How to Submit to Contests: Behind-the-Scenes at the American Literary Review

By Anna Chotlos

Submitting to contests can be a fantastic way to get your writing out in the world. Beyond the prize and the confidence boost that comes with winning or being named a finalist, meeting a deadline can provide an extra jolt of motivation to finish a piece or shore up your determination to keep revising. Plus, many publications also consider contest submissions for publication in their regular issues.

How do you know if a contest is a good fit for your work? How do you approach deciding which piece to submit? How do you increase your chances of winning?

American Literary Review, the journal I co-edit, is currently accepting submissions for our annual contest, with a prize of $1000 in each genre. Here are some things I’ve learned about submitting to contests from working on journals behind-the-scenes:

1. Read a solid selection of the writing published by the journal or magazine holding the contest. (And not just one or two pieces in your genre from the most recent issue. Really dig in.) There are an overwhelming number of publications out there and doing a little extra reading at this stage will allow you to focus on publications that are a good match for your writing. What qualities do the editors seem drawn to? Do your aesthetic interests and sensibilities seem compatible? After all, the editors are going to read your submission before it reaches the judge.

For example, over at American Literary Review, we are looking for essays that:

• Take risks.
• Use memorable language.
• Include formal innovation.
• Have an element of surprise or show us something familiar in a new light.

In the words of ALR Essays Editor Vince Granata, “We’re looking for essays that you and only you can write.”

2. Beyond the writing, do some background research on the publication. Will this publication help you meet your goals as a writer? Some questions from my own checklist include:

• Does the journal have past winners or other work available online? Do they make it easy to see what kind of writing they publish?
• Who will be reading my work? Is the masthead posted? (This information communicates credibility.)
• Is the journal running the contest affiliated with a college, university, or other institution? (Another signal of credibility.)
• How long has the journal existed? Do I recognize any names of the writers they publish?
• Do they have an engaged social media presence? How do they represent and celebrate the work they publish?
• Does their website (or print journal) look like a place I would be proud to see my work?

3. Read and follow the submission guidelines. This seems rather obvious, but in my experience as an editor, this step gets overlooked with surprising regularity.

For example, the guidelines for submitting to the American Literary Review Awards in the essay category read like this:

One work per entry, limit 6,000 words per work. Do not include any identifying information in the uploaded document except for the title of the work. All work should be previously unpublished. 

In addition, contest entries often cost a little more than regular submissions (ALR’s has a $15 entry fee that goes to funding our prizes and paying our judges an honorarium), so it’s prudent to be extra attentive to the details so your work isn’t dismissed for avoidable reasons. (Seriously. Follow the guidelines.)

4. Consider the judge. I like to look up some of their writing in the genre I’m considering submitting. If they’ve judged other contests, I try to read other pieces that they’ve selected.

Is your writing in conversation with their interests? I don’t think it’s possible to guess what any given judge will like, nor a good use of time and energy to change your piece in an attempt to appeal to one particular person, but doing a little research can help you narrow down which contests are the best fit and strategize about which piece to submit. In addition, contests can be a great opportunity to get your work in front of a writer or editor you admire. (This year, Dinty W. Moore is judging the essays category. Our poetry judge is Denise Duhamel, and our fiction judge is SJ Sindu.)

5. Consider the timeline of the contest. Is the essay you plan to submit to the contest already under consideration at other journals? If simultaneous submissions are allowed, I try to time my submissions strategically to avoid having to withdraw a piece from a contest that I just entered.

6. While we cannot promise that submitting to ALR will lead to life-changing fame and fortune, we can promise that your work will be read with care by a dedicated, thoughtful, and enthusiastic team. And even if your essay doesn’t win, we still consider contest submissions for publication in our fall and spring issues and nominate pieces for Best of the Net, Pushcart and other awards.

Please consider submitting to the American Literary Review Awards! Our contest is open until October 1 and we would love the opportunity to consider your essays (and fiction and poetry, too)!
___

Anna Chotlos’s essays and poems have recently appeared in Split Lip, Hotel Amerika, Sweet Lit, and River Teeth’s Beautiful Things. She holds an MA from Ohio University and now teaches and writes in Denton, Texas where she is a PhD candidate in creative writing at the University of North Texas and the managing editor of American Literary Review. 

How to Know If a Publisher is the Real Deal

by Allison K Williams

Today’s essay is a little different than our normal posts. I’ve seen a wave of new publishing scams recently, and we all have to know how to protect ourselves before we buy into a story with a very unhappy ending. So I want to show you my real research process for finding out if a publisher is the Real Deal. You can watch this video, which shows exactly which websites I visited and how I evaluated the information, or you can scroll down and read the transcript, below my bio.

Reading in your email? Here’s the link!

Links to helpful sites for finding and evaluating contests and publishers:

The Alliance of Independent Authors and their Book Award and Contest Ratings

Writer Beware

Poets & Writers Small Presses list

___________________

Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Editor and the author of Seven Drafts. Develop your own book in Tuscany this fall with Allison & Brevity Editor-in-Chief Dinty W. Moore. Find out more/register now.

________

TRANSCRIPT

Hello Brevity readers—today’s blog is a little different because I want to show you my real research process for finding out if a publisher is the real deal. I’ve seen a wave of new publishing scams recently and we all have to know how to protect ourselves before we buy into a story with a very unhappy ending.

