This weekend, I need to talk about figure skating.
Why?
Because a video of French figure skaters Vanessa James and Morgan Cipres popped randomly into my YouTube feed two weeks ago.
I. Can’t. Stop. Watching. It.
Every single time I watch it, I feel like I want to do something amazing with my life.
Of course, then the reality of being an Olympian settles in, and I reflect on how they’ve been training since they were children, spending hours on the ice every day, getting up at four in the morning to practice before school, and then I think of Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan and that whole dark situation, and I decide I’m actually all set when it comes to aspiring for anything next-level amazing.
However, this duo really is amazing. Stunning. So when I watch the video (for the 70th time) I usually end up sharing it with someone, friends and family who I think would appreciate it.
There is something in us that wants to share these beautiful things we see and discover, isn’t there? Perhaps this seems plainly obvious. But it’s interesting to consider this essential component of being human, this impulse to share what we love with other people.
What’s more, this is a central aspect of being a writer. We live to open ourselves up, to relate our experiences, to invite others to share whatever it is we have found beautiful, or strange, or painful, or hard, all that is simply in one way or another unforgettable.
Can you come look at this for a second, honey? is pretty much what we do with our words.
Or else it’s something more specific: Look at all the weird stuff that goes through my head. I can’t say it in polite company. But I know you, reader, will dig it.
At times it might be a feeling of, Oh my god, have a seat, you’re going to burst when you hear this.
Other times it might be more of, I can’t carry this alone. Can you help me?
So much is packed into this impulse to share our work. Perhaps, for some of us, it’s something even larger, a spiritual impulse.
Singer/songwriter/poet/artist Leonard Cohen once said in an interview that what he was most grateful for in his career was his feeling of being employed. Not just having a job, work, something to do and get a paycheck. But employed. Something, he said, that very few people actually are.
I think he meant that he was engaged with his work, used by it, in service to it, and in service to something larger through it. Something within him cried out to be shared. He had the calling; he was called upon to share what was within him.
Initially, when I began this post, I was going to talk about social media. But now that I think more about it, and because it’s a rain-pouring Saturday here in Philly and I’m feeling moody and thoughtful, I want to go beyond all that.
What I want to know is, what has surprised you about publishing (sharing) your writing in literary magazines?
There is often so much talk about building up your bio, your publishing credits, feeling the validation of publishing your work, getting attention from an agent perhaps, and just getting published because it’s what we all do.
But what about your readers, the people with whom you’ve shared all your private thoughts, your funny puns, your weird obsessions, your salty humor, your intimate hurts? What sorts of connections have you built?
I once published a story about a lowly, ignored and confused intern for an art magazine in New York City. Out of the blue someone emailed me and told me she found my story, and she was that intern, and yes, dear god, that is exactly what it is like.
Isn’t that the best feeling? When you’ve shared a part of yourself with the world, and someone out there responds to say, Hi, yes, thank you, I get it, that’s my life too.
Let’s talk all about it, friends.
What sorts of ways have you found connection with readers upon publication of your work in a lit mag?
What has surprised you?
Have you built up those connections with readers in meaningful ways?
When you write, do you envision making that connection with readers? Is there a certain kind of reader you are trying to reach?
Beyond all the fame and glory that we all know comes with publishing in literary magazines, what sorts of ways have readers responded to all that you have shared with them?
And then, please watch this video and, not to hype it up too much, but tell me if this is not the most amazing thing you have ever seen in your entire life. Does it inspire you to become an Olympic figure skater?
