May you always find the beauty in even the most absurd.
May you never doubt that you are blessed in some way.
May you always be able to laugh through your tears.
May you never forget about those less fortunate.
May you use your power for good, not evil.
May you never be afraid to shake things up, to take chances, to shock.
May you always have books.
Happy holidays. Hope Santa fills your bookshelves.
“Every now and then you read a book that you wish with all your heart you had written – that one was it for me.” Email from me to Belle Boggs, author of Mattaponi Queen, after reading her book
December means nonstop Christmas music, Charlie Brown and Rudolph cartoons, and year end book lists. Best Books of 2011, Most Underrated Books of 2011, Worst Sex Scenes, etc, etc, etc. If you can think of a list, it’s probably out there.
So, I decided to make my own book list, one that’s a little different from all the “best ofs.” The books on my list are not necessarily the books on any top 10 lists this year. They weren’t all even published in 2011.
The books on my list are there for only one reason: they are books I read this year that I wish I had written.
Do you know that feeling? The tingle down the base of your spine when you’re reading a book that really speaks to you, the one whose language you understand like it’s the language of your own soul? When I read that book, I just know. It’s what I want to write. It’s the kind of story I understand from the gut.
There are so many books that I love, but that doesn’t mean that I get the same feeling for them. Probably one of the best books I read this year, maybe that I have ever read, is A Blessing on the Moon by Joseph Skibell. The language is lyrical, the story magical and devastating and beautiful and tragic. But never did I get the longing to have written that book, to have climbed into those characters clothes for the time it takes to write a book. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I want to write the books with characters I want to hang out with longer.
At any rate, here is my 2011 (short) list of books I wish I’d written:
1) The Family Fang, Kevin Wilson – This amazing book lures you in with its quirky characters and oddball situations, until, bam, suddenly it breaks your heart. Dysfunctional families always resonate with me (we’ll save that for later analysis), but from the first scene I wanted to jump on stage with these crazies.
2) Mattaponi Queen, Belle Boggs. When I first read this collection of short stories, I was breathless. I can’t explain it, but that book just did me in. I got hold of Belle Boggs’ email and sent her a fan letter. I swear, it was like being in love – I had to tell her how I felt.
3) The Oxygen Man, Steve Yarbrough – His first novel. While I was reading it I just kept thinking, what took me so long? It’s a southern book with racial tension and class warfare, but none of the clichés and stereotypes of a certain rather popular recent novel. The characters are people I grew up with, and I felt like I was sitting in the back yard watching them mess up their lives.
4) Spooner, Pete Dexter – I loved the book, loved the characters, could have spent another 200 pages with them. But what really makes me wish I had written this book is simple – the ending is flawless.
I’ve read shelves of books this year, and many really good ones. But these are the ones I wish I’d written.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. – Samuel Beckett
The other day I got a nice email from One Story. OK, so it was a rejection, but it was a nice rejection. It said, “Thank you for sending us your story. We really enjoyed this piece, but we didn’t feel it was right for One Story. We hope that you will continue to send us your work.”
Several years ago, when I first started submitting my work and the rejection letters began rolling in, I would have spent useless hours trying to interpret the message behind every word in that email. Did they really enjoy the piece, or did they say that to everyone? What do they mean not right for One Story? Not good enough? Too short? Too long? Wrong subject matter? And did they really mean it when they said that they hope I’ll continue to send them my work? Or was that a polite brush-off, the kind we southern girls are adept at by the time we start kindergarten?
Thankfully, I no longer try to read between the lines of a rejection. It is what it is. That particular journal doesn’t want my story, so it’s time to send it on out to someone who might. Which is exactly what I did.
Every writer has been rejected. It’s a fact of the writing life. There are just too many variables involved: the number of submissions a journal receives, the reader’s hangover, the fact that there are already three pieces about flying squirrels slated for the next issue. Much has been written about rejection, so I won’t go on and on about it. I’ll just tell you my personal philosophy, and you can decide whether or not to take it to heart.
Rejection letters (or emails) are badges of honor. They are tangible proof that I am working at writing, that I am trying.
I know fabulous writers who’ve never had anything published, nor are they likely to, because they rarely submit. They’re afraid of failure, afraid of being rejected. I embrace my failures. I try again. Fail again. Fail better. Until eventually I succeed.
Two days after that email from One Story, I got a lovely one from Prime Number Magazine about a piece of flash fiction I had submitted. “Thank you for sending us ‘Mating Habits of the Carolina Wren.’ We love it and would like to publish it in the next update of Prime Number.” That’s an email I never would have gotten if I hadn’t been willing to open myself up to rejection. So whatever it is you want to do: Try again. Fail again. Fail better. One day you might just succeed.
Christy Strick 