Michelle L. Smith - The Ebony Quill, LLC

My, my, my. Apparently, karma was at play when I wrote my last year-end blog about gratitude for my 2023 writing accomplishments. I placed a positive spin on the realities of the writing business in which rejection is the norm by discussing the significance of validation beyond publication or contest wins. I expressed optimism that, despite the sea of rejections, one of my submissions would be accepted. And lo and behold, within two weeks of posting my blog, I received a congratulatory email for a poem I entered into the 2023 Writer's Digest annual poetry competition. It was selected as a top-20 winner out of nearly one thousand submissions from around the world.

Karma, karma, karma!

It took a little convincing on my part to realize that the email congratulating me on my win was not spam. Even after opening it and reading it a couple of times, I wasn't entirely certain until I noticed the citation of my poem's title. After digesting this great news, I thought about potential reasons the editors found my poem compelling. I wrote about the Middle Passage as an exercise for my poetry class after I learned disturbing information in my heritage that affiliated me with the start of the Transatlantic Slave Triangle. From the 16th through 19th centuries, European goods were transported to Africa (first leg of the triangle) in exchange for slaves who were then transported across the Atlantic to the Americas. This second leg, known as the Middle Passage, was especially heinous. The third leg consisted of the conveyance to Europe of goods produced on plantations.

As I delved deeper into this history, I developed an overwhelming sense of grief for those negatively impacted by the atrocities of the Middle Passage. The notion of my ancestors playing a significant role in its success disturbed me to the point that I felt compelled to write this poem. I'd recently learned of the Writer's Digest annual poetry contest, and I contemplated submitting my poem for consideration. But I wanted to first get feedback from my fellow students.

Because of the backlog of class submissions, along with the imminent contest deadline, I ended up turning in the original piece to Writer's Digest before it was critiqued. Eventually, I read my poem in class and received positive feedback. While I was not enamored with making the suggested changes, I revised it anyway and set it aside for possible submission elsewhere. Meanwhile, I learned I'd inadvertently submitted for Writer's Digest's early deadline. Had I realized this beforehand, I most likely would not have turned in the original piece and instead submitted the revised one for the later deadline. All this is to say, the stars were definitely aligned in my favor.

A recent online forum from one of my writing organizations discussed the merits of the well-known adage, "write what you know." If I were interviewed about my winning entry, I would say "write what you're passionate about" because this is exactly the mindset with which I wrote this poem. If you are enthusiastic about something, let others experience that enthusiasm through your writing. If your work moves you, there's a good chance it will move others.

In addition to publication, I'll also receive a small cash award, which makes the win even more special. I'll provide updates when I learn the details of publication (around late spring/early summer), but I cannot be more energized about my writing ventures for 2024!

I'm not big on New Year resolutions because I rarely call upon them throughout the year. But I do like to reflect upon my writing progress, or lack thereof. If I'm honest with myself, lack of progress is not an issue for me as I've done lots in the way of advancing my writing. Still, it sometimes feels like I haven't done enough. That sentiment stems from not having achieved any writing awards or publication outside of my monthly newsletter column and this blog. While I'm genuinely happy to see someone else achieve a contest win or an acceptance for publication, sometimes we need to fall back on something other than peer recognition of our work to remain motivated.

Fortunately, I enjoy the solitary practice of writing; however, this past year I set out to expand my writing community. I'm currently immersed in the final weeks of three fall classes, although I'd fully intended to drop one or two at the beginning of the semester. The poetry class I added at the last minute was the likely candidate to be cut as I've not been a hearty fan of poetry. However, I'm learning different literary and poetic tools and styles that can only enhance my prose writing; so I pat myself on the back for hanging in there with all three classes.

I'm impressed with the caliber of writing by fellow classmates, which further motivates me to improve my craft. I even submitted work, including poetry inspired by a few prompts, to several contests and anthologies. The submitted poems hadn't yet been critiqued by my classmates because of imminent deadlines that I wanted to meet. But when I finally received feedback, I realized where my work could stand improvement. Of the submissions I've sent thus far (not just poetry), I've heard back from about half (all declinations). However, during a demonstration of the school's curriculum platform, my instructor (an award-winning, Pushcart prize-nominated poet) who teaches all three classes referred to his list of prior submissions. When I saw his accumulated rejections (probably in the hundreds), I was heartened to see that rejection doesn't necessarily reflect one's aptitude for writing, which renewed my optimism and energy to keep chugging along. I remain hopeful that one or two of my remaining submissions will be accepted, and I give myself kudos for having the courage to send in my work.

Earlier in the year, I seized an opportunity to write a story to be set to a performance in collaboration with a choreographer. By design, the grant did not provide for the four teams of collaborators to see their projects to completion—although we presented our works-in-progress to a sold-out audience. From that effort, my choreographer-partner invited further collaboration with me, and he's currently producing a dance performance based on a new piece I wrote. Our project will be showcased at his studio's upcoming 15th anniversary celebration next spring.

