writing | flotsam // caroline crew

11/07/2011
by C 12 Comments

sluttery. or the etiquette of simultaneous submissions

I don’t often think to write about ‘writing advice’ because I have no desire to preach myself a resource of any kind and I am not a resource of any kind. But I do like to whitter on, and my attitude about simultaneous submissions has been wavering lately.

Most magazines allow simultaneous submissions within their guidelines, or, if not, do not specifically shut down the possibility.

The act of submitting work to several or more potential homes at the same time is more understandable for manuscripts– especially novels. It even seems more understandable when talking about submitting short fiction to magazines. But let’s get down to poems because that’s the thing I know about.

if you’re going to sim-sub, you have to get your shit together and be organized, because unlike other genres you are not sending out singular manuscripts but packets of multiple poems. So you have to know where all of your poems are because the MOST important rule of sim-subbing (if you choose to partake) is to inform other editors of submission as soon as it happens.

this is where it gets complicated. You know in you heart of hearts that editors aren’t evil, even those ones you trash talk at the bar after a prickly rejection. Simultaneously submitting can get you in hot water with editors, and at the very least give them hassle that can’t be pleasant, especially in a job they probably don’t get much material reward for.

The way that you don’t make things harder for editors in this situation is by being totally upfront. Let them know in the cover letter these poems are out at other places too. If (HUZZAH) you get another acceptance EMAIL THEM STRAIGHT AWAY. Also, make it clear in the subject line that it’s a submission withdrawal, either partial or total.

the above point implies that first acceptance is the best acceptance. In reality, it’s just COMMON DECENCY.

But this does mean that you really have to think about which group of publications you sim-sub too. It is likely that if this is of interest to you than you already sort of rank magazines in your head. Be explicit and thoughtful about this. Don’t be the person that rejects an acceptance because they are waiting for a response from a better magazine. That makes you a douche. It also demonstrates a lake of forethought and professionalism on your part. When it goes the other way– an editor recalling an acceptance– there is outrage.

This practical advice doesn’t actual go very far in saying you should or shouldn’t do it. Sadly that’s up to you. I’ve been wavering a little on the idea. As much as it can up your frequency of acceptance, there is a risk of messing around editors, maybe even getting a negative reputation. So maybe it is better to wait it out. Or, at least make sure you put in the effort of grouping magazines well, and maybe keeping down the pool to two or three rather than fifteen or sixteen. Perhaps patience really is a virtue.

AHA cliché!

27/04/2011
by C 7 Comments

THIS IS MY SCHOOL: Stating one’s poetics

This past semester I’ve had the immense pleasure of being involved in two distinctly different workshops. The differences are many, but the one I want to focus on here is the differing attitudes towards the aesthetic of a young poet.

In WORKSHOP A the professor (a wonderful poet and person) is totally upfront and honest about her specific aesthetic, her belief in this aesthetic being ‘right’ and pushing us towards this approach. This sounds oppressive. And honestly, her aesthetic is far from my own fledgling poetic approach. Still, I admire this approach for several reasons:

There is no bullshit about the possibility of being ‘objective’.
As she says, by making her students do it her way, even if they disagree it will harden their resolve about ‘their way’.
It promotes discussion.

In WORKSHOP B the professors attempt a much less prescriptive approach, pushing us to consider our own aesthetic more consciously but wihout imposing their own artistic predilections. This works mainly because this group came together through shared poetic approaches and interests, and focuses on collaborative work and poetry as a community. It is divorced from the classroom.

I am required to write a STATEMENT OF POETICS.

Although I do not have a poetic but hope to catch a real one soon, this is what I’m presenting instead:

STATEMENT OF POETICS

When I first began writing this, I mistitled the document ‘statement of purpose’. Perhaps that would be more fruitful. The purpose of the poem is expansion. It should be an ambitious mark on the page, wanting to connect to larger things and grow considerably within the reader’s mind. This can be achieved in a catalogue of ways. This catalogue is not closed. There is not an individual catalogue for each poet or poem.

From the current catalogue:

An awareness of the poem’s object materials

Poems are usually made of language. If a poem is to move outside of itself, it needs to be aware of its limitations to break through them. The most obvious limitation is its material of language. Showing the seams of language and its functions reflects back onto the poem, onto the act of writing and reading. Examining parts of language in a poem is an act of vulnerability and an act of trust. The poet is admitting ‘look, this is all I have, and yes, I am trying to manipulate your thoughts and feelings, but I am showing you that is what I am doing. It is a trusting the reader, and the poem, that a truth will still exist when the artifice is revealed.

A poem can also be partially made out of white space. This space can be shaped around a poem, or this space can shape the poem. This space can be silence. By using the page, attempting new forms, the poet is still aware of the artifice.