You never write a boring post, Becky: I know because each time my 'little grey cells', old as they may be, are stimulated to wider thoughts! [We are also quasi-neighbors it seems, as I live 10 miles from Philly in South Jersey.] As writers, we'll never know how many people have read something we've created, nor of those, how many have found meaning particular to their own lives. [Perhaps we should include our email addresses with the bios, but that could open up a whole other can of worms....] I did hear back from an editor of one of the lit mags I've been published in that she had a poem, 'Quintessence of Dust', from my 1st book, The Enormity of Existence, read by the minister at her mother's funeral. [the poem celebrates how remarkable it is to be 'sentient matter', as in the opening lines: ' We are the moving dust, we are the breathing dust, we are the seeing dust, we are the living dust.' ]
And one of my doctors told me he read to his young daughter another poem in that collection, 'A Child's Christmas Carol', which is about the wonder that is childhood---a true magic. If we are fortunate, our writing will precipitate many more little 'miracles of transcendence', and it doesn't matter if we never know about them-- because we already know--we knew when the words were born in our souls, to travel from that uterus called the unconscious into the light of the conscious mind, given birth in a world ever famished for meaning....
That was truly beautiful. Thanks so much for sharing. And yes, I am now going to follow my dreams and become a figure skater. : )
In the meantime, whenever I've gotten something published and a reader has reached out to me it was always so surprising and uplifting and helpful. We write in these vacuums and to hear back just makes your day/week/month/year.
The most surprising and shocking and eye-opening thing to come from anything I've written was when, in the most unlikely way and a full year after the fact, I found out a one-woman, one-act play I'd written so many years earlier and let go of entirely had surfaced in a small rural theater and had ended up providing a family there who'd lost their daughter (she'd played the role) much comfort. One of my big themes is we just have to do our work, whatever comes of it, and even if we never know what comes of it. I feel obnoxious leaving a link and don't expect anyone to click through, but if someone wants here's an essay I wrote about the experience that Notre Dame Magazine published in 2016. https://magazine.nd.edu/stories/gifts-opened-later/
Thanks so much, Debra. It was all so unlikely, and I just feel extremely lucky I was able to find out about it. It really shifted my faith as far as the importance of what we do - each and every one of us.
I always enjoy your musings... so much like what goes on with my own "inner dialog" (which I've only learned in recent years is not necessarily commonplace. I shudder at the idea of a silent mind). The grace of these performers had me transfixed, but its synergy was inspiring. Independent and interdependent of one another, aware of themselves but equally aware of the other. Each with their own strength and purpose... Ideally this is the type of balance to strive for in all our own relationships, eh?
That is an amazing video!! Two things that stood out to me, beyond the perfection of their performance, was that this was an interracial couple, which, with all the hate and polarization in our society right now, I found incredibly inspiring and hopeful. Almost brought me to tears, really. And the fact that the performance was shot in black and white gave it a timeless quality that transcends this moment in our history.
In terms why I write and the connections that come from it, I think of something that Francis Bacon, the English philosopher and statesmen once said and why he wrote in Latin. I'm paraphrasing here, but he said he felt writing in Latin was like launching a boat on the sea of time. The writer never knows when and under what circumstances something may be read. By writing in Latin he felt had the best chance of his work surviving the test of time. I'm really NOT comparing myself to Francis Bacon, but the point that has stayed with me is a writer never knows who will read his or her work, what the impact may be, or when that will happen. I think my published fiction actually has the most impact (at least that I've seen) on people/friends I know. The fact that it's been published somehow validates it in their eyes. I think these people see me a bit differently, both because of the content and that it's been published. That said, it's certainly not the primary reason I write. I write because it's the only way I feel complete.
One final thought: Harvard Review Editor Christina Thompson, in the interview that Becky did with her earlier this week, advised that writers submit pieces to the lit mag and just forget about it, since the review process can take so long. She recounted that reaction of a writer who submitted an essay that sat in the slush pile for a year and a half, and Christina considered it a gem that she wanted to publish when she finally read it. When she reached out to the writer, the writer said she had "completely forgotten about it." I don't know that I would react quite the same way, but I admire her nonetheless for holding it that way.
