Exciting news in my e-mail from the lovely Tristan Taormino:
“Congratulations! We’ve been nominated! For the second year in a row! You all rock!!”
Best Lesbian Erotica 2004 has been nominated for a Lambda award in the erotica category. I had a story in an anthology last year that was nominated for a Lammy, but we did not win (Best Lesbian Erotica 2003 won, oddly enough). It’s a collective effort, but I’m still proud to be a part of the group. We do rock. Of course, the irony would be if Karen’s anthology won the Lammy, as I submitted a story to her for that collection and was rejected. Ah well, it’s a honor just to be nominated, right?
The Highly Selective Book Club With Only Two Members (TM) has chosen the book for January and I’m very excited to say it was one of my books! I’m so looking forward to this one. And, bonus, it’s not five hundred pages.
Our discussion of Middlesex was intriguing not only because of how well written and thought provoking the book is, but also for how gender and personal experience effect our perception of identity, family and self-discovery.
A fun, fun book talk. I loved it. I’m a geek. I’m also cute. So there.
During the summer I submitted a story for an upcoming anthology to an editor I would love to work with. I heard from the editor a couple days ago. She rejected the story for this anthology but asked if she could hold my story for inclusion in a forthcoming anthology she’ll be working on next year. That’s the second time this has happened-- an editor rejecting something for a current collection but holding it for a future one-- and though it’s still a rejection, it’s very, very nice to know that editors like my work enough to find a home for it.
Now, if only selling books were so easy. Of course, I can hardly complain about my inability to sell books as I have not submitted a book length manuscript to any publisher in quite some time. I don’t even want to think about just how long it’s been. Years.
While having my name on a book cover is more rewarding than having a story in an anthology, writing short fiction is easier to sell, without the large investment of blood, sweat and tears books require. If a story gets rejected, I have invested only a few hours of my time and energy and there is always the possibility of selling it to another editor for another anthology. In fact, I have only three or four stories that have not been published. Books, on the other hand, require months of work and have a very limited publishing window. A particular book may have only two or three possible places it could go. My backlog of unpublished novels is actually greater than my backlog of unpublished short fiction. Is it any wonder I’ve stuck with the shorts for the past few years?
Having said all that, I still want to write (and sell) books. One of my problems has always been the inability to write to market. In the long process of writing-submitting-getting rejected I have learned that I can’t write for someone else, I have to write for myself. My writing falls flat when I’m trying to please an editor; when I write for myself (or that ‘one reader’ Stephen King talks about in On Writing ), the words flow like water.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever be truly famous for my writing simply because I don’t have the marketing savvy to sell myself or the luck to be in the right place when a particular trend hits. Still, as long as I can keep selling a fair amount of what I write, I’ll consider myself successful.
So, the inaugural meeting of The Highly Selective Book Club With Only Two Members (TM) was very successful. I feel like we should have taken a picture to commemorate the event. I can’t wait to pick the next book, which will hopefully happen Saturday. I’m already thinking of titles to suggest.
Since this was our first meeting, we didn’t really have any rules and regulations (are those called bylaws? I want bylaws!). We’ll have to hammer out a few details for next time, but this is what I learned this time around:
-- Coffee is good. Very good. Coffee should be a required book club beverage.
-- I should spring for the good bagels, even if it’s a bit of a drive to get them.
-- 10 a.m. is not a good time to meet to discuss a book. 11 a.m. would be better, especially on a day when I don’t have a gazillion other things to do.
-- Jae should bring his own paper and pen.
-- I need to take notes as I’m reading the book. My thumb is sprained from flipping through the pages trying to find certain passages.
-- Two is a good number for a book club, no matter what anyone else says.
-- Picking titles out of a hat made from an animal’s skin may seem creepy, but when the book is Virgin Suicides, it is somehow fitting.
-- I am a much more motivated reader when I have a deadline.
-- We should not choose a book either of us has read, started reading, or heard too much about. We should also not choose a book when either of us has seen the movie version. (I’m talking to you, Jae.)
So, Jae and I met this morning to discuss Virgin Suicides. We had to do our book discussion at the unfortunate hour of 10 a.m. because I am too much of a social butterfly. The only time I could fit him into my weekend schedule was before work (and next week is Thanksgiving-and-Sheri week, so that was out). I do not do my best thinking in the morning, so I’m sure I forgot to make some key points. There were bagels and cream cheese and yummy Starbucks coffee with chocolate creamer to fortify us and a great discussion of the book which segued into a discussion about how society handles tragedy.
The consensus was that Virgin Suicides is a good book with some very confusing and unexplained (and unexplainable?) messages. Jae made some good points that I hadn’t considered, especially about how men need to “fix” things and are intrigued by a woman’s mysterious qualities (whether those mysterious qualities are real or imagined). Eugenides has an interesting writing style and a way of throwing out off-the-cuff comments that stick with you ("the two year-old Catholic mistake” is still my favorite). This is a book filled with sexual and religious undertones, suburban decay and familial rot, wasted youth and numbing adulthood. Now I’m really interested in reading Middlesex.
There’s no doubt that Jeffrey Eugenides is a talented writer (a Pulitzer prize-winning writer, at that), but there is a certain smugness about his writing, as if he’s just a little too impressed with his own cleverness, that gets on my nerves. It’s a minor sticking point and hopefully one he outgrows in Middlesex. I’d also have to say he has a twisted little imagination. Makes me wonder what he’s doing when nobody is watching. Then again, maybe that’s the point of the book.
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