I recently got an email from a writer friend and she asked me, “Hi Allison Trio House Press are sponsoring a manuscript contest the Aurora Polaris Creative Nonfiction Award. In addition to the monetary prize, they will also publish the winning entry. Do you know anything about this Press, and would you recommend it for a submission whether part of the contest or not?

Now I hadn’t heard of them so my first stop was the Alliance of Independent Authors. They have a wonderful page that is Book Award and Contest Ratings. They’re really clear

about why are we judging these places, and how are we judging these places. Here’s their guiding principles: that the contest is there to recognize the writers, not to make a whole lot of money; there’s a clear, transparent judging process; you’re not giving up key rights; and there’s no weird upsells like hey buy a whole bunch of stickers for $70 to put on your book and say I won a prize that nobody’s ever heard of.

Now down here they have their ratings and reviews. There’s a key to tell you what each of the ratings means and you can either scroll alphabetically through the list to see what’s there, what’s recommended, what’s not, or I can just go ahead and type in Trio Press and when I discover hey it’s not listed there, Okay I need to do more research it’s neither good nor bad as far as the Alliance of Independent Authors is concerned.

So my next step is a basic Google search. Trio House Press. It’s a good sign that they own their domain name and as I scroll, I can see oh they are going to AWP. So they’re a member of AWP. They’ve invested money in their publishing business. Scammers don’t usually come to AWP because either they’re a foreign company and they don’t have a visa or they just don’t want to look people in the eye.

It’s a good sign that they have an account with Submittable. It’s a good sign that they have an Instagram. That they’re a member of the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses and hey, I’m going to note that down because that might be a place I want to look for more publishers in the future if I’m helping an author client shop for publishers.

I can see that they have a LinkedIn, they have an account with bookshop.org and I also double check they have an account over at Poets and Writers. They’re members of poetsandwriters.org. Over there I can check out their profile on poetsandwriters.org which is another place where you can research many small presses.Notice that they’ve listed some specific authors. I can check and see are any of these people I know or people my friends know.

It’s very clear that they have guidelines; they have a long response time, as do so many publishers these days. And hey, it’s good to know they accept unsolicited submissions.

You don’t have to have an agent to submit to them. So not only are we finding out, yes, Trio Press is extremely legit, we’re also finding out more opportunities for ourselves or for the other writers that we know.

The next thing I do is I visit Trio House’s actual website, and what I’m looking here for is a clear statement of who they are and what they do.

Things are spelled correctly. That’s always a good sign of a careful eye. They have interesting-looking covers. Covers that I would be proud to have my book be next to. Covers that look professional and that look like they’re going to help sell the book.

I can also go ahead and take a look specifically at their contest page, and here’s another green flag. They have listed specific judges. For example, their Trio Award judge for a first or second book of poetry is Jessica Q. Stark. She’s a poetry editor at AGNI, which is another legit magazine. She’s an assistant professor of creative writing at the University of North Florida. She has legit credits. All of these elements are stacking up to show that this is the real deal.

Be very aware if a contest hides who the judge is. If judges are hidden, or they’re just not specific about it, that probably means their judge’s opinions aren’t going to make a great big difference to your career.

Then I’m going to head over to Twitter and I’m going to check out the Press on Twitter. This lets me take a look at how they’re supporting their authors by their public presence, it lets me know a little bit about who they are, what kind of things they support, what kind of things they’re in favor of. And as I scroll down through, I’m also noticing they’re very supportive of BIPOC authors and I think that’s a really good sign.

I can also take a look back up at the very top and I can see, oh hey, I know Sean Thomas Dougherty. He’s a great poet and Sean follows Trio House Press and there’s other people who I follow who also follow Trio Press. That’s a good sign, too.

I can also take a look here and Google the specific contest. Oh look, other organizations are tweeting about it as well. That means at least one other organization thinks they’re the real deal. Then I think to myself, oh hey, isn’t one of my friends publishing with Trio House Press?

And I take a look and Casey Mulligan Walsh’s book, The Full Catastrophe, All I Ever Wanted, Everything I Feared, is forthcoming from Motina Books, a different publisher entirely. One that I already know is the real deal.

My last stop, if I found any signs of worry, if the website looked bad or the cover looked bad or the social media presence was iffy or non-existent, at that point I would visit Writer Beware. And this is a great site to read regularly. Victoria Strauss not only names names, she shows what scams are made of so that you will recognize the ingredients when and if you encounter them.

So I go back. And I tell my friend, yeah, Trio Press seems legit. And in my email response to her, I ask her, consider what you want. Are you really hoping for the prize? Do you want the money? Do you want a specific judge to see your work? And keep querying while all that happens. It’s really rare that you’ll have to choose between a contest with a particular publisher and another offer from an agent or another publisher, but it sure is great to have that as an option if it happens.

Once I know the publisher, I file that away in my mental records and share their contest info on social media.I’ve already checked them out, so if my endorsement saves another writer some time, that’s literary citizenship that I can contribute. For your own research, follow these steps:  

1) What’s their online presence? Do I like the look of it? Are they on any watchdog sites?

2) Are they members of professional organizations?

3) Is there anything online about what they offer now?

4) Do people I trust, trust them?

5) Is their public presence professional and a personality I can connect with?

It only takes a few minutes to find the answers, but the confidence in your own judgment lasts forever.

Happy writing!