“I got birthday cards this year from people I’d never heard of. It’s weird, isn’t it? There are people I’ve really touched whom I’ll never know.” —Bob Dylan, age 23, quoted in 1964 New Yorker profile
I wrote & published a piece online about visiting a family member in jail, someone who is mentally ill. It was a very difficult piece to write, and took 8 yrs to find a home. Comments I received made me feel a little less isolated in dealing with the situation, and, it seems my story was helpful to others as well.
Thanks for this post and this video. The performance brought me to tears--so elegant, so beautiful, so in sync with each other, fluid, melting into each other.
Just this morning I wanted to contact a poet whose poem I read in Kenyon Review to tell her how much I liked it. I couldn't find any contact information for her.
Oh, that's lovely, Barbara. You might try sending a message to the editors to see if they can forward it to her. I'm sure she would love to hear that you connected to her work.
That’s about as incredible and flawless as skating gets. Excellent music choice too. But as a Canadian it’s my duty to point out that Vanessa James is a Canadian skater, though she has represented France and the UK in the past.
such an incredibly beautiful five minutes. The song is simple and pure, and the routine, for all its virtuosity, also conveys simplicity and purity. No sequins on the costumes. Such a beautiful routine, so moving, and then when she smiles in relief towards the end you think of their hours of work, and they skate together--just stunning. Thanks! I guess you, Becky, once reached out when you reviewed a mag I was in. An agent did once, but didn't take the work when I sent more in. But I agree with Steve, we do this because we like to and don't worry about what comes of it.
This happened this week. I published an appreciation for a writer I really admire and it occurred to me to send it to their agent in the hope that the writer might see it and know that someone out there thinks they are the best. (Not that they don't already know that, of course.) The agent wrote back "Marvelous! Thank you so much for sharing this." It made me feel seen and appreciated in my appreciation!
Straight away, the Disturbed video version of The Sound of Silence is INCREDIBLE. I just want to point that out. It's a fantastic song and the singer's rendition of it is AMAZING!
So. These skaters - oh MY!! Holy CRAP!! Grace and majesty and style and power and beauty. I have already shared the video with my sister and without doubt, be watching it again and again.
I love your thoughts, Becky, about our human need and compulsion to share our thoughts, our joys, our concerns, our accomplishments, our grievances with the world writ large. We all seek camaraderie and vindication, though I have known a few people over the years who deny just that. No matter. I believe it to be true of every single one of us.
It is what drives me to write, to journal, to seek outlets to share my voice. And yet, the longer I experience the frustrations of rejection and navigating the world of submitting my poetry, I do enjoy the satisfaction of reading my own works - with joy! - and being at peace when I feel a connection to what I have created. It doesn't always satisfy, true, but often, it is enough.
I’ve been overwhelmed by the community of writers I’ve found here on Substack. Basically, I write about the struggles of writing, and to share those struggles with others has been amazing. Not to mention, the discussion and enthusiasm in the comments keeps me going, giving me confidence, making me feel like I’m not alone -- which is something I knew, but it’s different when you can actually interact with others in the same boat
Back in 2018-2019 I was publishing short stories through the lit publications on Medium, (Lit Up, Literally Literary, PS I Love You, The Junction). I started doing it because I was impatient and unsure of myself. I'd just written the first couple short stories that I thought were genuinely good, and I didn't want to wait through the slow (and, frankly, anachronistic) submission process of regular mags just to get a lot of form rejections.
What I found, at the time, was great: stats on readership, plus claps, comments, and my favorite, highlighted passages by readers. I also got tagged as a "top writer" in fiction a couple of times. This feedback kept me publishing there instead of submitting to "real" journals and mags.
Sadly, in late 2019, Medium changed the payment model and the lit scene there collapsed, and the experience isn't nearly so fun or gratifying now, and I'm looking at starting to submit to those "real" mags again. (I don't actually think they're any more real.) But my feelings about the process haven't changed, and I doubt I'll get the same kind of feedback from readers that I got in the beginning on Medium.