The material objects of poetry are base. The material objects of poetry are democratic. All words are available. Advertising is poetry. Saying fuck is poetry. Whispering is poetry.

Writing the body

To write, to read is a physical act. The body is the largest universal. To stretch outside the page, the poem can inhabit the reader’s body.

The poem should be honest. It should not deny that it was made from a breathing and heaving fleshly poet. The poem is not always a physical space but it can connect physical beings if it isn’t coy and accepts its bodily space.

Please remember to read aloud. Your mouth is for many things and poetry is one of them.

Relinquish ownership

The poem is a small town with a population of two. The population is the poet and the reader. There may be spectres of speakers or other such for the population to inhabit. However, the population is two but neither owns the town. The town only exists between the two of them: the poem needs writer and reader to create itself. Neither authorial intent nor interpretation can build a poem alone.

The town is not isolated. It is selfish to disconnect the town from other populations, current and previous. The poem should not ignore other poems. It can make a dialogue or an argument. It is possible to collaborate with the past.

The town is changing. It is no longer built of bricks all of the time. Technology is changing the town. Do not leave the town to ruins because you are scared of change.

24/04/2011
by C Leave a comment

oh hello poem: Paul Muldoon’s ‘History’

This isn’t really new at all, but I’ve had a lot of conversations of late about writing yourself into history, and how on earth one feels with all of history saying things beautifully.

But aside from THE WRITER being a little choked by what has gone before, isn’t history tricky anyway?

Slippery.

Recently I have been trying to write this question: ‘Do you trust memory?’ But it isn’t working out.

Here is the poem that connects these things:

History (Paul Muldoon)

Where and when exactly did we first have sex?
Do you remember? Was it Fitzroy Avenue,
Or Cromwell Road, or Notting Hill?
Your place or mine? Marseilles or Aix?
Or as long ago as that Thursday evening
When you and I climbed through the bay window
On the ground floor of Aquinas Hall
And into the room where MacNeice wrote ‘Snow’,
Or the room where they say he wrote ‘Snow’?

18/04/2011
by C 1 Comment

approaching family: a current poetic blind spot

I’ve learnt a lot about my family from poems. Actually, I’ve probably ended up at better conclusions about my family from reading than spending time with them. Isn’t that kind of awful?

What I mean is, I didn’t have the vocabulary to understand some of my relationships without certain poets. In the same way that reading poetry can elucidate things about myself and about the world I would never have discovered on my own, writing is often a means of confronting a problem. Not exactly writing as therapy, but writing about things that catch my attention or bug me.

However, I face a complete blockage when it comes to writing about my family. And believe me, there are many, many issues involved that could well benefit from some literary attention. Louise Gluck’s poems, especially those from House on Marshland, and later in Meadowlands, confront her issues with the maternal with clarity and immense boldness.

I suppose part of my hesitance is that typical childish arrogance that my parents will read my poems. [Aside, they really won't, but writer = ego]. I’ve been made aware that my propensity to ‘write things out’ can be a little unfair, as it gives me the chance to communicate how I feel without having to open a dialogue. So the idea of family actually reading poems that stem from them is a little terrifying, as it may mean an actual emotional conversation.

Doesn’t always have to be so serious though, right? As with Melissa Broder’s When You Say One Thing and Mean Your Mother.

Anyway. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that at the moment I am trying to approach my family in poems, and keep finding a huge effing wall.

Is this something all writers endure? And why?

09/02/2011
by C 2 Comments

Some reasons why being a poet is actually good for your social life

Obviously, not if you actually tell people you’re a poet. That may not be good for your social life. I still feel awfully pretentious about doing that. And usually in social situations I’m right there, totally complying to the ‘poet’ stereotypes by double-fisting drinks, having terrible hair and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes.

But, OH JOY, being a poet-maker can, in fact, enhance your social skills. “BUT HOW?” I hear you cry!

Rejection, of course. Doesn’t it feel like everyone is talking about rejection right now? I especially think this is great: Journal of Universal Rejection.

Seriously though, rejection is part of being a writer. You really do get used to it. After a while, you even take those personally written rejection slips that say ‘we liked this but it isn’t quite the right fit, submit more, please!’ with a slight twitchy smile, rather than resentment. It’s almost a win, right?

Once you’ve been battered into a more resilient shape with all this rejection, talking to random people in real life (even attractive ones!) just doesn’t seem like a big deal. So what if this dashing young man with facial hair doesn’t fall down at my feet, dazzled by my beauty and wit? I could distill my very essence into poems and be rejected by American Poetry Review– that would actually mean something.

Why am I saying this? Well, rejection sucks, but it’s part of the process. And as a poet, you’re in better shape than most to deal with it. Take advantage of that, pair this fact with the law of averages, and if you start talking to hot strangers now you’ll probably get a date for valentine’s.

flotsam // caroline crew

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