Rolling Down Highway 95

This past weekend I spent a long few days driving from Charleston to Charlottesville to pack up my stuff in storage and bring it back with me. Along the way I had lots of time to think. Not only is it a long drive, but the cargo van I was driving had no CD player, and the radio didn’t work (so neither did my iPod). There is nothing more crazy-making than no music and no book to listen to on a trip. So to kill time and maintain sanity, I decided to put together a list of helpful hints for anyone thinking of driving down to see me. Hope this doesn’t talk you out of it – I’d love the company.

1) Make sure the radio and/or CD player works. The only thing longer than the 24 hour flu is the 8.5 hour drive from Charleston to Charlottesville without anything for company.

2) Make sure you have cruise control. Driving long distances without it is a little like riding a one-speed bike up a mountain. It’s possible to do it, but there are sure way easier ways to get there.

3) If you are going to rent a cargo van to go out of state, it’s cheaper to rent it for a whole week and let it sit than to rent it for just the 3 days you actually need it. Really.

4) In Virginia, if the speed limit is 65, it actually means 65. In NC, it means 70 – 75. In SC, 65 means if you’re driving under 80, you’ll probably get run off the road.

5) If you don’t buy anything else on your trip, buy peaches as soon as you cross from North Carolina into SC. There are no better peaches in the world than those from upstate SC. Trust me, I know – I grew up eating Gaffney peaches, and I’m a peach snob because of it.

6) If you’re looking for a place to eat, the Golden Corral has the best buffet in Wilson, NC. At least, that’s what the giant billboard says.

7) And on the topic of food, the Sombrero Restaurant at South of the Border is not a Mexican restaurant. So don’t get your heart set on bean tostadas and chips and salsa like I did and then end up with an iceberg lettuce salad from the salad bar.

8) If you’ve never been to South of the Border, you should stop. It’s like a time machine, with all the entertainment families thought cool before there were backseat TVs and water parks. There are junk shops, and a reptile lagoon, and big plaster flamingos and bears and gorillas hanging out together on the sidewalks (not sure why that makes sense – are there bears and gorillas and pink flamingos living side by side somewhere south of the border?).

9) Try to make it out of Virginia before you buy gas. For some reason, gas in VA is at least 10c more per gallon, sometimes as much as 30c per gallon more.

10) The last thing is a reminder to myself – never, never, never try to cram a lifetime of stuff into a cargo van again. It’s not gonna fit.

It’s Not You, It’s Us

Now that my little writing room is set up, I decided to sort through my files and clear out anything I didn’t need so I could make room for new story ideas, new first drafts, and all the other scraps of paper I collect. It’s my favorite thing about moving – the purging.

As soon as I started, though, I got hung up reading my collection of rejection letters. Yep, I keep all my rejection letters. Though I rarely get rejection letters anymore. Oh, I get rejected all the time, but with online submission managers, the only feedback I get these days is “declined” typed in a little box on the computer screen.

I miss those letters. They were tangible proof that I had been doing my job. Submitting. But more than that, in losing the rejection letter, we’ve lost an occasional human connection with the reader. There’s no longer any hope of those prayed-for handwritten comments.

In going through my little scraps of “no thank yous,” I found dozens and dozens of, “Thank you for sending us your work, but it’s not right for us at this time. This isn’t a reflection on your writing.” Well, it sure felt like it. And “We regret that your manuscript does not fit our current editorial needs.” What the hell does that even mean? Oh yeah, it means I was rejected.

But in going through all these “it’s not you” form letters, I found some that I remember thrilling me at the time. Like the one from the late Jeanne Leiby when she was still the editor of the Florida Review. “This came really close – and the only real reason we’re not taking it is because we already have too many child narratives for our current issue. But please send again.” Or the next one from her, when I sent another story: “Thanks for sending again. This came very close.” Cream City Review sent one that offered other markets that might be better suited for the piece of flash fiction I had submitted. South Carolina Review sent a letter that said, “Thank you for giving us the opportunity to read… Though it does not suit our publication needs, one of our readers found an interest in your work and would like to encourage you to submit more of your work to our magazine.” And Lunch Hour Stories, now sadly gone, sent a full page printed with all sorts of reasons listed for possible rejection, with little boxes for them to check. And mine was checked, “The narrative is strong, but not quite what we’re looking for.” And then circled, “Send us more of your work.”

All of those rejection letters were sent in response to stories that have since been published. Which is one reason I keep them. They remind me that possibly it’s not me after all. Maybe sometimes it really is just them. I also keep them so I remember that there is kindness out there in publishing land, that some editors send little scribbles on the printed forms that make a writer euphoric. Thanks to all of them, and also to the ones who’ve toughened me up by just out and out rejecting me.

A Room of My Own

I can write anywhere. On a train, a plane, a bus, in a coffee shop or restaurant, at the beach or by a pool, or in a cabin in the woods. I’m lucky that way. Or maybe it’s that I’ve never been able to be picky – I have to take my writing time where and when I can get it.

But when I do have a place to call my own, it’s great to have a space dedicated to writing. I moved into a condo recently, and spent a while fixing up my office so it has the right energy. (I know that sounds new-agey, but there is something to be said for a space you believe has a certain vibe, even if it’s all in your head.) First I spent a day painting it green – I find green to be energetic but also not too frantic, if that makes sense. Then I got my desk arranged just right, with all my writing totems and the pictures of my girls. It’s not finished yet, but it’s getting there.

I love my desk, but I use it mostly for revision. When I am creating new work, I write sitting on a bed. Yes, it’s lousy for my back and shoulders, but it’s where I’m most comfortable. Legs curled up, laptop in front of me. I can lose myself for hours that way. And the awesome thing is, when I get tired, I can move my laptop to my desk and stretch out on the bed for a little nap. An afternoon nap is one of the biggest perks of being a writer.

I also have a corkboard I haven’t hung yet that I got when I dedicated a space to my work years ago. My first writing group gave me slips of paper filled with good wishes – creative blessings, I guess you’d call them. I take it with me wherever I go – it reminds me of those wonderful writers (Jennie, Kate, Burnley, Roberta, Michelle), the women who helped me believe in my ability to string together sentences. Wish you were here to bless this room, ladies.