Several months ago, I responded to a call for volunteer/mentorship applications with a Los Angeles based writing organization (WriteGirl) that supports, empowers, and mentors teen girls with their writing. The application process ended up being more rigorous than I anticipated. First, I submitted a bio in order to be considered for an invitation to apply. A few months later, I received the invitation and underwent a thorough vetting process, including an FBI/DOJ background check. I then attended two mandatory three-hour training sessions, and I discovered that award-winning writer and poet Amanda Gorman who read her work at the Biden-Harris inauguration is an alumnus of WriteGirl, which now has global outreach. I attended my welcome session just days ago and will have more to say about the organization in a future post.

So all this is to say I really don't have much to lament with respect to my writing accomplishments for 2023. In spite of multiple rejection letters, I actually feel more energized about the paths I've embarked upon this year, and I look forward to an even more fulfilling 2024.

No matter how small your accomplishments seem at times, and no matter how many of your manuscripts are rejected, there will always be a place and a need for your voice. I hope you realize a rewarding New Year full of wonderful writing!

Writing requires in-depth research at times, and I find the more I research, the more I want to learn. When I come across an interesting character in my lineage, I find myself making a beeline for the google search bar. It's mind-boggling to encounter an entire encyclopedia of information on an individual in my family tree who turns out to hold a prominent place in history (and not always a good one). But I also enjoy immersing myself in the era during which that ancestor existed.

Last month I promised to reveal a surprising discovery from my ancestral tree—one with significant ties to the writing world. I recently unearthed a Bishop Dr. Thomas Cowper/Cooper (my 12th great-grandfather on my father's side), a Cambridge University alumnus born around 1517 in Oxford, England where he practiced as a physician. After editing and revising Bibliotheca Eliotae, a Latin dictionary written by then deceased Sir Thomas Elyot, Bishop Cooper authored his own dictionary titled Thesaurus Linguae Romanae et Britannicae (also known as Cooper's Thesaurus). Three more editions followed, although controversy remains about whether he "borrowed" from other works to compile his own.

I was blown away to learn about this well-documented part of my lineage, not to mention that Bishop Cooper was also a physician and an author. While I cannot cross-check my DNA with his, I've pored over several documents that are consistent with my descent from Bishop Cooper, including the fact that I share DNA with his other descendants. But wait, there's more!

It's well-documented that Queen Elizabeth I owned and was quite fond of her copy of Cooper's Thesaurus, ultimately referring to it as Cooper's Dictionary. Bishop Cooper's daughter, Elizabeth (my 11th great-grandmother), was the Queen's namesake and goddaughter. Elizabeth's daughter, Jane (my 10th great-grandmother), was the namesake for Lady Jane Grey, aka the Nine Day Queen who was executed along with her husband after being charged with high treason.

But that's not all. Through statistical analysis of Shakespeare's word usage, it's widely believed the renowned poet, playwright, and actor used Cooper's Thesaurus/Dictionary in the creation of his poems and plays. Who woulda thought?

It's an interesting question to pose: Is writing in my DNA?  I certainly feel this to be the case, that I really was born to write.

And, now, on to my next act!

If you had asked me five or six years ago whether our democracy would end up facing an existential threat, I would have said this country is just going through a phase. While I'm dismayed with our nation's current trajectory, this post addresses a completely different type of surprise.

During recent ancestral research, I uncovered tantalizing tidbits that would make good fodder for my writing. The problem is, I haven't figured out what type of project to pursue. Should I focus on one tidbit at a time, or is there a way to throw it all into one larger pot? I'm guessing the former is the way to go; I just need to wrap my head around a plan of attack.

While I contemplate the direction I want to pursue, I continue to unearth more mysteries, including the likely genesis of my interest in writing. After my father's recent passing, I received a box of his belongings that contained a fictional story and a screenplay he'd been working on. Because we'd been estranged most of my adult life, I hadn't known about his writing. However, after poring through the contents of the box, I recalled that in my teens he'd occasionally communicated with me through letters. And I'd responded in kind.

An additional surprising discovery that I pulled from the various creased, yellowing photographs and spiral-bound notebooks was a vaguely familiar orange weather-beaten pamphlet with a birthday poem I'd written for my father. I was probably six or seven when I took several pages of craft paper, folded them in half, and then bound them with knitting yarn looped through three holes made with a hole puncher. As with much of my childhood memories, I don't remember writing this poem, and I have only a hazy recollection of designing the card. But it apparently held special significance for my father given that he'd held on to it for decades.

Seeing that birthday card triggered my recall of another project I'd put together back in college when I was enrolled in a Children's Literature class. At the time, I knew I wanted to go into healthcare, so I designed an illustrated kiddie book about the digestive process using animated fruits and vegetables as my characters. I remember my instructor asking about the scientific soundness of my details. I'd done my research, and I was emphatic about its accuracy.

