Tuesday Update – Drabbles, Publishing Opportunities, and Amazing Books

Photo by Alan Wang on Pexels.com

Accountability, my friends, is something we could all use a bit more of. I tend to beat myself up over wasted time. I blame the capitalist construct that has trained me to see my worth in terms of production, but I must also admit that the idea that production = worth is founded in certain laws of living. A productive cougar eats well and has time to laze about on a sunny rock, and we are not exempt from this rule. 

A productive writer and creative should also eat well and have time to laze on the sunny rock, too. I’m trying to find that balance for myself. Thus, this weekly update, which might become a thing. If you need some accountability in your creative life, let’s connect. Either link me to your weekly accountability thread somewhere or simply do it in the comments here. 

We gotta help each other in this wonderful, terrible, wacky world!

Project updates:

My 100-word Drabble was the winner of the Hiraeth Publishing Drabble contest! I’ll share a link to it once it is published in the upcoming month. 

Haven’t heard of Hiraeth? Check them out! If you like speculative fiction and would like a free monthly ebook, consider signing up for their newsletter, too.

I’m in the thick of a couple of projects right now. One is a novel project, working title Ragman. It’s in the baby stages — brainstorming and research — so don’t expect much on this right now. I hope to dedicate the summer to writing an awful first draft. I’m not being negative; first drafts tend to be awful even when they are sort of good. You can’t get to a good draft until you get the awful stuff out of your head, anyway. I need something to work with, after all!

For the next few months and probably longer, my main focus is on short pieces. Primarily flash fiction under 1,000 words and a couple of longer short stories. I sent four finished stories out into the ether on Saturday, so hopefully they find a home with a literary journal. My goal is to send out at least two subs a week or eight a month. It’s easy for me to procrastinate because sending in submissions is the most tedious part of writing, in my opinion.

The Fairy Tale Review opens for submissions on April 1st and remains open until June 15th for anyone interested. I have two stories I plan to submit, each about 10 pages long. They accept a single prose submission of up to 30 manuscript pages, but the submission can be a single long piece, a single excerpt, or multiple shorter stories. With a long submission window, I think I will hold off on submitting the two tales in case I write another that fits the journal before June. I have so many fairy tale and fable ideas bouncing in my head. Plus, I have submitted these stories to a few other journals, so this gives me time to hear back on them. (Don’t worry, they all accept simultaneous subs.)

Finally, there is Medium, where I write nonfiction under the name “Jenny Wren.” I’m on a mission to publish one new essay there a week. If you haven’t visited me on Medium, my focus is on inspiration and survival for creatives and other wandering folks during these days of late-stage capitalism. It sounds heavier than it is! Here are a couple of links to read my latest two essays for free:

Stop Mistaking Progress for Innovation

Drabble Your Way to Inspiration

Reading notes:

So much reading this week! It was rainy and gloomy, par for the course in the lovely PNW at this time of year. That means it was excellent reading weather. I finished two books this week.

Wandering Star by Tommy Orange

This is Orange’s second book, and I loved it just as much as his first one. Wandering Star picks up where his first book, There There, ends. Although much of the book broke my heart… no, scratch that. Much of the book tore out my heart and ground it into the dirt, then shoved it back into me, still beating and bruised, yet I loved every minute of it. Yes, even when I was shaking with anger or when tears were coursing down my face at the injustice of the world and the injustice of us. I highly recommend both books. Like, go put them on hold at the library right now. I’ll wait.

Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg

An oldie but a goodie on the writing craft. It’s been on my bookshelf forever, but I have never read the whole thing. I think I originally got it as a gift. One gloomy morning, I wasn’t in the mood for fiction, and I was caught up on the current New Yorker, so I grabbed it off my shelf. I tore through it in five days. It blew my mind, reassembled it, and inspired me in ways I am still trying to parse. Proof that some books are considered classics on the craft for very good reasons! 

Interestingly enough, I was perusing the free books in the library basement the day after I finished Goldberg’s book, and there were copies of two of her other writing books up for grabs. You can bet I snagged them for my collection!

