I’ve been worried by the news lately. As someone who cares about the environment, women’s rights, and social justice, I see the policies coming out of Washington and become both alarmed and angry. I’m taking action: calling my representatives, marching in the Women’s March, speaking out. It often feels like a futile effort. Many of my friends are concerned too. Several of them, after sharing a news story on Facebook, have said, “It’s hard not to lose hope.”
I feel that way, too. But, as I responded to a friend on Facebook, I’m a writer, a calling that is full of disappointment and rejection. I’ve learned that sometimes all that keeps you going is habit, not hope. Action, Not Results I sometimes hear of writers setting goals to publish a book with a major publisher or to be featured in a high-profile literary magazine. I never set goals like that because they are beyond my control. Instead, I give myself actions: I will edit a chapter, write four pages, send out five submissions. I can’t control whether the magazines accept my work. All I can control is my part of it—sending my work to the journals. But sending work to journals means persisting despite rejections. Keep sending. Maintain the habit. Some of my most high-profile publications came after stories were rejected 50 times. I’ve learned to commit myself to action and divorce myself as much as possible from results. Do rejections disappoint me? Of course. However, my most inspirational writing quote is not from a famous writer, but from hockey player Wayne Gretzky: “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take.” Even rejection may not be the end: an editor might remember you and publish the next story you submit. Activism When it comes to social activism, I’m aiming for the same method, the idea that habit will see me through when hope will not. Can I control how Congress votes? No. But I can let my representatives in Congress know my position on issues. I can set a goal for how often to contact them and follow through. I can attend town halls. I can send emails. Can I control what the president does? No. But I can show up at protests. I can send postcards. I can voice my concerns in person and on social media and perhaps sway someone to reconsider his or her position. Given the current political climate, I’m sure I’ll see many failures. In fact, I may not see any successes. I will say this, though: it’s hard to gauge the impact of even a failed effort. Even if DAPL is built, the Standing Rock protesters have raised awareness of the dangers of oil transportation. They’ve set an inspiring example for activism. I think of them camping out in the Dakota snow and realize that if they can do that, I should be able to speak at a county Board of Supervisors meeting to support a marine sanctuary to protect against offshore oil drilling. And despite what I’ve said about habit being more important than hope, I still have hope. As long as you are trying, as long as you are fighting, hope exists. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, but as long as you are still shooting, a puck may yet go in the net.
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I'm honored and thrilled that the folks at NANO Fiction have nominated my story "Gravity and Wind" for the Best Small Fictions for 2017, edited by Amy Hempel. The Best Small Fictions is an anthology that honors the best short fiction under 1000 words published in a calendar year. Journal editors nominate up to five stories they published in the previous year; then the judges at Best Small Fiction make the decisions from among the nominated stories. I'm so pleased that the editors of NANO Fiction thought my story was worthy. That story is not available on the web; however you can read some of my stories that have been award winners and nominees for other honors in the past: "About My Mother" was named on the top 50 very short fictions by Wigleaf. "My Route" was longlisted for the same award a couple of years later. "They Call Me Lucky," an essay, was nominated for the Best of the Net anthology by the editors of Toasted Cheese. I'm grateful to the editors of NANO Fiction and to all the editors who have supported my work over the years. I'm putting an image of skydiving here because "Gravity and Wind" takes place while skydiving!
Though I've published many stories and essays, I don't often get an opportunity to read my work for an audience. So I was very pleased when the folks at San Jose's Flash Fiction Forum included me in their January 11 lineup. When I asked one of the organizers why she had started the reading series, she mentioned that though poets have several reading opportunities in San Jose, fiction writers had fewer. I think that's true in general: unless you have a book that you are reading to support, it's harder to find outlets for reading fiction. I'm grateful that I was able to participate in this fun reading series.
I read my story "Circle, Circle," which was published in Monkeybicycle. It includes an HO railroad, and I had several people come up to me after I read to reminisce about model trains from their childhood. You never know how your work will connect with readers and what it will bring up for them. Reading in public gives you the opportunity to find out. NANO Fiction has published my story "Gravity and Wind" in its current issue. They were kind enough to interview me for the issue as well.
I'm especially honored to be included, because this is their last issue. I will miss such a classy print journal for flash. I had a story, "Balloons" published by them in 2010 as well. Thinking back on that story and the more recent one, I can say that I considered both of these stories tough sells for a literary magazine. They are both reflective stories, the kind that critique groups sometimes label "quiet," though one takes place while skydiving and the other involves a dead body. Despite the external action, these stories mostly move forward in the characters' thoughts and reactions. "Quiet" in critique-group speak is not usually a complement. It's code for "not enough happens." But I enjoy writing and reading stories where small shifts resonate with large consequences. I'll miss reading a journal that recognizes and publishes those stories too. It's time, once again, for my annual writing year in review. 2016 was a good year for my writing in a number of ways. Number one, I finished a first draft of a novel! Now I begin the long process of revising, followed by the long process of submitting it. So, no, you can't get a copy just yet :-). But it is an important milestone for me.
In addition, I had several short stories published in literary journals; in fact, it was a record year for me. I published seven short stories, including stories about a talking cat, a husband reincarnated as an opossum, Sleeping Beauty's insomnia after the prince wakes her, and a goddess knitting Eden. I also published more realistic stories, about lost love, infidelity, and the ongoing effect of an abusive parent. You can read some of this year's stories here:
I also had some essays published, including an appreciation of the movie Holiday, a discussion of literary thrift, and an account of traveling overseas for the first time.