So here I am, decades later, contemplating the idea that my interest in writing started well before I knew what I wanted to do with my life. But I'm not yet done with the surprising discoveries. I recently unearthed a genealogical connection to a writing legacy that gives new meaning to the phrase "born to write." But as with any good suspense, I'm going to end this blog with a chapter break of sorts and leave you hanging. I'm hoping you'll return next month to learn the nature of this latest discovery because it's sure to wow you like it did me. For now, I'll provide this tantalizing hint:

"Lord we know what we are but know not what we may be." (From Shakespeare's "Hamlet" spoken by Ophelia.)

See you next month!

I cannot wrap my head around the fact that fall (and dare I say, the holiday season?) is nigh. I just read something about planning for holiday decorations and... Whoa! I'm still basking in warm summer days. But what really reinforces the advent of fall is that most kids are back to school, including me!

I enrolled in three weekly online writing classes that started at the beginning of the month. Granted, these are non-certificate courses designed for the—ahem—more mature writer offered through a local college extension program. But the nice thing about an adult audience is the presence of several knowledgeable editors and writers who provide valuable feedback to experienced as well as up-and-coming writers.

I re-enrolled into a revision writing workshop that I participated in this past spring along with a literary style workshop, mainly to contrast the two. The revision workshop focuses on feedback for works in progress while the literary style workshop focuses on writing prompts to stimulate new writing. The third course is a class on poetry.

I've recently posted that I've not been a huge fan of poetry, but last spring, at the behest of our instructor, I experimented during National Poetry Month (April). Surprisingly, I found the shorter format amenable to some of my writing ideas for which I'd not yet found a venue. After feedback from the class, I reworked my poem and submitted it, along with an additional poem, to a variety of contests and anthologies. I also subscribed to an email newsletter than drops one poem each day; however, I'm not a fan of most of what I've received. While I understand interpretation and appreciation of a poem require at least three passes, I find the language rambling and flowery most of the time. It feels as if some poets throw together a bunch of miscellaneous words to make their work appear literary.

I know this sounds ass-backward, but as I wait to hear back about my entries (and I'm perfectly prepared to accept rejections), I thought I'd learn more about what goes into composing a great poem by taking a class. While the genre remains a bit of an enigma for me, I'm anxious to see my inner Shakespeare awakened.

I've never been a huge fan of poetry, especially that which requires a considerable amount of effort to parse and understand. Much of what I've recently read seems abstract, and I don't like to work so hard to find the definitive message in what I'm reading. Nevertheless, as a writer, I feel a little guilty about ignoring an entire genre of work.

In a recent writing workshop, our instructor, an award-winning poet, informed the class that a poem must be read at least three times before its true meaning is appreciated. Even then, interpretation is subjective. For National Poetry Month (April), he assigned different styles of poems to read, and we were then asked to emulate one of those styles and produce a poem of our own—a task to which I was not endeared. Almost in protest, I wrote two poems based on a memoir excerpt I'd been working on with the mindset that just about anyone can write poetry. One version rhymed and the other conformed to my interpretation of free verse or narrative poetry.

I was anxious to see which version my classmates preferred. Somewhat split in their partiality to one over the other, they noted a slight preference for the free verse format. To my surprise, a few classmates also found my work somewhat literary. Perhaps I received this accolade because I used a couple of Early Modern English terms for reasons not entirely clear to me. Though I haven't read Shakespeare in eons, perhaps my use of Early Modern English was a latent manifestation of a poetic voice I didn't know I had.

The free verse version happened to be my favorite as well because composing it felt similar to writing a short story. I enjoyed the hunt for a choice selection of words; but what surprised me most was my dogged determination to write two distinct forms of poetry. Enamored with the process, I even joked with my instructor about being a poetry convert. Amused, he shared how he ended up becoming a poet in a similarly serendipitous fashion. He also encouraged us to submit our poems to anthologies.

Armed with feedback from my classmates and a bit of inspired motivation, I revised my free verse version and submitted it to a few contests and anthologies. So far, I've received one rejection out of about six submissions. However, I'm excited to have discovered an additional creative outlet that seems to work well for some of my darker stories. Dare I say that I've already written another poem and researched additional submission venues?

I guess the moral of this story is, Try it—you might like it. Perhaps I'll add poetry to my list of writing genres!

Last month, I blogged about a project for BIPOC creatives that entailed collaboration between four pairs of writers and choreographers in which I participated. Left to our own devices to come up with a product, we previewed our work before a live audience in an art gallery setting this past weekend. Because this showcase was billed as a "performance," I thought my participation would be minimal. However, a week before the event I learned that not only would I, your average reclusive writer, be an integral player, but my presence was requested for the question-and-answer session that followed.

After introductions by the project leader to a nearly sold-out audience, I ended up opening the show! I began with a synopsis of how I and my choreographer partner developed our project goals. I then read an excerpt from a personal essay that formed the nidus of my partner's movement concept. Interestingly, none of the collaboration teams knew how the other three teams had designed their projects, and we all ended up presenting a unique performance. The other teams consisted of a dancer and lyricist who sang a beautifully haunting a cappella solo as her dancer performed; a writer who recited a moving poem inspired by watching his two dance partners perform over two practice sessions; and a playwright and choreographer who switched roles and encouraged audience participation to devise words and movement based on artwork displayed on the venue's walls.