Moments in living:

We are plodding towards spring in fits and starts. It’s an odd sort of PNW spring. We had late spring sunshine and temperatures at the beginning of February, so everything started budding out. Then March came in wet and cold with a return of winter. We usually get one or two light snowfalls in February, but all we ended up with were a few flurries in March. We are still wet and cool, but finally some sunshine days have snuck in, and the temperatures are trending upward.

Weird how even on a blog we default to talking about the weather instead of ourselves…

The quarter is over. I have one more week before I head back to campus for the spring term. I’m reducing my campus schedule to just twice a week – Tuesdays and Thursdays – to free up some time for writing and other pursuits.

One of those pursuits is the violin! That’s right, I began violin lessons. Next week I will learn to rosin and use the bow on the strings. Remember, kids, we’re never too old to learn something new. At least, I hope not.

Until next time, 

Jenny Wren Harrington

Stop Mistaking Progress for Innovation

A creative manifesto for those willing to hope deeply

Art is dead. Long live art. Photo by Connor Fisher on Unsplash

Are you feeling it, too? Nothing seems new or exciting. Nothing gobsmacks us with its innovation or uniqueness anymore. It’s the same memes, recycled with more of the same trite captions. It’s the same tech, with a new profile and a rearranged home screen. Even the cars are exactly the same. Are they making anything that isn’t a wagon or a monster truck anymore?

Continue reading on Medium for free…

How a Hybrid Workflow Rocked My Writing World

Maybe it can work for you, too!

The Siren call is real… Photo by Samantha Borges on Unsplash

My life was being destroyed by blue light, endless scrolling, and rabbit holes filled with nonsense generated to sell rather than with interesting or useful oeuvres. Even worse, they were taking away my ability to write.

Each day, I’d open up my laptop excitedly, ready to let all those ideas filling my brain out onto the screen. It would start well enough. I would type a few sentences, maybe even a paragraph or three. Then it would happen.

I’d need to verify a fact or some other little piece of information.

Still hopeful that there was writing to be done, I’d click the little icon on my taskbar. Up would pop the browser window, inviting me to type in my research query. Then, some little addicted part of my brain would whisper, “Check your email, Reddit, Pinterest… click on anything but the writing before you.”

Continue reading on Medium for free…

All the Things My Mother Never Knew

No parent is so blind as the one who refuses to see.

My mom wasn’t home over the weekend, but no one would believe that if they were listening in on her phone conversation. It was a Monday morning, sometime in the fall of 1993, and my mother was on the phone with her sister, rewriting the narrative of my life.

Every weekend since we had moved to this god forsaken desert three years prior, she had flown back to our old home in another state. It was my dad’s gift to her, a promise he had made when he took this new job in New Mexico. His wife would continue to spend her weekends playing soccer with friends and visiting family.

I don’t think I minded too much, really. My mom and I did not get along. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t the child she had really wanted. I wasn’t a boy, I wasn’t sporty enough, I didn’t live to compete.

Continue reading on Medium for free…

Good Food Sometimes Means Doing Hard Things

The Homespun Foodie’s week in review, Nov 30-Dec 6

Winter often drives me indoors more frequently, which in turn means I spend more time in the kitchen. This is an odd December, though. Although I still find myself in the kitchen most days, it is at the comfort of my desk with a pen and paper in front of me, instead of before the stove and dusted with flour.

In other words, cooking has been a chore rather than a delight. An odd December indeed.

It is easy to compromise our goals and our plans, to literally go for broke, when the body and mind rebel against what must be done. It is easy to frame poor decisions as giving oneself grace or as self-care.

Compromising values, giving up on goals, and taking the easy way is not self-care, no matter what your influencer-guru tells you. Hurting your future self is never self-care. To throw away money — and the life energy we spend acquiring it — on food choices that go against our values and drain our wallets is not self-care. 

Continue reading for free on Medium…

Localize Your Feed and Free Your Mind

Less News is good news

The alarm goes off, and I grope for my phone in the dark. As soon as I silence the auditory noise, I begin filling my eyes with visual noise. The daily scroll has begun. I cycle through headlines on the news feed, helpfully curated by algorithms that no human hand controls.