I was even interviewed, by NANO Fiction, "Five Questions with Ann Hillesland." (The issue of NANO Fiction has not arrived yet, so the actual story will be in next year's round up). All in all, a good year for my writing! Thank you to all the journals that published me, and to all of you who read my work. I appreciate your support! I grew up in the San Francisco Bay area, so when it snowed when I was in grade school, it was unbelievable. Not some sleety, icy rain, but actual flakes, downy and puffy and beautiful. I walked out of my speech therapy session into a miracle. The snow stuck to the blue fur of my coat and looked just like the snow in the movies. Some teachers had let their students out of class, and kids were running and playing in the snow, screaming, trying to form snowballs. The next day the front page of our local paper showed a picture of snow falling in a grove of palm trees. I walked back to my classroom through the snow. I was tempted to run and play like the kids whose teachers had let them out, but I was supposed to go straight back to class after speech therapy, not run around. I hoped hoped hoped that when I reached my classroom I would find it empty, the kids building a snowman on the kickball field. But when I got there, the students were all sitting in their seats under the florescent lights, ignoring the miracle taking place outside. I slid into my chair, hoping each moment that the teacher would let us go before the snow melted. But she didn't. This Christmas Eve, I was visiting my mother in Washington state when it started to snow. At first little ice pellets, too small for hail, clattered down. Then real flakes started drifting down. According to the weather forecast, it wasn't even supposed to rain, so once again, the snow was a miracle. A white Christmas! I was busy making rolls for Christmas dinner. In fact, the dough was fifteen minutes into its first rise, which the recipe said would take half an hour. Based on the forecast, though, the snow wasn't going to last. So I left my dough rising, borrowed my mother's boots, and rushed outside to enjoy the snow. I walked through the fir trees, marveling at the snowflakes sprinkling my blue rain jacket, at the slow slifting white that frosted the ground. Sometimes it feels like I haven't learned anything in this life, but I have learned this: when a miraculous snow falls, drop what you're doing to enjoy it. By the time I made it back to the house fourty-five minutes later, the snow had already stopped, so if I'd waited, I would have missed it.
The rolls turned out fine. Silver Birch press just published my short essay "World Traveler," which I wrote in response to their prompt "Me, in a Hat." The prompt asked writers to think of a time they wore a hat and write about it. They asked that writers contribute pictures of themselves in the hat, or failing that, pictures of a similar hat. This picture and this hat immediately came to mind. This essay is a rare piece of mine that was sparked by a prompt. The press put out their call for submissions, and I immediately knew what I would write and how I would write it. For me, prompts usually work that way: either I get something right away, or I get nothing.
I have a few pieces in my portfolio that also came from prompts. For example, I wrote "They Call Me Lucky" in answer to prompt asking for submissions about your name or nickname ("Hello, my name is..."). The prompt came from a reading series, so I read that piece in a gallery in San Francisco. However, some other pieces could easily have come from standard prompts that I and other writing teachers give. My essay "No Choice" fits the prompt to write about a favorite article of clothing. My essay "Valuables" is an outgrowth of the prompt to write about a prized possession. That essay describes the experience of having a prized possession, my wedding ring, stolen. By the way, if you look closely at the picture above, you can see the wedding ring that the thieves took. Publishers and writings teachers give out prompts because they work. But in my experience, you have to have the right prompt to inspire you. If I'm stuck and want a prompt, I go through a list of them until I find just the right prompt that fits me like the perfect hat. A local community press, Tolosa Press, partners with a local writer's club, the SLO Nightwriters, to publish member fiction in their free papers. Recently they published one of my stories, "Cuba Libre."
Some of my flash fiction can be rather odd (told from a parrot's point of view, written in small vignettes, involving a talking cat). However, I felt that a lighter, more traditional story would be a good match for a community newspaper. Part of what I enjoyed writing in "Cuba Libre" was its setting--a bar where the bartender chooses the patrons' drinks based on their personalities and moods. That setting came from reading about a bar where the bartender would refuse to make certain drinks he didn't approve of. I thought about taking that idiosyncrasy one step farther. I've never been published in a free newspaper before, but I really like the idea. I went to a cafe to get a couple of copies. While I was enjoying a cookie at the cafe, a man picked up a copy of the paper on his way out the door. It was fun to think he might read my story. Atticus Review recently published my flash fiction "The Fire." Inspiration for fiction comes in a variety of ways: objects, places, odd things I notice, something someone told me. "The Fire" was inspired by a photograph taken by writer/photographer Mark Coggins. In addition to writing mystery novels and essays, Mark is an award-winning photographer. While teaching one day, I went to Mark's Flickr account and asked my student to choose a photo and write something inspired by it. As we were flipping through photos, I noticed one of a fireman cleaning a fire truck: Photo by Mark Coggins I started to wonder about this fireman and what his story was.
My student wrote a story inspired by a different photo. But I wrote a story inspired by this one. My last post, "In Praise of the Packrat," described a time when I finished a story several years after starting and abandoning it. Today's post is about a story with a much quicker genesis.
Word Riot has published my flash fiction"Casting Off" in their October issue. I wrote this story after I read somewhere about a person knitting stars. The idea caught my imagination. What would someone knit after they knit stars? The rest of the world, I decided. I wrote "Casting Off" in one sitting, tweaked it, sent it to my writer's group, tweaked it again after their feedback, and sent it to a few journals. The first journal that got back to me accepted it and published it a few months later. From inception to publication, four months, which might be a record for me. |
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Ann Hillesland writes fiction and essays. Her work has appeared in many literary journals, including Fourth Genre, Bayou, The Laurel Review, and Sou’wester. Categories
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