About six months ago I revisited an online journal that had published one of my poems, and I found that a reader had left a comment -- nothing earth shattering, just a clear indication that the poem had truly connected with him on a pretty deep level. I was surprised and deeply touched. It wasn't a matter of ego fulfillment, although my ego needs are vast and voracious. It was a simple, pure moment of human connection. I touched him, he touched me. Since that time I have made it a habit, when I find a poem that connects with me, to try to message the poet a brief note of gratitude -- something I don't think writers generally get enough of. Their responses have been warm and sincere.
I used to joke about the ability I have to make people cry, with a toast or a sappy poem -- "Making someone cry is how I know I'm alive!!" It doesn't have to be tears, obviously. It can be laughter or revelation or even fear. But that shared moment of emotion exchanged is what, to me, enriches life. Writing is communication, after all. It's one of many tools we have to be human together.
Thanks, Becky, for the video. Now I'm going to go weep in the bathroom...
Gosh, Becky. Your posts always make me laugh and sometimes want to cry (I can’t actually cry, usually, but the impulse is there). Maybe this performance got to you because it’s an example of art plus technique plus intention plus delivery turned into perfection. It’s such a rare feat (the Jennifer Eagan of figure skating!) Blissfully, most of us manage to make connections at a much lower level of commitment.
The most surprising/ meaningful connection I made through writing came not from a published post but a private, monthlong exchange I had with a young student of mine; we were both going through horrible times and found solace in relating our troubles irreverently. Quality over quantity, I think. Find one passionate reader and write for them.
The reader connection, the imagined reader, these things can be as simple as hoping there’s someone out there who likes what we like, that when we write something funny, they find it funny, when we write something sad, ditto, and not cringe or roll their eyes or recall the line attributed to Oscar Wilde (“One must have a heart of stone to read the death of Little Nell without laughing”).
In a Donald Barthelme retrospective in a recent New Republic, I saw this:
“Friends recalled that when he wrote, he typed away happily, laughing out loud as he wrote; and it is one of the pleasures of reading him that our pleasures feel like they’re being shared with the now dead author.”
Reading that, it’s easier to picture the writer who wrote the following bits in his 1963 story, “Florence Green Is 81”:
“When she asked him what he did Baskerville identified himself as an American weightlifter and poet (that is to say: a man stronger and more eloquent than other men).”
“I spotted you for a weightlifter,” Joan says. “But not for a poet,” Baskerville replies. “What have you written?” she asks. “Mostly I make remarks,” I say. “Remarks are not literature,” she says. “Then there’s my novel,” I say, “it will be twelve years old Tuesday.” “Published?” she asks. “Not finished,” I say, “however it’s very violent and necessary.”
Baskerville is also attending the Famous Writers School:
‘His examiner...said severely: “Baskerville, you blank round, discursiveness is not literature.” “The aim of literature,” Baskerville replied grandly, “is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart.”’
Barthelme and his contemporaries, many of whom also created strange, funny objects:
I love this post, Becky, thank you. I shared the skating video with my partner/boyfriend who used to compete as a figure skater--I was dazzled; he admired it too.
To me, there's nothing better than finding out my writing has reached someone and made a difference in their life. I had an essay in Herstry that helped several women who'd had bad relationships. I'm not the only one! https://herstryblg.com/theme/2020/11/25/burned
Interesting. That seems good, but probably less-than user friendly for most. It would be nice if they had a list of contributors including an email address / social media handle / url or whatever the author prefers
Great video of a beautiful performance. The most striking part was hearing “The Sounds of Silence” sung by someone other than Simon & Garfunkel. That was just crazy.
And good that the song is dubbed so we don’t hear the audience until the very end. Invariably when that song is played, whether recorded or live, when it gets to the line “ten thousand people, maybe more” the audience will respond like it’s about them.
Right after I read your newsletter, Becky, I read this both sad and funny story about a writer doing a signing in a Sam's Club for her debut novel so I thought I'd share since it's related to the theme.