When that becomes too much, I flip over to social media and begin reading the headlines and hot takes regurgitated by a million countless cogs in a machine that is imprisoning us all. By the time I roll out of bed an hour later, my brain is filled with rot I can’t control, and I have lost all faith in not just humanity, but my own future.

This isn’t some dystopian fantasy; this is the reality for millions, if not billions, of people around the world. The good news is that it doesn’t have to be.

The 24-hour news cycle has created a trap that leads to personal paralysis. If everything is so screwed, then why bother? If you still have the energy to bother, to try to effect change, then where to start? For too many of us, where we start and where we end is by banging angrily on a keyboard. Adding to the noise, but not creating anything of substance. Certainly not creating any solutions.

Continue reading for free on Medium…

Navigating the Mama-Drama Without Losing My Mind

Sorry, this isn’t my battle anymore

“Mom, they fought until after midnight. I’m so tired.”

I reread the text, my stomach clenching with anxiety. My 24-year-old son, Will, was my man on the ground at Mom’s house. He was staying there along with my sister and her two young kids.

I was so, so sorry, and I let him know.

I had booked a hotel room for myself, my younger son, Andy, and his girlfriend, Jess. It wasn’t in the budget to book a room, but a gut feeling told me it was the best option.

Always trust your gut

This trip had been planned for months. We visit my mother every summer, but this year was going to be a big one. My youngest son, Andy, planned to introduce his girlfriend, whom he has been dating for two years, to his grandmother.

He was excited. I was apprehensive.

Continue reading for free on Medium…

Eating Through Life’s Seasons

The Homespun Foodie’s week in review, Nov 23–29

Life, much like the wheel of the year, is an ongoing cascade of different seasons. Usually, we cycle through busy seasons and slower ones, but recently, life around here has felt like one busy season after another. True, each one is busy for different reasons and in different ways, but busy nonetheless.

It makes cooking even more challenging when one has mixed feelings about the winter holidays. The dominant culture around me celebrates three main winter holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. Of the three, the only one that raises no misgivings in my heart is New Year’s Eve and day.

I struggle with the colonial roots of Thanksgiving and the Christian appropriation of various solstice/midwinter celebrations that evolved into our modern Christmas. I am sure I am not the only one who finds this challenging.

Continue reading on Medium for free…

Go Outside Every Damn Day

It’s not a choice, it’s an imperative

What do rain, sun, and snow have in common? If you said they are all types of weather, then you are only half right. The full answer is that they are all great types of weather for being outside.

That’s right, rain and snow can be just as lovely as sunshine.

Not the outdoorsy type? Who cares. Is it raining? So what. You have an overriding fear of moths? Grow up.

I’m not saying this to be unkind. I’m saying this because the kindest thing I can do is to tell you to go outside nearly every damn day. This isn’t about some study making the daily news rounds, although there are more than a few of those. It’s not even about vitamin D. Well, not entirely.

It’s about humility, awe, and being true to your most primal inner human nature.

It’s about being fully alive.

Continue reading for free on Medium…

I Am Not Special

These four words will save your life

Chances are, if your life was anything like mine, you were told by someone at some point that you were special. Usually, it’s a parent, grandparent, or other adult who first says something like this to a child. Sometimes it’s a teacher. Sometimes it is twaddle from an esteem-building children’s story.

“You’re special. You can do anything you want.”

“You can be anything you like when you grow up, because you are special!”

“Don’t worry about what that bully said; they are just jealous because you are so special.”

“You aren’t like the other girls (or guys), you’re special.”

However it is worded, it somehow seeps into our psyche. The world is comprised of special individuals like us, and then there is everyone else. For some reason, we never stop to consider that everyone is walking around feeling special.

Everyone thinks they are the main character. Yet, I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of us is the main character. Main characters live happily or unhappily ever after. All of us die at the end of our story.

No ever after.

Nada.

Continue reading on Medium for free…