After our performances, the project director interviewed the collaborators, and then opened the question-and-answer session to the audience. When invited to expand upon the stimulus for our project ideas, I told of how I pulled out an incomplete manuscript for which I had no tangible venue of publication—a piece that spoke to my first encounters with racism during my preteen years. In contemplating this audience member's question, it dawned on me that my explanation was the exact motivation behind the project's theme—to give voice to creatives who are often marginalized because their work may not fit the status quo.

My partner reiterated his intent to develop a solo dance performance based on my writing to incorporate into his studio's 15th anniversary celebration next spring. So I'm currently brainstorming on something we can workshop together over the next several months.

Perhaps because of the unexpected ovation I received for my reading, but also because the audience seemed fairly impressed with our collective efforts, the evening showcase of our joint works exceeded my expectations. The freedom to express my sentiments was liberating, and I look forward to wherever this collaboration takes me.

A few months ago, a professional dancer and choreographer reached out to me at the behest of a member of one of my writing communities to inquire if I would be willing to participate in a project funded by the writers organization. The project entails collaboration between BIPOC choreographers and writers and need not be completed by the designated performance date, as the emphasis is more on the collaborative process.

Puzzled about what would be expected of me, I asked whether I was to watch a dance routine and then write something based on that performance, or write a piece that would provide inspiration for the show. To my surprise, the specifics of the collaboration were left entirely to the participants.

Given my unfamiliarity with this concept, I did a little research; I found nothing to inform me about what might be involved. Given that my writers organization funded this program, I considered that my writing might be the nidus for the collaboration. Intrigued by the idea of two distinct creative types working together, I agreed to a preliminary meeting with the artistic director of a dance theatre company. Initially, I feared that my lack of a complete understanding of what the proposal entailed might lead the director to shy away from working with me—a fear I attribute to the imposter syndrome. Within the first half-hour, however, it became clear that he and I share a lot of commonalities in our backgrounds.

The director wants my writing to form "the inspiration for the movement." He's fond of "the spoken word," and he says he has no intention of critiquing my writing (imagine that!). The subject matter and format would be my choice, and he'd even welcome my suggestions for accompanying music. Additionally, he wishes to see our project through to its final performance under the auspices of his production company.

It became clear during the meeting that the stipend does not cover a completed project, but I saw this opportunity as one to rework an incomplete piece I'd filed away for a future time. After what turned into a two hour meeting, the artistic director and I agreed to proceed with the collaboration and parted quite energized at the prospect of what we could develop together. Currently, he has reviewed my submission draft and is motivated to finalize the project. We will meet again to incorporate his contribution in anticipation of the performance date set for next month. So stay tuned for what I hope to be an exciting update!

Since last month's post, I dug a little deeper into the differences between memoir and autofiction. My main concern was maintaining the truthfulness of memoir in spite of the absence of perfect recall. I was surprised to learn in my writing revision class that changing my characters' names introduces an element of fiction. Yet some reputable memoirists recommend doing so when needed for privacy concerns and protection from liability.

Depending on whom you talk to, you'll get diametrically opposed opinions on just how much liberty, if any, one can take in writing memoir. The concept of fictionalizing an autobiography (autofiction) is an intriguing one, especially in cases where memory recall is difficult. A key benefit with autofiction is the author can describe intimate or deeply personal experiences which might otherwise make them feel shamed by intolerant members of society. Since the emotional impact of a story may be more significant than its factual basis, autofiction appears to serve a purpose here. However, some writing experts believe autofiction should not be a separate genre.

I recently read We are Bridges: A Memoir wherein author, Cassandra Lane, imagined stories about her ancestors that represented her approximation of the environment in which they most likely existed. She was careful to weave into her narrative the fact that her recall was lacking or that certain specifics were unknown to her. Much of what she portrays as an unreliable narrator is speculation. Yet, her book title includes the word "memoir."

When it comes to writing about one's lived experiences, privacy is a priority for those still alive. I plan to stay with my first inclination to change names where necessary, prefaced with a disclaimer somewhere in the introductory pages. I'm not writing a revenge story, therefore, I'm not concerned about others being offended to the extent they'd want to sue me. However, I acknowledge that I have made and will make mistakes with my recall, and I plan to indicate when it might differ from that of others so the reader can trust that I'm delivering an honest product.

As a lifelong student, my perspective is not a rigid, hard-lined synopsis of everything I've digested. In fact, my most important take is that rules are meant to bend. To me, it's a matter of degrees. I'm writing my memoir as an example of journey, growth, and renewal that others may find useful for their lives now and in the future. My perceptions are my truth. If I stay true to myself, my story, and my readers' expectations for a resonating message, then I will be successful.