I have one of those that I've watched over and over and over again... and sometimes I watch humans do things that are extraordinary and I marvel that we're the same species as I cannot imagine my body or mind doing anything close to what they're accomplishing.
Thank you for sharing and for reflecting on the power of sharing. I think it's such a basic human need... we talk about shared attention in child development and how that is how we grow and learn - beyond just connection, it's how we make sense of the world, how we create shared meaning.
And the story of the art intern and your story?! Love that!!!
Professionals are always spotted in their hard won ability to make the difficult look simple. In that sense they have already endeared themselves to us.
The fluid movement of each skater corresponds intimately with their companion as we watch them, communicating nonverbally with each other and, consequently, us much the same way as two actors in a classic movie convey emotion to each audience member.
Becky ! Thank you so much for that lovely post of the skating professionals - it’s truly inspiring like you mentioned and I shared it on FB. Something akin to expressing the wonder and joy of being human … sharing, hoping, believing ♥️♥️♥️Thank you for reminding me …
I have had readers reach out to me regarding essays I've written for consumer publications such as SheKnows and Insider. I share about my son's journey through a neurological speech disorder and multiple psychiatric disorders...so I've ended up in conversation with complete strangers who see their own family in mine. But I can't say the same (yet?) about my pieces for literary magazines, beyond people I know putting a like or writing a short comment on social media after I share the piece.
This might be a topic for another day...but I'm curious if anyone else is frustrated/puzzled/annoyed by friends and family members who don't comment, or even acknowledge, when you're shared a new piece. I understand not everyone may be comfortable with offering an opinion on something like poetry, but it doesn't take much energy or interest in writing even to simply say congratulations. I've learned to manage my expectations when it comes to sharing my work with certain people and I do have writer friends who respond appropriately, but it still bugs me. How do you all handle this?
this is lovely! feel compelled to point out that morgan cipres is a convicted sexual abuser but they were massive in their prime, and i've always felt like being a top level athlete must come with some strange and special kind of emotion and rawness. i don’t know, something in the glory and the competition and the transcience of it all
I love your blogs and your interviews with editors. This question about sharing our work and what it really means reminds me of a poet friend who always shares on Facebook when he hears his work has been accepted by a journal and then later posts the link (if there is one) when the work is published. This gives him the opportunity to hear from those most likely to comment, people who know him. The usefulness of having a link makes me prefer online publications (or those that are both print and online) versus print only for my own submissions.
You never write a boring post, Becky: I know because each time my 'little grey cells', old as they may be, are stimulated to wider thoughts! [We are also quasi-neighbors it seems, as I live 10 miles from Philly in South Jersey.] As writers, we'll never know how many people have read something we've created, nor of those, how many have found meaning particular to their own lives. [Perhaps we should include our email addresses with the bios, but that could open up a whole other can of worms....] I did hear back from an editor of one of the lit mags I've been published in that she had a poem, 'Quintessence of Dust', from my 1st book, The Enormity of Existence, read by the minister at her mother's funeral. [the poem celebrates how remarkable it is to be 'sentient matter', as in the opening lines: ' We are the moving dust, we are the breathing dust, we are the seeing dust, we are the living dust.' ]
And one of my doctors told me he read to his young daughter another poem in that collection, 'A Child's Christmas Carol', which is about the wonder that is childhood---a true magic. If we are fortunate, our writing will precipitate many more little 'miracles of transcendence', and it doesn't matter if we never know about them-- because we already know--we knew when the words were born in our souls, to travel from that uterus called the unconscious into the light of the conscious mind, given birth in a world ever famished for meaning....
That was truly beautiful. Thanks so much for sharing. And yes, I am now going to follow my dreams and become a figure skater. : )
In the meantime, whenever I've gotten something published and a reader has reached out to me it was always so surprising and uplifting and helpful. We write in these vacuums and to hear back just makes your day/week/month/year.
