always want them to succeed. I’d seen that spark.
So, in general, why don’t stories work? Read more . . .
Image by Prayudha Saputra
You’ll think I’m making this up, but "Mr. Palm Beach" came to me in a dream. On January 11, 2024, about nine months after my father died, I had a nightmare in which I encountered a young version of him raiding the fridge. It was unsettling enough to wake me up. As I drifted back to sleep, though, I thought of this line: “Now that he’s dead, my father’s hungrier than ever.” Read more . . .
Image by Federico Giampieri
In a previous reflection, I talked about persistence. Today I want to talk about giving up. Let’s call it strategic futility. Why strategic futility? First, it sounds cool. But it’s also a good way to talk about times when it’s important to walk away from a project, at least for a while.
Take “Missile Command.” Read more . . .
Image by Mitchell Orr
I’m a slow writer. I also read slowly, speak slowly, and generally process information—what’s the word?—slowly. This has nothing to do with my great age; I’ve been this way since the Nixon era. And maybe it’s not fair to say I’m slow. Let’s say deliberate—the trait of an introvert. . . . Deliberation takes time. Thoughts just take the scenic route through my brain, is all. Read more . . .
Image by Grianghraf
I’ve had my share of rejections lately. (While there's much to admire in my work, it's not the right fit at this time, and they wish me luck placing it elsewhere, and so on.) I’ve been submitting my stuff long enough now that I’m unfazed by it. It’s mildly disappointing, sure, and even annoying, but not discouraging. It doesn’t make me question my ability or ambition to write. (Writing’s a compulsion anyway, so I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.) Read more . . .
Image by Wesley Tingey
Reflections
