Edification – Hurry, hurry, hurry
Edification – Newsletter #81 – August 1, 2021
Dear Reader,
Happy Sunday, and happy August? Oh. Oh boy.
The year is a slippery fish. And as a result of July flipping out of the bucket and swimming away, I do have happy news on the writing front.
First, I had a poem accepted by Halfway Down the Stairs for a “skeletons” themed issue coming up this fall. It was one of a series I wrote inspired by the remains at Pompeii and Herculaneum – something I’ve been obsessed with since I was a child. These poems are less spooky than art history-somber, but I really enjoyed writing them. I’m not sure I’m done visiting the theme.
Second, my short story “As Solid as an Ashtray and Emits More Smoke” won a place in the Fractured Literary anthology judged by the amazing Kathy Fish (whose newsletter The Art of Flash Fiction craft I highly recommend). This is one of the first pieces I wrote in the voice that became the main character of my recent novel; a version of this story appears in the book as a part of one chapter. I’m very excited to see my girl win a contest like this!
Third (I know!), Alternating Current chose a flash piece about motherhood for “Parenting Stories Gone Speculative,” another anthology that will be heading to print. This story is about the overwhelmed, conflicting emotions of bringing home a new baby only to have a beloved cat run away in the dead of winter. Yes, it really happened to me.
Fourth (y’all… I know, and I’m sorry) I had a story shortlisted for the 2021 New Flash Fiction Prize. Not sure how much more I can say yet about that, but all the titles on the list are intriguing and I’m really pleased to see mine among them.
Acceptances hit me hard. I made the cut! I did it! They like me! They really like me!
But acceptances hit me twice. After the initial rush of joy comes the deep bruise of inadequacy.
I think things like: It must be dumb luck. Given the sheer number of submissions I had, I’m bound to get a few hits, right? Maybe literary journals clear their backlogs out in the last week of July and every writer who submitted as much as I did earlier in the year is getting some good news (and closure).
Sometimes I reread the acceptance notifications. Did I misread? Or did they make a mistake? Maybe they’ll have second thoughts.
It’s hard to shake off inadequacy. Every branch of success bears up a little apple of dread. Those suckers are tart. Does it come from childhood poverty, this never feeling good enough? Is it a societal/cultural problem or is it an inborn personality trait? At what point does it become a disorder? I suppose the line is where and whether it cripples my ability to function. Maybe it’s a flip-side of perfectionism, of this drive to create art in the first place. It’s why tooting my own horn feels like I’m playing taps.
Am I overthinking it? Yes. Yes I am. Of course I am.
Beyond the writing beat, our family’s been on edge over the surge of the Delta variant across the country. Our teenager is about to start both his senior year of high school and college classes in person. Our babies are depending on our continued social distancing practices. Our extended families are in denial about the risks of breakthrough infections and hosting big get-togethers without us.
It’s a mess on a mass scale around here and it’s about to get a lot worse. Sometimes I think about those videos of the 2011 tsunami that hit Japan. Hurry, hurry, hurry!
I can yell at my 19-year-old son who still has not gotten vaccinated and is now working the register at a Dollar Store. I can yell for him to hurry, but it feels like it’s too late.
Delta is surging and he won’t even go to the pharmacy down the road to get a free shot. I have begged, sent scary news articles, offered to make an appointment for him. We offered him $300 for the first dose and $200 for the second. He didn’t even respond. What do you do with a 19-year-old son?
I could yell hurry, hurry, hurry – but I don’t.
Instead, I text. Please, please, please.
It feels like a nightmare. I’m running with my ankles chained together and whatever is chasing me is moving a whole hell of a lot faster.
I just want my kids to be safe. I want my parents, who are at least vaccinated, to stay safe. I want the Dollar Store to make its customers mask. I want the schools to continue the option of remote learning. I want the neighbors who just went on vacation to Key West, Florida, to stay away from us. But the monster is moving fast. How do you process it?
You know – maybe I do need to write more poems about the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
All that to say “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times” in my mental health this week, and I didn’t write a lot for all that nervous energy pressurizing the quiet moments.
But I don’t believe in ignoring the world or treating writing as a form of escapism. I don’t want to be “above it.” I live here; this is my life. We’re living through monumental tragedy – and so far I have been incredibly fortunate.
If I focus on the positives, I can work through my fears. There are many bright-sides here: None of my relatives have died of Covid. We aren’t in a warzone. We aren’t even living in an area of wildfires. We are stable, and in fact we’re in the market for a new house. Our children are healthy. There are many beautiful days ahead.
Talk soon,
Edie
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