The most surprising and shocking and eye-opening thing to come from anything I've written was when, in the most unlikely way and a full year after the fact, I found out a one-woman, one-act play I'd written so many years earlier and let go of entirely had surfaced in a small rural theater and had ended up providing a family there who'd lost their daughter (she'd played the role) much comfort. One of my big themes is we just have to do our work, whatever comes of it, and even if we never know what comes of it. I feel obnoxious leaving a link and don't expect anyone to click through, but if someone wants here's an essay I wrote about the experience that Notre Dame Magazine published in 2016. https://magazine.nd.edu/stories/gifts-opened-later/
Thank you for sharing this, Steve--it's the perfect essay in response to Becky's post. Such a beautiful experience--it brought me to tears.
Thanks so much, Debra. It was all so unlikely, and I just feel extremely lucky I was able to find out about it. It really shifted my faith as far as the importance of what we do - each and every one of us.
I always enjoy your musings... so much like what goes on with my own "inner dialog" (which I've only learned in recent years is not necessarily commonplace. I shudder at the idea of a silent mind). The grace of these performers had me transfixed, but its synergy was inspiring. Independent and interdependent of one another, aware of themselves but equally aware of the other. Each with their own strength and purpose... Ideally this is the type of balance to strive for in all our own relationships, eh?
That is an amazing video!! Two things that stood out to me, beyond the perfection of their performance, was that this was an interracial couple, which, with all the hate and polarization in our society right now, I found incredibly inspiring and hopeful. Almost brought me to tears, really. And the fact that the performance was shot in black and white gave it a timeless quality that transcends this moment in our history.
In terms why I write and the connections that come from it, I think of something that Francis Bacon, the English philosopher and statesmen once said and why he wrote in Latin. I'm paraphrasing here, but he said he felt writing in Latin was like launching a boat on the sea of time. The writer never knows when and under what circumstances something may be read. By writing in Latin he felt had the best chance of his work surviving the test of time. I'm really NOT comparing myself to Francis Bacon, but the point that has stayed with me is a writer never knows who will read his or her work, what the impact may be, or when that will happen. I think my published fiction actually has the most impact (at least that I've seen) on people/friends I know. The fact that it's been published somehow validates it in their eyes. I think these people see me a bit differently, both because of the content and that it's been published. That said, it's certainly not the primary reason I write. I write because it's the only way I feel complete.
One final thought: Harvard Review Editor Christina Thompson, in the interview that Becky did with her earlier this week, advised that writers submit pieces to the lit mag and just forget about it, since the review process can take so long. She recounted that reaction of a writer who submitted an essay that sat in the slush pile for a year and a half, and Christina considered it a gem that she wanted to publish when she finally read it. When she reached out to the writer, the writer said she had "completely forgotten about it." I don't know that I would react quite the same way, but I admire her nonetheless for holding it that way.
“I got birthday cards this year from people I’d never heard of. It’s weird, isn’t it? There are people I’ve really touched whom I’ll never know.” —Bob Dylan, age 23, quoted in 1964 New Yorker profile
I wrote & published a piece online about visiting a family member in jail, someone who is mentally ill. It was a very difficult piece to write, and took 8 yrs to find a home. Comments I received made me feel a little less isolated in dealing with the situation, and, it seems my story was helpful to others as well.
That's perserverence! Impressive, Marianne.
Thanks for this post and this video. The performance brought me to tears--so elegant, so beautiful, so in sync with each other, fluid, melting into each other.
Just this morning I wanted to contact a poet whose poem I read in Kenyon Review to tell her how much I liked it. I couldn't find any contact information for her.
Oh, that's lovely, Barbara. You might try sending a message to the editors to see if they can forward it to her. I'm sure she would love to hear that you connected to her work.
Thanks--great idea! I just sent a note.
Which raises the question ... should lit mags do more to help readers connect / follow / support the individual writers?