In a recent post, I mentioned I was finalizing an excerpt of my memoir-in-progress for submission to my revision writers class. While our focus at the time was creative nonfiction, our instructor commented on the current trend toward fictionalizing memoir and the efforts underway to reverse the trend. He asserted that whenever a fictional component is introduced, such as in the reconstruction of dialogue that took place years or even decades earlier, the memoir work should be deemed fiction. This statement threw me for a loop.

According to Roy Peter Clark's essay "How Truthful are Memoirs?" writers should not use "invented dialogue…. Any words in quotation marks must be the result of a) written documents such as trial transcripts, or b) words recorded directly by the writer or some other reliable source. Remembered conversations—especially from the distant past—should be rendered with another form of simple punctuation such as indented dashes."

The use of indented dashes –like this- for reported speech (vs. direct speech) aims to "relieve the burden of exactness," according to my instructor who also advised that the use of fictitious names for fear of retribution is unwarranted if the writer wishes to stay true to the genre of nonfiction. He suggested using an initial or a description of the person's natural status (e.g. "the short woman") or their role (e.g. "the physician") instead in those cases where a character's real name can or should not be used. My inclination had been to place a disclaimer at the beginning of the work to notify the reader of my use of made-up names and to convey transparency as to my standards and narrative methods. However, inaccurate dialogue, the class was told, holds greater potential for threats of lawsuits against the author than does the use of a real name.

Just when I was at the height of confusion, our class instructor introduced the concept of autofiction, short for autobiographical fiction. Defined as a work of truth that combines elements of autobiography with fiction in which the author is the main character, the writer recreates the world according to their experiences without altering or falsifying the facts. Thus, the story often reads as a first-person account of the author's life.

Curious to get additional feedback on the use of recalled information, I polled members of a writing association to which I belong to determine if others were under the same impression as I about writing memoir, specifically with regard to the use of quotation marks for dialogue when the author's recall is not exact but represents a best approximation and conveys the factual essence of what the quoted individual previously said. Most respondents agreed: As long as the author is writing their truth as they remember it, the work could be deemed memoir.

Hardly anyone has a photographic memory. Dialogue, backstory, and narration from events that happened decades earlier are often a bit fuzzy in their recollection. I still find the distinctions between memoir and autofiction somewhat ambiguous. For next month's post, I'll delve deeper into this subject. Stay tuned!

I was all set to write a post about my first month in my new "revision writers" class when I opened my email inbox and read a community post from one of the writers organizations to which I belong. The author began by stating that his post would likely be seen as inflammatory, but he felt compelled to write it anyway. He complained about the solicitation of BIPOC authors by some writing contests and publications, which he considers illegal racial discrimination against White writers. A few sympathetic responses from those who also felt illegally discriminated against followed. And I thought, here we go again!

A member of this same writers organization who happens to be White provided a well-written and substantiated mini history lesson by way of a long response that laid out statistics and references regarding racial disparities in the publishing world easily found online. Writers of color already know that works centered on characters of color have not historically resonated with the predominantly White industry. But not everyone believes this to be the case.

In recent years, several public and private organizations have developed or enhanced non-discrimination policies. Sadly, I don't think many minds are changed by the truths of members of marginalized communities despite the fact that implementation of diversity and inclusion strategies still leave the publishing industry overwhelmingly dominated by Whites. And I'm not sure requiring folks to undergo "training" is all that effective. While some may find such training enlightening, others grow even more resentful toward underrepresented communities. While the practice may help provide context for those who seek enlightenment, I'm of the opinion that such change must come from within.

It saddens and distresses me to see members of a respected writers organization profess their animosity toward BIPOC communities and those who support them. These sentiments leave me feeling as though I'm dealing with a hostile work environment. Some of us would like to think that writers are creative types with open minds and a deep interest in learning. Perhaps this concept is more fiction than nonfiction.

Breaking out in the industry is difficult enough. It would be nice if we all supported one another with positive energy.

I'm so excited to be back in school! I just enrolled in a spring semester creative writing course through an extension program of a local community college. When I first learned of this offering, the class had already filled. However, I reached out to the instructor and asked to be wait-listed in case of a cancellation. Turns out, additional slots were added only a few days prior to the February 1 start date. After navigating a most difficult online registration process (perhaps due to website issues), I registered as a new student, got my student ID, and signed up for the class with one day to spare.

The course consists of a weekly lecture and revision workshop conducted entirely online and at no cost. (The instructor was quick to point out that a class of this scope and nature offered by a writers' organization would more than likely entail a fee.) The agenda is geared to the more "mature" writer who may or may not have much formal training, with no credit or certificate offered. I suspect, however, the bulk of enrollees are experienced writers.

The course covers several genres and requires a commitment of five hours per week. By design, the submission process is akin to that of the "real world." To have your work evaluated, you must submit at least three days in advance with proper formatting, but not all submissions are accepted.

