All the Words We Cannot See
I can’t bring myself to write non-fiction these days–my thoughts, I mean. Opinions. Even these little, infrequent posts are tortuous because they are meaningless, in the scheme of things. Words flood the world now. Readers scroll and scroll. I don’t know what the readers/viewers are looking at when they scroll. I wonder, when I see them, if they are bored.
Though I use my commute-time to write fiction, there are long minutes during the commute when I cannot sit and open my computer, and that is when I scroll on my phone. When I’m standing in the ferry terminal, waiting for the glass doors to open, I scroll and scroll on FB or Twitter, mostly bored. Sometimes I am not bored, like when I’m researching facts for stories, or sending out a story, or typing an email to a friend. But often, I am scrolling.
My phone broke a couple of weeks ago, and during my phone-less, standing minutes, I completed All the Light We Cannot See. Yes, it was another weighty thing in my bag, but my life is now changed, not in any remarkable way, but in the way that comes when I step away from the scrolling through all the words that fill my eyes and step into all the words that fill my mind. I also finished a slim book, a little gem called Heat by Stephanie Dickinson.
I’ve got a new phone now. It’s bigger and faster. I haven’t read any books since I got it. But I will, I will.
My Diner
I’m going to continue doing this–writing my slipstream flash, I mean. This week, two journals have accepted stories: “Enormous Women” was accepted by Fiction Southeast, and “Central Market Women” was accepted by Toad Suck Review.
This is food. I was starving, I think, in my vast and silent, novel-writing world, where I was the only one at the table except for the occasional passerby. Well, it’s no fun to eat alone for that long. So now, it’s gluttony. I’ll keep it short and fast. I’ll keep it going and coming. I like movement. I like company. It’s my own private diner–where everyone is welcome.
A Good Editor
“Ferry Men” was accepted and will be coming out in Black Denim Lit. I am obsessed with my flash fiction, obsessed with the writing and the sending and the accepting. I write about one story a week while commuting on the bus and ferry. I’ve sent out three more pieces to little, sweet mags, mags that turn around decisions quickly, mags whose editors might take the time to give personal and encouraging words to writers. One such editor is Elena M. Stiehler of The Sonder Review. Her appreciation for “Buffalo Girls” planted my unsteady feet firmly on the flash-fiction road I had just decided to take again after four years of silent novel-writing. Editors like Elena help writers write.
Two flash-fiction stories were accepted by other journals after “Buffalo Girls,” both written in the same voice. Three other pieces are out at other journals. I have a theme that connects the pieces, and I can see this turning into a collection. None of this was on my writing map until Elena not only accepted my piece but also took the time to express her appreciation for it. I had been testing the waters, and I found the waters to be warm and inviting.
All editors of literary journals should take Elena’s lead. After all, editors and authors are in this for the same thing: the joy and excitement of communicating literary art to our little world of readers–a world that is often solitary and silent. Why not whisper a little praise to one another. Why not shout it.