From Page to Stage—Angst to Bliss in < 48 Hours

By Bella Mahaya Carter

My chest tightened as I listened to fellow cast members perform their stories two days before the show. What am I doing among award-winning storytellers? I wondered. Must I follow a Moth GrandSLAM Champion and share a stage with professional actors?

I’m a writer, not a thespian. I’d planned to read a carefully crafted true story. An earlier version had been published in a literary journal. The director said, “No need to memorize, but definitely be familiar enough to tell, not fully read your story.”

Tell? I felt queasy. My memory is like pencil markings, easily erased. The one time I auditioned for a play, I’d memorized a monologue and blanked at the audition. After the first sentence, the words disappeared. I kept starting over. After several tries, the director dismissed me with a polite “Thank you” and later cast me in a non-speaking role. I dropped out. I hadn’t transferred from Juilliard (Dance) with an injured back to glissade into the role of a wood nymph at a liberal arts college.

When it was my turn at the podium, the microphone shadowed my page. Moments later, I was flooded—and floored—by bright lights. I hadn’t been on a lit stage in over forty years. In the decades since, I’d read my work at bookstores, colleges and universities, cafés, literary salons, on Zoom, and elsewhere, but never centerstage, blinded by light.

I planted my slightly straddled feet firmly onto the floor, told myself the light was my friend, a source of love, maybe even God, and continued reading. It got easier as I went along.

After the rehearsal, the director praised two performers for making good audience eye contact and privately told me my piece ran long and the opening hadn’t grabbed her. She understood I’d been thrown off by the light, but still….

Driving home, I wondered if that old theater superstition—a bad last (dress) rehearsal means a great performance—was true.

No! My inner perfectionist hissed. It’s not. You’re out of your league. I recognized that voice. I consider myself a recovering perfectionist, and most days I’m fine, but occasionally, I get hijacked.

As I pulled into my garage, I secretly wished for a mild case of COVID-19 to get me out of this “ridiculous commitment.” 

At home, I collapsed into my living room chair.

My husband turned off the T.V. “How was it?” he asked.

“Not great,” I said.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re a performer.”

I looked down at the wood floor, and whispered, “I don’t know.”

Our daughter, who has a theater degree, rolled her eyes, and said, “You’re allowed to make mistakes, Mom. That’s what rehearsals are for.”

If I’d been in my right mind, I would have listened. But instead, I blurted, “When I left the theater, the director shouted, ‘I love you, Bella.’ I paused, and like a petulant child, added, “—a pity comment.”

Our daughter, who’d been dealing with her own fragility, frustration, and anger before venturing into the living room, perhaps hoping to hear good news, shook her head disapprovingly, and snapped, “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“That tone doesn’t help,” I said.

She stormed out of the room. Moments later, tearful, she hollered an apology from the hallway. “I was just trying to help.”

My body felt like a dump truck, heavy and filled with rubbish. My tongue, a lead pipe.

“Say something.” my husband urged in a whisper.

I managed to eke out, “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.”

That’s when I realized I had a choice. I could continue my downward spiral or step out of my shadow and take the advice I offer my students and clients: Give yourself permission to be messy and mediocre. And It’s easier to exit your cage when you recognize you hold the key.

The next day, I recorded and listened to my story while walking, and later, washing dishes. I printed out a 24-point version and highlighted dialogue. My daughter brought me into my darkened bedroom, shined lights into my eyes, and said, “Practice speaking into the light.”

The morning of the performance, I worked. I ate a light meal in the afternoon, meditated, and dressed leisurely. I arrived at the theater early to set up a table of my books to sell. It was a fundraising event, and I was donating the proceeds.

I felt like still water, with an occasional ripple.

From a balcony, I watched as people entered the theater. I saw each individual as a person like me. I thought: We’re all human. We all struggle. All complex souls who need entertainment, laughter, connection, and meaning. I knew I had a gift to give.

Listening to and cheering on my fellow performers, I felt like a bottle of champagne about to be popped open. When it was my turn on stage, I felt wholly at home. The lights weren’t as bright as they’d been in rehearsal. I could see faces in the first few rows, including family and friends.

Like a bird in flight, savoring every dip and spin, life shimmered while I shared my story.

When I walked off stage, a fellow performer whispered, “That was flawless.” It wasn’t. There was a tiny bobble at the end, I’d looked down more than necessary, and perhaps overacted. But I learned that my memory, with practice, does indeed work, which means I may venture onto more stages. Neither my mishaps nor my imperfections mattered. I’d shown up. I’d released my angst. And I’d found bliss—in the light on that stage, in my heart as both a writer and a performer, and as one of the show’s nine courageous grand slam champions!

__________

Bella Mahaya Carter is the author of Raw: My Journey from Anxiety to Joy, a memoir, and Where Do You Hang Your Hammock? Finding Peace of Mind While You Write, Publish, and Promote Your Book. A devoted wordsmith and spiritual psychology practitioner, Bella facilitates online writing circles for writers, artists, healers, and seekers. Her work has appeared in The Sun Magazine, Lilith, Literary Mama, The Dribble Drabble Review, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Does It Have Pockets, and elsewhere. She’s currently working on an intergenerational family memoir in flash.

To Tell or Not to Tell: The Conundrum of the Nonfiction Writer

By Holly Hagman

TW/CW: Mention of sexual assault

While I was in the process of earning my MFA, constantly drafting but never sending out any pieces, a friend of mine announced their first acceptance to a literary journal. While celebrating over dinner and white wine, they told us the essay was about their mother’s alcoholism. I asked them if they had told their mother about the piece – its existence, acceptance, and pending publication. 