Thus far, I've attended two sessions, and I'm impressed that the instructor (an award-winning poet) is on top of his game. The first class was more of an introduction, but the second session consisted of a lesson and a critique session wherein authors read their work aloud, after which other students offered feedback. At the conclusion, writers whose submissions were discussed commented on the feedback. I find that having the author read their work to an audience of more than 40 is useful for the following reasons: The writer has a good sense of where they wish to place intonations for emphasis and flow; they become more comfortable reading their work to an audience; and, more critically, reading one's work aloud is a tried-and-true method for finding problem areas not otherwise noticed. I plan to read my work aloud prior to submission.

I'm thrilled to stumble upon a community of like-minded writers eager to provide and receive constructive criticism for their works in progress. The instructor plans to focus on creative non-fiction for the next few sessions, and I intend to submit a memoir excerpt. I anticipate this new resource will help move my writing forward. And as an added bonus, I now qualify for student discounts—a winning situation all around!

As much as I love writing, I'm finding it difficult to sit down for more than an hour at a time to write my memoir. While the process is cathartic to an extent, dredging up lots of emotional content also leaves me spent. Unfortunately, I have significant blocks in my recall; but as I keep pressing ahead, repressed memory sneaks to the forefront of my consciousness, leaving me surprised to learn that some elements of my upbringing were worse than I initially thought.

Even after taking a break, I find myself falling back to old habits of procrastination because of my reluctance to dig deep and really "go there." Sometimes my recollections are so vivid I see certain scenes as though they were taking place right before my eyes. I recently attended a lecture via Zoom that addressed caring for the psyche when writing emotionally charged material in which the speaker suggested memoirists pay attention to emotional cues and take frequent breaks, even if doing so results in a shorter than usual writing session.

I feel less productive with shorter sessions; however, some of those resurfaced memories provide an almost exponentially greater amount of inspiration to write (which is manna for any writer). Another positive is the inherent therapeutic benefit as well as the growing ease with which I'm able to identify my true sentiments about the chaos that was my early years. I'm more comfortable with being honest about those feelings even when they reveal my own prejudices and vulnerabilities.

Truthfulness is a critical component of memoir writing. While none of us has had the perfect upbringing, it is in the discovery of and reckoning with my truth that I find motivation to keep writing and, ultimately, conclude with a satisfying transformation.

Guidelines for good writing are found in numerous how-to books and blogs, but not all are steadfast. In fact, the more rules I come across, the more I realize how much heterogeneity exists. There is no one-size-fits-all when it comes to crafting the ultimate masterpiece. And so, I'm on the cusp of going a little rogue on methods and techniques and steering more toward feel and intuition. While you and I know that flying by the seat of one's pants does not guarantee success, I need to free myself from mechanistic self-edits that mire me in stagnation to the detriment of my creativity. In the spirit of simplicity, therefore, I'm going to ease up on myself a bit by narrowing my tricks of the trade to four goals.

I just alluded to the first goal, which is to spew your thoughts and ideas onto the page without concern for the editorial process. Call it brainstorming or free-association; the point is to throw the rules of writing out the window and get something down on paper without regard to the minutia of self-correction. If you're a bit anal like I am, though, this task is easier said than done. If correct-as-you-go works for you, by all means, keep at it. But I've got to do a better job of staying out of the quicksand quagmire of never-ending rumination.

The next goal is a more established dictum. I've written a monthly column for more than a decade in which I profile members of one of the writers groups to which I belong. I always ask my subjects for writerly advice to provide to others. Universally, they recommend reading as much as possible, preferably in your genre of choice, and writing everyday no matter how few words are produced. I strive to adhere to these principles, though I've been known to fall off the wagon from time to time.

Next, it's critical to have fresh eyes examine your work for those not-so-subtle errors you've become too myopic to see. Scientific studies document how we subconsciously insert words and letters while reading because our mind's eye tells us what we expect to see or read. If you're dyslexic, this is particularly problematic. Therefore, it's crucial to have someone else read your work to find errors you're unable to see. At the very least, set the work aside for several days (or longer) before attempting to reread it yourself.

Fourth, get comfortable with rejection. When I see poorly written and seemingly unedited contest or anthology submissions chosen over my work, I realize that my issue is not necessarily a poor product. Perhaps it was the mindset or the genre preference of the contest judge, or their lack of diverse cultural awareness and interest. But it does help to review those winning pieces because I sometimes learn how I might improve my work.

I'm fully aware that certain projects (like writing a novel) are more successful if they follow a formulaic paradigm. But even then, many best-selling authors deviate from conventional norms of plot and character development or utilization of point of view. In my estimation, if a story is written well enough to get readers invested in the protagonist's journey and to evoke a lasting emotional response, the reader will keep turning the pages.

And, oh, did I mention luck? Most of us schmucks don't have fame, highly visible platforms, or reputable contacts in the literary world, so we're missing a leg-up there. But you never know when you're going to strike it lucky unless you try. By following your inner voice, you may be closer to success than you realize!

Censorship, book banning, and "cancel culture" all tie into our First Amendment right to free speech, a critical component of our fragile democracy. I have great admiration for the saying, "We can agree to disagree," which is why I find the removal of books that speak to the truth of this country's founding quite disturbing. I don't know of anyone who feels good about the shameful aspects of our history; but if we choose to ignore it, we're doomed to repeat it, as many great minds have portended. This last sentiment contributes to the impetus, in my humble opinion, to ensure the Holocaust is not forgotten.