That’s about as incredible and flawless as skating gets. Excellent music choice too. But as a Canadian it’s my duty to point out that Vanessa James is a Canadian skater, though she has represented France and the UK in the past.
Oh thanks for the correction, Paul!
such an incredibly beautiful five minutes. The song is simple and pure, and the routine, for all its virtuosity, also conveys simplicity and purity. No sequins on the costumes. Such a beautiful routine, so moving, and then when she smiles in relief towards the end you think of their hours of work, and they skate together--just stunning. Thanks! I guess you, Becky, once reached out when you reviewed a mag I was in. An agent did once, but didn't take the work when I sent more in. But I agree with Steve, we do this because we like to and don't worry about what comes of it.
This happened this week. I published an appreciation for a writer I really admire and it occurred to me to send it to their agent in the hope that the writer might see it and know that someone out there thinks they are the best. (Not that they don't already know that, of course.) The agent wrote back "Marvelous! Thank you so much for sharing this." It made me feel seen and appreciated in my appreciation!
Straight away, the Disturbed video version of The Sound of Silence is INCREDIBLE. I just want to point that out. It's a fantastic song and the singer's rendition of it is AMAZING!
So. These skaters - oh MY!! Holy CRAP!! Grace and majesty and style and power and beauty. I have already shared the video with my sister and without doubt, be watching it again and again.
I love your thoughts, Becky, about our human need and compulsion to share our thoughts, our joys, our concerns, our accomplishments, our grievances with the world writ large. We all seek camaraderie and vindication, though I have known a few people over the years who deny just that. No matter. I believe it to be true of every single one of us.
It is what drives me to write, to journal, to seek outlets to share my voice. And yet, the longer I experience the frustrations of rejection and navigating the world of submitting my poetry, I do enjoy the satisfaction of reading my own works - with joy! - and being at peace when I feel a connection to what I have created. It doesn't always satisfy, true, but often, it is enough.
I’ve been overwhelmed by the community of writers I’ve found here on Substack. Basically, I write about the struggles of writing, and to share those struggles with others has been amazing. Not to mention, the discussion and enthusiasm in the comments keeps me going, giving me confidence, making me feel like I’m not alone -- which is something I knew, but it’s different when you can actually interact with others in the same boat
Back in 2018-2019 I was publishing short stories through the lit publications on Medium, (Lit Up, Literally Literary, PS I Love You, The Junction). I started doing it because I was impatient and unsure of myself. I'd just written the first couple short stories that I thought were genuinely good, and I didn't want to wait through the slow (and, frankly, anachronistic) submission process of regular mags just to get a lot of form rejections.
What I found, at the time, was great: stats on readership, plus claps, comments, and my favorite, highlighted passages by readers. I also got tagged as a "top writer" in fiction a couple of times. This feedback kept me publishing there instead of submitting to "real" journals and mags.
Sadly, in late 2019, Medium changed the payment model and the lit scene there collapsed, and the experience isn't nearly so fun or gratifying now, and I'm looking at starting to submit to those "real" mags again. (I don't actually think they're any more real.) But my feelings about the process haven't changed, and I doubt I'll get the same kind of feedback from readers that I got in the beginning on Medium.
About six months ago I revisited an online journal that had published one of my poems, and I found that a reader had left a comment -- nothing earth shattering, just a clear indication that the poem had truly connected with him on a pretty deep level. I was surprised and deeply touched. It wasn't a matter of ego fulfillment, although my ego needs are vast and voracious. It was a simple, pure moment of human connection. I touched him, he touched me. Since that time I have made it a habit, when I find a poem that connects with me, to try to message the poet a brief note of gratitude -- something I don't think writers generally get enough of. Their responses have been warm and sincere.
I used to joke about the ability I have to make people cry, with a toast or a sappy poem -- "Making someone cry is how I know I'm alive!!" It doesn't have to be tears, obviously. It can be laughter or revelation or even fear. But that shared moment of emotion exchanged is what, to me, enriches life. Writing is communication, after all. It's one of many tools we have to be human together.