“Hell no,” they told me, “And I don’t plan to.”

The concept, to me, was foreign and bizarre. At least, that’s what I thought, until I wrote the piece I never expected to write. 

About halfway through my MFA after most of the writers in my close friend group had been published, I was spending my down time on Submittable, sifting through calls for creative nonfiction writing when a title labeled “Recipe for Healing” popped up in my feed. It was a call for submissions to a magazine that published true stories from survivors of sexual violence and assault. Suddenly, my fingers moved across the keyboard involuntarily. Before long, I had a completed draft in front of me that shared a story I hadn’t told anyone – not even myself – since the night it happened. 

I agonized about whether or not to send it out. I closed my eyes and clicked submit, then breathed a sigh of relief. I figured it was a rite of passage to get rejected before the idea of publication was even a remote possibility. Soon, I would be sure to receive a form email from Submittable telling me this work was not ready to be shared with the world.

“Thank you for sending us your piece,” the email read, and where I expected to see a “We regret to inform you…” instead was a “We are delighted to let you know…”

Flabbergasted. Astonished. Bewildered. Someone wanted work that I wrote? An editor read my writing next to a bunch of other talented writers selected me?I wanted to shout it from the rooftops or pass out business cards to random passersby on the street that read “Holly Hagman – Published Author.” When taking into account the fact that the editor could have slept poorly the night before or gotten into an argument with their spouse or spilled their morning coffee on their pants before reading submissions, it’s a miracle when anyone gets published.  

In my excitement, I responded that I would be happy to publish this piece, which was both true and false. I was happy that my work was being recognized, but I was terrified to share this work with anyone, especially my family. The “Hell no, and I don’t plan to” from the year before seemed more appropriate now than it did at the time. I no longer wanted to rush to Staples and invest in business cards. Instead, I wanted to wake up from this dream, check my email, and find it had all been a figment of my imagination. 

Leading up to the publication date, I thought of my options. I could email the publishers and pull the piece, which, let’s face it, was not a real possibility for my “hungry-for-a-publication” self at this time. I could reach out and change the name associated with the essay to a pen name, like the one I made up for the time I almost got a job as a ghostwriter. That didn’t seem fair either, though, because, after all, this was my story, and if anyone was going to share it, it seemed like it should be me. 

I decided to tell. Luckily, it went surprisingly better than I expected. Since then, my confidence has been bolstered such that I’ve published work about my strained relationship with my father, my mother’s physical disabilities, a toxic workplace, my period, and many other proverbial taboos. 

The desire to share our stories is innately human, as is the instinct for self-preservation. In the end, it can be nerve-wracking to make ourselves vulnerable, our skeletons in the closet exposed in black and white for all the world to see. The option to remain anonymous can only be determined right or wrong by the sharer of their story. 

There is something to be said, however, about the sense of community surrounding the subjects that seem impossible to write. I find that the stories that are hardest to share are often the ones that are most needed. 

*

Holly Hagman is a teacher and writer from a small town in New Jersey. She graduated from Fairleigh Dickinson University with a BA in creative writing and an MAT in secondary education. She also earned an MFA in creative nonfiction from Fairfield University where she has been an assistant editor for Brevity and the nonfiction section editor for Causeway Lit. She is a former nonfiction editor for Variant Literature and the current nonfiction editor for Porcupine Literary. She teaches high school English at a therapeutic school for students with emotional and psychiatric illness. She tweets @hollyhagman.

What We’re Looking For: Michael Steinberg Essay Prizes

Mary Cappello, Steinberg Essay Prize Judge

From Patrick Madden and Joey Franklin

This winter marks the third Michael Steinberg Memorial Essay Prize , since it was named in honor of Fourth Genre’s founding editor, who died at the end of 2019. It’s also our third year as editors, and the second year we’re also holding a Multimedia Essay Contest. All this has us taking stock of the curious responsibility that falls every year, not only to our guest judges, but also to us as editors. Looking back through the archives, we see two decades of preoccupation with similar questions: What constitutes creative nonfiction? What makes up a memoir? What passes as a personal essay? Since the journal’s first issue, whether it be in roundtable discussions, craft essays, or editorial notes, the directors and contributors of Fourth Genre have attempted to describe, define, and delimit the boundaries of the personal essay. 

We thought it might be useful to any of Brevity’s readers who are working toward their own understanding of the genre for us to briefly highlight some of those ideas from the past 20 years. And we hope it might also give interested readers a glimpse of “what we’re looking for” as we accept submissions for our two contests. 

First, a little wisdom from our personal essay contest namesake, Michael Steinberg:

• “Most of my memoirs grow out of a need to interrogate my own thoughts and feelings in the hope of discovering something about myself that I couldn’t have found out any other way.”
• “I also write memoirs because the form suits my temperament and disposition . . . I have a predilection for self-scrutiny and rumination, as well as for self-disclosure.”
• “I believe that the artfully crafted personal essay or memoir is uniquely suited for our times. I say this because today our need to pay attention to the singular, idiosyncratic human voice is perhaps more urgent than ever before.”
• “A lot of nonfiction writers are narrating only the literal story of their experience, and leaving out the ‘inner story’; that is, the story of their thinking.”
• “The mind never stops searching for connections and asking questions. And that’s the thinking/feeling self I’d like to see more of in the personal narratives I read, both as a teacher and as an editor.”
• “When we’re reading manuscripts, we’re always hoping to encounter a fully present narrator and a curious, idiosyncratic mind and imagination in the act of thinking things out on the page.”