I recently read a gripping memoir written by a good friend's father, a 94-year-old Holocaust survivor. In his book titled The Life of a Child Survivor, Ben Midler poignantly laid out the atrocities he witnessed as a young teen. Midler took me on a harrowing journey, starting with the Nazi bombings and invasion of his home town in Poland to his long overdue rescue and liberation, all while continuously searching for members of his family. He provided keen insight into the political and societal aspects of how such depravity could ever take place and is acutely aware that the current generation of youths is far removed in their familiarity with this history.

Leading up to last week's mid-term elections, many decried the frightening possibility of the loss of our democracy to fascism and autocratic rule. The re-engineering of voter districts primarily to the disadvantage of marginalized communities (gerrymandering) made it more difficult for those voters to participate in a free and fair election. However, this self-serving scheme led to record voter turnout even in the face of rising inflation, extremist tribalism, and growing political violence. Our voices would have been extinguished and the outcome of the elections likely predetermined if we lived under autocratic rule. But the American people spoke up once again for democracy.

When I first wrote this blog to be posted after the elections, I wasn't sure we'd still have a democratic government. However, it seems the American people remain vested in its survival. If we don't fight for democracy, our Great American Experiment will fail. And that fight necessitates an understanding of the principles on which our Nation was founded—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

When I was a newer writer, I was told that I could strengthen my work by incorporating metaphors and similes. I wasn't sure how to accomplish this back then, as it was difficult to distinguish between the two forms. However, the more I read other authors' work, the more I recognized the utility of these literary aids and better appreciated the impact of a well-placed metaphor. Still, as I study methods to develop my own scenes and settings, my use of these tools can feel a bit forced.

Analogous not only in their comparative function but also in their effectiveness at building emotional impact, metaphors and similes deliver that little punch or nugget that drives home the salient sentiment an author wants to convey. While metaphors distinguish themselves with their use in place of something else as in, That one critical mistake was the nail in the coffin, a simile is a literary device that compares two unrelated items as in, He's as pale as a ghost. Both instruments broaden the impact of a single phrase so that it resonates and meaningfully lingers on the palate.

Good writers are stealthy with their seamless use of metaphors and similes. Judiciously chosen, they almost escape observation, yet they play to the reader's sensibilities without disruption to flow. I have noticed that if I stop to think about the emotional impact of an experience I'm writing about, I'm forced to dig a bit deeper to effectively convey that impact to others—which is where a good metaphor or simile would be handy. So I'm getting there.

While my attempts to incorporate metaphors into my writing still feel a bit contrived, I suspect that as I continue to encounter them in my readings, and as I contemplate how their use will enhance my work, I'll eventually have the same aha! moment I had with similes.

Whether "life is like a box of chocolates" or "life is a box of chocolates," the end result should be a much sweeter one!

Some people don't do well with deadlines. While I'm fairly disciplined about my writing regimen, deadlines guarantee that I regularly practice the craft. This blog and a monthly newsletter column require a bit of creativity, but they also reinforce my editing skills. And I've noticed that my first drafts are less cringe-worthy than in years past. However, this month I did wince at the published version of my newsletter column, which profiles members of one of my writing organizations. Sometimes I receive last-minute additions that, when inserted, disrupt the establish tempo of the piece.

Given that I conduct my member "interviews" via email, the responses are sometimes lackluster at best, which makes it difficult to compose a fluid narrative for my 425-word column. In those cases, I usually request additional information, but some folks just don't want to be bothered. On the other hand, when I start out with an abundance of information, I have a better sense of my subject's personality, which leads to a more fluid narrative. Last-minute requests to add material to the profile can be a good thing if I need filler. Fortunately, having regular deadlines has taught me to improvise at a higher level in a shorter time frame.

One piece of advice I've taken to heart is to read my work out loud. Doing so reveals flaws I might not otherwise notice. Not to mention typos and word repetition that jump from the page like fleas. It's an efficient way to perform quick edits in the face of a looming deadline.

If you don't have a recurring column or other writing project with regular deadlines, or if you feel that procrastination hampers your evolvement as a writer, try setting target dates and practice meeting them as though your monthly income depends on doing so. That kind of discipline just might take you to the bank.

The member forum section of a writers community to which I belong recently discussed the use of sensitivity readers (SR), engendering lively debate about whether or not such scrutiny stifles creativity.

But what exactly is a sensitivity reader? According to N. K. Jemisin of masterclass.com, "A sensitivity reader is not a copy editor. Their job is not to check for grammar or fact-check but to find issues with misrepresentation and other inaccuracies….At the conclusion of their sensitivity review, do not expect them to provide comments about grammatical or spelling issues but instead to comment about the characters and their interactions."

