Jan 10, 2016


i'm not so sure i want to get things published anymore.  after editing a work, i don't want to see the words any more.  i don't care if anyone publishes it.  why would they publish it?  it's clearly terrible. jesus. look at this crap, all these crappy words, one after the next.  it's really not very interesting.  all of this is gibberish.

i mean, i did just pick a random thing i had written, edit it and then submit it.  jesus submitting is a pain too.  i'm sure it gets easier, but finding a place to get a thing published is hard.  who is my audience? what kind of establishment might be interested in this weird one off piece about me freaking out about stuff on the subway?  publishing things on my personal blog is like all of the reward with none of the work.  the only downside being that i don't really have the 'creds'.  i can't say "i've been published in XYZ".  i can't show up somewhere and expect my name to be known.  to say nothing of the billions of beautiful people that may never read these beautiful words, written one, right after the other.

i bet it gets easier.  like, i bet that if you do it enough, you find a publication that wants your words.  you build a relationship with an editor or something.  you find a niche. a place that you can grow out from, a place that you put down roots and then just start expanding outward from there, branching upward into wherever it is that you go when you write things that get published "places".

submitting things to places is hard because i start to wonder the 'why'.  writing is like breathing, it's a thing that i've done forever and will keep doing, forever, but why.  why do i need it to get published?  what am i doing this work for?  part of it is definitely approval.  some sort of a nod like "yeah, this is publishable.  you write words that are legible and interesting and other people would probably enjoy reading this piece." part of it is the desire to be known as a writer, some amount of credibility when you append the words "writer" to your set of self nyms.

a thought that although publishing a book is more work in the inputs and what not, it's ultimately i think, less work than finding a place to pitch a story every freaking week, then waiting to hear back. eventually, if at all. if. at. all.

and then there's the bigger question.  what kind of writing am i getting published?  do i really want to get poems published?  do i really care if people like my hot takes on all the books i've been reviewing?  who gives a shit about that really clever thing you did where you talked about DFW and then peppered that particular paragraph with enough footnotes to fill half a page.  or would i rather that my short stories got published?  that i had the renown for being a clever dreamer of dreams and builder of other worlds?  or would you rather be known for big political thoughts, for commentaries on the life we all live and your perspectivus on all of itus.  for original thoughts on new topics and fun spins that tell teach preach?  what do you want the world to see you as?  what do you want to work towards?

eh. i'm going to write what i write irregardless of where it gets published.  but. should i try to submit it? is it even really worth it?


Jan 2, 2016

A rose by any other name would smell sweeter

I read an interesting blog post this morning about adopting foreign names.  What would I call myself, if I were to adopt a local name, everywhere I traveled?

Here's a list:
Spain - María
Brazil - Laís
Italy - Martina
England - Kate
French speaking world - Marie
Germany - Marina
Japan - Yuki
Turkey - Esra
Sweden - Ebba
Ukraine - Sveta
Poland - Dagmara
Russia - Irina
China - Mei
India - Mayra
Slovenia - Eva
Croatia - Nina
Canada - Émy


‪some days I remember the lies you told me and i laugh at both of us‬ ‪at me, for wanting so badly to believe you‬ ‪at you, for having t...