And here are a few gems from this year’s Steinberg Memorial Essay Prize judge, Mary Cappello, author most recently of Lecture (Transit Books, 2020):“In order to write or make art one must be in love, not with an individual per se, but with life itself.”  

• “Have you noticed that literary nonfiction is getting more and more wisp-like these days? I’m happy for an alternative robustness. The license for a work to morph, to exceed its placement, forgetful of itself, for a spell, even if, in the end, words insist on returning to the airy nothing from whence they spring.”
• “It’s a problem that I have with finding pretty much everything interesting. It might be pathological. Or it might be what makes me an essayist.”

And finally, from Wayne Koestenbaum , this year’s judge for the Multimedia Essay Contest and author, recently, of Figure It Out (Soft Skull Press, 2020).

• “What no one taught me is that to write I must sink away from one form of conscious navigation and surrender to what language decrees. I must dwell firmly enough within the language-net to feel that my experiences in the moment of writing are a consequence of the words and not simply their catalyst.”
• “I believe in the persistence of play. All my writing is grounded in the practice of reckless verbal improvisation. I think it’s Winnicott who says somewhere that health is the ability to play.”
• “I listen to what language tells me; I instigate the process, but once the language commences its relentless hum, punctuated by doldrum and silence and distraction and Instagram and anxiety, then I occupy the position of the cook who has been given the lamb and the milk and the lettuce but didn’t create them. … I can’t make myself known to you without this rule-governed armature, whose wendings and reprisals must take precedence over my ideas, even if language’s caparisoned marauders need the mulch of my ideation in order to have a ground to trample.”

“What we’re looking for” has never had a straightforward answer at Fourth Genre (nor likely at any other literary journal). We are all looking for good writing, and for those of us on the hunt for the best of the personal essay, we’re also looking for good thinking, expressed artfully.

We hope you find these few quotes to be helpful and inspiring, and if you’ve got a project in your files that you think might fit, we hope you’ll consider sending it to one of our contests by the March 15 deadline.

Kenyon Review Short Nonfiction Contest

The Kenyon Review has announced its third annual 2021 Short Nonfiction Contest.

The contest is open to all writers who have not yet published a book of creative nonfiction. Submissions must be 1,200 words or fewer.

The Kenyon Review will publish the winning essays in the Mar/Apr 2022 issue, and the winning author will be awarded a scholarship to attend the 2021 Writers Workshop this summer.

Each entrant will receive a one-year subscription to the Kenyon Review which will start with the Mar/Apr 2021 issue. (Current subscribers will receive a one-year extension on their current subscription.)

More Information and Submission Portal.

Writing in Place

By Jean Iversen

As writers, we’re often encouraged to create a personal, inspiring space to write. Virginia Woolf advocated a room of one’s own. Dickens wrote from a favorite desk and chair. Colson Whitehead writes to a 2,000-song playlist at ear-splitting volume.

Less attention is given to the surprising benefits of writing in the same location in which our stories take place. In other words, we can summon mysterious forces that shift our writing by simply placing ourselves in a certain location.

In 2016, I was writing my first full-length book, centered on Chicago’s culinary history. I drew from my journalism background to gather material from primary sources all over the city, researching, interviewing, and digging my way toward a manuscript that felt rich, informative, and compelling. 

I dumped all my quotes, statistics, and research into separate Word docs for each chapter, then proceeded to sort, resort, weed, and whittle. Writing historical nonfiction is like assembling a thousand puzzle parts, spilling them all onto the floor, and trying to make the pieces fit. My process felt clunky and laborious. I was pretty sure I was doing it all wrong.

I had published articles, features, and a few guidebooks before, and had a couple decades of working in the publishing industry under my belt. But this was my first time writing a full-length book for a publisher.

One of the chapters, on the oldest restaurant in Chicago’s Chinatown, was particularly challenging. Every time I did an interview or dug into Chinatown’s history, I discovered another treasure more fascinating than the last. My source material was becoming unwieldy, barely containable in one, relatively brief chapter. I felt crazed at how to pull it together. 

One day, after yet another interview, I walked over to the Chicago Public Library branch in Chinatown, built just a year before I started the book. From my perch on the second floor, I had a sweeping view of the main intersection that defines Chinatown’s commercial center. To the north were newer developments such as the rebuilt CTA station, bubble tea shops, and eateries offering a quick bite. To the south were what locals called “old guard” establishments, like the 90-year-old restaurant I was writing about.

I took out my laptop and started to tap away. All around me, locals read Chinese newspapers and magazines. The hush enveloped me as I wrote. A chapter title emerged. From the congealed mess in my head, sentences and paragraphs formed. How Cantonese culture struggled to remain relevant; how Mandarin was becoming more dominant; how the third generation of most Chinese immigrant families no longer want to own and operate family restaurants; how the laborious dim sum restaurants were fading away. A couple of related tidbits and factoids slid into sidebars. Before long, I had several solid pages—something I could build on.

Encouraged by this forward movement in my writing, I planted myself in a culinary-school library with a view of Chicago’s skyline to write another section. Sitting just feet away from a first-edition copy of The Joyce Chen Cook Book, I felt similarly inspired, and walked away with a few more solid pages on the origins of American Chinese cuisine.