Generally speaking, SR is a form of beta reading that potentially uncovers problematic areas with offensive or ill-informed misrepresentations such as stereotypes and tropes. To a limited extent, SR can constrain free expression; however, the process is similar to other conventional forms of editing. If SR sounds like censorship to you, many would agree.

Some writers who've utilized SR report greater insight into communities with which they weren't familiar such as the mentally ill or physically disabled. However, the more provocative discussion in the above-mentioned forum focused on racial and cultural sensitivity. It was quite telling to see folks go through all sorts of mental gymnastics to define SR as censorship, specifically with regard to different races or cultures and not so much other communities, leaving me to wonder if their "debate" over SR represents a reluctance to address preconceived notions about people who don't look, eat, dress, love, speak, or worship like them.

On the one hand, writers are free to write what they want, but they may not enjoy a large audience if their work panders to distasteful stereotypes. And there's no law requiring a private publishing company, which is in the business of making money, to represent or give platform to an author's exceedingly ignorant take on someone else's culture; however, that author has the right to shop their material in venues indifferent to accurate representation.

While I don't have extensive knowledge about all cultures, it's not difficult to avoid insulting people. If I happen to stick my foot in my mouth, I take stock of my error to ensure that I don't become a repeat offender. For those who feel they "can't say anything without being canceled," why is it difficult to understand what is and isn't offensive to large groups of people? If a collection of like-minded folks finds your generalizations about them objectionable, why not accept them at face value? Sure, exceptions exist for just about everything, but what are the odds an entire community is being dishonest?

If you feel like you must walk on eggs to avoid upsetting folks, perhaps you need to ask yourself what renders you susceptible to doing so? Then seize the teachable moment and educate yourself about those often deemed "the other." In doing so, you just might learn we've got more in common than you think!

I subscribe to a weekly newsletter that provides leads to current publishing venues in a variety of genres. Of particular interest are opportunities specifically promoted to traditionally marginalized and underrepresented communities such as BIPOC, LGBTQ, and Indigenous or Native peoples. As I scan these postings, I wonder whether they've produced their intended results, presumably to reconcile historical biases, or are they simply window dressing?

As a member of the BIPOC community, I've submitted my work with zero success thus far. I'm well aware that getting published is a crapshoot for any demographic. But it seems that the collection of racial and sexual identity information as qualifiers for access to these special opportunities might be collated into before-and-after statistics to present to the writing public for scrutiny.

The other curiosity I've come across while perusing these submission opportunities is the plethora of somewhat esoteric subgenres, all of which are easily found through a simple Google search. They range from Gaslamp (a combination of fantasy and historical fiction) to Weird West (combines Western elements with another genre such as horror, occult, fantasy, science fiction); from Arcane Punk (fantasy with multiple aspects of different genres) to Noble Bright/Noble Dark (fantasy fiction involving a heroic quest and the triumph of good over evil); from Flintlock (a fantasy subgenre set in an early modern setting) to Climate and Nature. There seems to be a subgenre for every theme!

While some pretty kitschy writing might be found amid these seemingly "arcane" subgenres, it appears that there is a forum for every writer, particularly those who deliver a great product. Whether or not you fit into the traditionally accepted norm of what constitutes a publishable writer, you'll never know which submission will stick unless you submit.

So here goes my kitschy advice to keep yourself motivated at writing: "If you want a fit, you must submit!"

Giving away one's writing without monetary compensation has been the subject of debate for years. I've written for free to build my portfolio of publications, but this last go-around, I decided that my time and effort were worth more.

In the last 12 months or so, I've developed a decent relationship with the submissions editor of a local newspaper in which a few of my opinion pieces appeared. Earlier this year, I submitted another piece for consideration, which the editor deemed "strong" work. However, the political season was upon us, and publication of that work would be put off until May. Indeed, during the third week of May, I received a follow-up email from the editor who invited me to update my submission since considerable time had elapsed. The plan was to publish it before California's June 7 primary election.

I updated a couple of national stories cited in my 740-word essay then resubmitted. The editor asked me to remain on standby in case additional changes were needed, which has been the protocol for past submissions. However, four days before the primary election, she informed me that a backlog of other submissions precluded publication of mine. In addition, she requested that future pieces on national issues better reflect the local community, and she suggested that I write a piece about the upcoming Juneteenth holiday.

My first thought was, Why didn't she mention this deficiency when I was asked to update my work? During the three months that it sat, I could have easily made that change if the need had been identified. Moreover, my earlier submissions on national topics had not been subject to this directive. I'm guessing that the backlog of submissions was not the main issue and that the editor felt a tinge of guilt about not recognizing the need for further revision of my work, which someone else apparently deemed necessary. So she threw me a bone by inviting me to submit on a different topic.

I realize writers are at the mercy of publishing industry whims; however, I believe a promise of publication for an imminent date should not be made without the identification or mention of deficiencies that, if not corrected, would quash such publication. While I appreciate the significance of being published, I declined to put other projects on hold for what felt like a token request to satisfy the paper's last-minute editorial needs. Call me naïve, but it was time to stand up for the value of my work.