From the top floor of the National Hellenic Museum, I wrote a section of another chapter on Chicago’s oldest Greek restaurant. It’s not that I was capturing sensory details from these locations, although some of those did slip in. It was more that these locations shifted my energy as a writer. At the risk of slipping into woo woo territory, I felt more connected to the material while writing in the actual location of the story itself. It seemed to free my mind and allow the words to flow.

Ever since I’ve made this discovery, I make it a point to write in a café, library, or other public space near the location of my story. The pandemic made this nearly impossible for a while. But now that I feel safer going to public places, I’m starting to entertain this new part of my process, even if it’s just for a couple of hours.

I’ve been writing stories about my childhood lately, mostly from memory, photos, and scrapbooks. At some point, I know I’ll make at least a couple trips to the place where I grew up. I’ve been putting it off, since I’m nervous about dislodging the very emotions I’m hoping to tap into. But I trust that writing among the streets, homes, and places I once knew will lend a certain depth to my work in ways I have yet to discover.

___

Jean Iversen is a Chicago-based writer and editor. Her latest book is Local Flavor: Restaurants That Shaped Chicago’s Neighborhoods (Northwestern University Press, 2018). Her work has appeared in Slag Glass City, Parabola Journal, The Lit Lab, and regional magazines and newspapers. For more information, please visit her website.

Three Books at Once? Say What???

By Sue Fagalde Lick

I have three books coming out next year: A memoir, a full-length poetry book, and a poetry chapbook. Different genres, different subjects, different publishers. I didn’t plan it this way, but it’s happening. I have also had a run of acceptances for short pieces.

I should be overjoyed. Isn’t this what I wanted?

But I feel guilty boasting about my three books when other writers are not able to get even one acceptance. It’s the “people are starving overseas while I’m complaining about ice cream making me fat” conundrum.

After years of mostly no’s, I’m reading proofs, approving cover designs, and preparing for “pub dates” like a real writer. How will I promote three books at once? What if something goes wrong between the signing of the contract and holding the books in my hands?

I’ll deal with it. Just to have these editors say yes is a triumph.

I have to remind myself that I earned this and that it’s okay to succeed. I submitted the memoir, which is about Alzheimer’s disease, for years. I entered contests. I pitched to agents and editors. Those who responded said it was swell and they had a loved one with dementia, but they didn’t think they could sell it. Until one, sub #59, said she could.

Both poetry books were finalists in contests sponsored by publishers that feature Northwest poets. They didn’t win, but they caught the attention of editors who wanted to publish them. I have met both editors through my work as president of the Oregon Poetry Association. My name was not on my manuscripts, but I knew they published books like mine featuring poets from the Pacific Northwest, so my chances were good.

I did the work, and now I’m reaping the results. Lords, that sounds like boasting, but it’s true. Like Thanksgiving dinner, I shopped, prepped, set the table, and got up at 5 a.m. to put the turkey in the oven. Now all the food is ready, and it’s time to share the meal.

Can you make it in the writing world if you don’t grow up in a literary family, if you live in a tiny town in Oregon that doesn’t have a decent book store, if you don’t attend a prestigious university where your roommate’s dad just happens to work for Simon and Schuster, and you don’t win all the fellowships and prizes?

You can—if you follow the recipe.

* Write. Set yourself a writing time and keep to it religiously, even when it seems like every word is garbage.

* Rewrite. The first draft is the raw clay you will shape into a finished piece. Sometimes you’ll need to take it apart and start over from scratch. Sometimes you’ll need to hire a professional editor to help you see what could be better. My memoir looks nothing like the massive manuscript I started with. The editor of the full-length poetry book took out 15 poems that “didn’t sing” and changed the title. Now the whole book sings.

* Submit your work. Send it to multiple places at once. Keep track on a spread sheet, and when something is rejected, send it out again. And again. I received 98 rejections last year, but I also got some acceptances. Follow the submission guidelines regarding length, format, theme, etc. Send them exactly what they’re asking for.

* Read what they publish before you submit. If your work would not fit, move on. If you wouldn’t buy their books, they probably wouldn’t buy yours, and you wouldn’t want them to.

* Enter contests. The entry fees are high, but one win or acceptance because someone saw and liked your work will cover everything you have spent.  

* Study your craft. After many years writing for newspapers and magazines, I earned my master of fine arts degree in creative writing at age 51. I continue to take workshops, read craft books, and trade critiques with other writers. There’s always more to learn.

* Become a presence in the writing world. Post on social media. Ask questions and get discussions going. Comment on other writers’ posts, read and review their books. Attend their readings and book launches. Answer their questions and share connections.

* Join and be active in writing organizations. Through my work with California Writers Club, Willamette Writers, the Nye Beach Writers Series, and Oregon Poetry Association, my name is out there, and I have met people who can help me not only get published but provide blurbs and reviews.

* Volunteer. The editor of a journal I admire needed someone to sit at their table at the AWP book fair for a few hours. I said yes. When she wrote to thank me, she also asked me to write for her.

* Keep at it. I started submitting my work to magazines and newspapers when I was in high school. Overnight success can take a lifetime.

Don’t feel guilty if you succeed. Just enjoy it. And take an extra helping of stuffing.

___

Sue Fagalde Lick, a former journalist, is a writer/musician/dog mom living in the woods on the Oregon Coast. Her books include Stories Grandma Never Told, Childless by Marriage, Love or Children: When You Can’t Have Both, the novels Up Beaver Creek and Seal Rock Sound, and two poetry chapbooks, Gravel Road Ahead and The Widow at the Piano. Coming in 2024 to a bookstore near you: Blue Chip Stamp Guitar, Dining Al Fresco with My Dog, and No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s. Don’t call her in the morning; that’s when she’s writing.

Chill Subs—A Fun New Resource for Writers

AN INTERVIEW WITH KARINA KUPP AND BENJAMIN DAVIS

By Andrea A. Firth

In January of 2022, Karina Kupp, 26, a writer and web developer, launched the website and database—Chill Subs, where you can find places to submit your writing, share your work, learn about residencies, contests, presses and other resources, track submissions, connect with other writers and more. Think Duotrope 2.0 but cooler and free. A couple months later, Benjamin Davis, 33, a writer and editor, joined Karina to help manage and grow the project. Brevity Blog editor, Andrea A. Firth, talked with Karina and Benjamin about Chill Subs and their work-in-progress.

Andrea A. Firth: How and why did Chill Subs get started?

Karina Kupp

Karina Kupp: At the end of 2021, I was researching places to submit my writing, poems and essays. I created a spreadsheet of journals I liked, but the process felt overwhelming. I wanted it to be more fun. At its core, Chill Subs is a convenient, humane database that has great tools that make the submission and publishing process easier and less exhausting. I’m the creator and engineer. Ben handles content and the day-to-day management.

Benjamin Davis: I write and publish poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. I also maintained a huge spreadsheet of literary magazines and thought there could be a better way, better tools. Then I saw an interview that Karina did with Becky Tuch at Lit Mag News Roundup after Chill Subs launched, and I was blown away. The website, the tone of it, everything was exactly what I felt was missing. I sent Karina a gigantic message with ideas I had to support the project. She responded with more ideas. We kept up the exchange and found we were really in sync. We want Chill Subs to have a strong human connection. Humor too.

AAF: Can you expand on what you mean by a “humane” database?

KK: We’ve tried to create a warm, personable space. Journal editors are people that want to read your work. They have names. You have names. We’re a community. We include lots of details about the magazines and the submission process to make it feel less cold and scary. We continually add new features, like user profiles where writers can list all their publications and other services they provide. We have examples of cover letters to use and blog articles on a range of submission and writing topics. The calendar function shows all the open calls and deadlines. We keep adding.

BD: People are drawn to Chill Subs for the database and the useful tools. But there’s a big learning curve to the publication process. Putting yourself out there can be lonely and confusing. Sometimes it hurts. Submitting and sharing your work should be fun. We want to create a supportive community, and a place that’s both useful and welcoming.

AAF: How has Chill Subs grown over its first year?

KK: Over 7,000 writers have created user profiles on the site and subscribed to our weekly newsletter. Right now, we have 2,100 journals in the database, and we’ll reach 3,000 by mid-March. We source and input that information, but editors can create their journal listing directly on the website too. We verify all the data. Plus, we have a list of over 1,200 contests and track submissions too. We recently hit 20,000 tracked submission and rolled out acceptance rates and response time stats for all of our listings.

BB: We’re always looking for creative ways to be more than just a database—to integrate all of the information about the magazines, presses, contests, and residencies with the writers who are contributing. We also want to create a space where a writer’s work doesn’t die once it’s published, which I think is a huge pain point in the industry. For example, when Chill Subs users put their publications in their profiles, that connects to the journal listings too. So, when you search a journal, you will see examples of published work from other writers in our community

Benjamin Davis

AAF: In the midst of the changes at Twitter, you launched something called [ugh]. What is it?

BD: For context, Karina and are not big social media people. But we got feedback from Chill Subs users who wanted a new space where they could interact with each other. When I explored the available options, it felt like more of the same self-promotional, follow for follow, sort of thing, which was what we didn’t really like about social media. Our reaction was, “ugh,” thus the name. In response, we created a “writerly social media element” on our site where writers and editors can post. Again, we want it to be fun. The interactions have been very positive.

AAF: How do you plan to keep Chill Subs sustainable?

KK: The database and the resources currently on the website will always be free. To financially support the project, we’ll be adding some advertising, but not those ugly banner ads that distract you. We’re exploring sponsorships and some fee-based features. We want to be fully transparent, so we’ll be posting a page about our financials on the website too.

AAF: Sounds like it’s been a lot of work. Are you having fun? What’s next?

KK: So much fun. It’s been really nice to brainstorm and work with Ben. The community response has been very positive. We’ve got some major things planned for 2023 that we think people will love–but first we need to max out our database and get through a big redesign.

BD: I love it—the constant exchange of cool ideas, creating these tools and sharing them with thousands of others. Next? More magazines. More contests, resources, indie presses. More tools for writers and editors. And, most importantly, more fun to be had. Of course, we have some major goals in mind, but we like to surprise people.

__________

Karina Kupp is a writer, musician, web developer, and creator of Chill Subs. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in North Dakota Quarterly, BULLSHIT LIT, The Daily Drunk and Corvus Review. She can often be found creating yet another Spotify playlist, taking a spontaneous trip to the other side of the world, or thinking about her next startup idea. Follow her on Instagram.

Benjamin Davis is a traveling word salesman, recovering fintech journalist and free-range columnist with a book of poems, a radio play, a few zines, comics, and short works appearing in Booth, Hobart, Maudlin House, Better than Starbucks, Five on the Fifth and elsewhere. When he is not ghost writing for clients or writing for pleasure, he runs Chill Subs with his friend Karina.

Andrea A. Firth is a writer and educator. She is an editor for Brevity Blog and the co-founder of Diablo Writers’ Workshop. Learn more at her website. Follow her on Instagram.

How to Maintain Your Writing Momentum After You Finish Your MFA

By Nancy L. Glass

In January 2023, I completed my MFA in Writing at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Leading up to graduation, I was already wondering how I would maintain momentum in my writing without monthly writing deadlines.

I have been working on a collection of CNF essays about my experiences as a pediatric hospice physician.  Some essays have been published, but the book is not yet finished.  I feel pressured to complete the collection, since I graduated at the ripe age of…gasp…seventy!  Who knows how many years of productive writing time I might have in front of me?

What follows are strategies that propelled me forward post-graduation.  I hope these might be helpful for other recent graduates and emerging writers too.

Writing Practice

Everything you read in writing magazines or online suggests that the writer must establish a daily writing habit.  Although many follow a morning writing habit, that doesn’t work for me.  I’m not “fueled” until I’ve had multiple cups of coffee.  For me, the quiet house after my husband has gone to bed offers optimal conditions.  But it doesn’t happen every night.  I write in spurts and when inspired, or to self-imposed goals and submission deadlines.  Try to figure out your best time and set a goal for the days and times you can commit.

Reading

Just Do It.  I’m usually reading several books at a time, as “reading monogamy” is not for me.  Late to the Audible habit, I now listen to many novels and selected nonfiction books.  Sometimes I use a hybrid technique:  I’ll listen in the car, then read the next chapters on hard copy at home.  I keep journals and magazines—more honestly, a veritable NEST of New Yorkers—beside my bed, to encourage me to read AT LEAST ONE STORY before I fall asleep.  Brevity stories are also terrific for this.  Trust me, reading before bed beats doom-scrolling every time. 

Stay Connected to Your Writing Program

Maintain relationships with faculty members, alums, and current students.  Attend on-line readings and lectures and support your community’s members—faculty, students, and alums—when they share good news about publications.   Writing is hard, so celebrate “the wins” of others.  It’s a key component of being a good literary citizen.  You never know when you might need help, so aim to be a positive, supportive presence for others.

Community Engagement & Writing Groups

Find a writing group.  I’m in two writing groups, one long-standing, which only meets during the academic year, remotely.  The other, newer group is with six local women who met in an online course.  We meet every other week to discuss one another’s flash nonfiction pieces.  I’ve found that posing specific questions to my friends—would this work?  would X be better? reward me with better feedback. Find your people: they will stimulate your writing practice.

Connect with writers in your community and participate in live readings.  One group I recently joined is supportive and casual:  each individual reads for five minutes.  Readers are encouraged to share new or evolving pieces rather than finished work.  A medical humanities group in which I participate is more structured:  readers submit pieces, which are then workshopped and rehearsed before a public performance.  Both groups add value to my experience and give me a way to hear how my work impacts readers and how it sounds out loud.

Participate in community writing courses or online craft webinars.  I have taken several community writing courses through my local literary organization (shoutout to InPrint Houston).  Outstanding teachers, both published authors and experienced graduate students from local universities, offer small group writing courses in person or on-line.  These courses stimulate my writing mind and practice, while filling in elements of craft that may not have been explicit in my MFA program.  There are also some excellent online courses available.  As we’ve all become comfortable with Zoom culture, these courses offer the chance to engage with writers and instructors across the country.

Personal Accountability

In my program, students submitted a letter to their faculty advisor with each monthly packet, listing our writing work (new pieces/revisions, with intentions for each) and our reading log. Now that I’ve completed the program, I write a letter to myself at the end of each month, with the following:

            –Compilation of writing:  new essays, substantive revisions, essays I’m trying to map out

            –List of my reading:  books, essays, short stories

            –Listing of what I call “community activities”

                        –Courses or webinars I’ve attended

                        –Community readings or literary events

            –Log of my submissions to journals and contests

            –Log of responses

The letter keeps me accountable to myself, to write the pieces I said I’d write, to read the books I said I’d read.  No excuses!

I also keep a writing notebook, which includes my daily/monthly writing activities, notes from classes I’ve taken, book recommendations—and most importantly, snippets of ideas for essays, sentences that come to me unbidden, words whose derivation I need to explore.  The notebook, which goes everywhere with me, serves as a physical connection to my writing.  An Excel spreadsheet keeps track of both my submissions to literary journals and contests, as well as to upcoming submission deadlines, creating a map of intentions for the next month or two.

Strategy + Discipline

Hopefully these suggestions will be helpful for other recent MFA graduates.  It’s all too easy for daily distractions to overwhelm the writer’s good intentions—unless you create your own roadmap for the way forward.  Apply the same discipline you employed during your graduate program and keep writing!

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Dr. Nancy Glass has been published in Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, The Journal of Narrative Visions, Medicine and Meaning, and Amaranth.  She won the 2022 Writer’s League of Texas Manuscript Contest in General Nonfiction. After forty years practicing pediatric critical care, anesthesiology and pain medicine, and pediatric hospice care, she retired from clinical practice as Distinguished Emeritus Professor of Pediatrics in 2022. She received her MFA in Writing from the Vermont College of Fine Arts in January 2023.