Thanks, Becky, for the video. Now I'm going to go weep in the bathroom...
Gosh, Becky. Your posts always make me laugh and sometimes want to cry (I can’t actually cry, usually, but the impulse is there). Maybe this performance got to you because it’s an example of art plus technique plus intention plus delivery turned into perfection. It’s such a rare feat (the Jennifer Eagan of figure skating!) Blissfully, most of us manage to make connections at a much lower level of commitment.
The most surprising/ meaningful connection I made through writing came not from a published post but a private, monthlong exchange I had with a young student of mine; we were both going through horrible times and found solace in relating our troubles irreverently. Quality over quantity, I think. Find one passionate reader and write for them.
The reader connection, the imagined reader, these things can be as simple as hoping there’s someone out there who likes what we like, that when we write something funny, they find it funny, when we write something sad, ditto, and not cringe or roll their eyes or recall the line attributed to Oscar Wilde (“One must have a heart of stone to read the death of Little Nell without laughing”).
In a Donald Barthelme retrospective in a recent New Republic, I saw this:
“Friends recalled that when he wrote, he typed away happily, laughing out loud as he wrote; and it is one of the pleasures of reading him that our pleasures feel like they’re being shared with the now dead author.”
Reading that, it’s easier to picture the writer who wrote the following bits in his 1963 story, “Florence Green Is 81”:
“When she asked him what he did Baskerville identified himself as an American weightlifter and poet (that is to say: a man stronger and more eloquent than other men).”
“I spotted you for a weightlifter,” Joan says. “But not for a poet,” Baskerville replies. “What have you written?” she asks. “Mostly I make remarks,” I say. “Remarks are not literature,” she says. “Then there’s my novel,” I say, “it will be twelve years old Tuesday.” “Published?” she asks. “Not finished,” I say, “however it’s very violent and necessary.”
Baskerville is also attending the Famous Writers School:
‘His examiner...said severely: “Baskerville, you blank round, discursiveness is not literature.” “The aim of literature,” Baskerville replied grandly, “is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart.”’
Barthelme and his contemporaries, many of whom also created strange, funny objects:
https://biblioklept.org/2020/01/29/photograph-from-the-postmodernists-dinner-jill-krementz
I love this post, Becky, thank you. I shared the skating video with my partner/boyfriend who used to compete as a figure skater--I was dazzled; he admired it too.
To me, there's nothing better than finding out my writing has reached someone and made a difference in their life. I had an essay in Herstry that helped several women who'd had bad relationships. I'm not the only one! https://herstryblg.com/theme/2020/11/25/burned
Great essay, Debra!
Thank you, Colette!
@Matt Zamudio
I appreciate those lit mags that hold public readings (preferably over Zoom) when they're launching new issues.
Interesting. That seems good, but probably less-than user friendly for most. It would be nice if they had a list of contributors including an email address / social media handle / url or whatever the author prefers
When I read something I love, I like to follow the writer personally -- which is something you can do in the internet age
What if they have no website or a presence on amazon?
Some lit mags do insist on social media and other contact info.
Then just their email
Great video of a beautiful performance. The most striking part was hearing “The Sounds of Silence” sung by someone other than Simon & Garfunkel. That was just crazy.
And good that the song is dubbed so we don’t hear the audience until the very end. Invariably when that song is played, whether recorded or live, when it gets to the line “ten thousand people, maybe more” the audience will respond like it’s about them.
Right after I read your newsletter, Becky, I read this both sad and funny story about a writer doing a signing in a Sam's Club for her debut novel so I thought I'd share since it's related to the theme.
https://lithub.com/remembering-the-worst-book-signing-ever/
“Get some toilet paper,” Dave said. “We’re low.”
What a story! Thanks for sharing, Stanley.
I got it from Rebecca Makkai who shared it yesterday on the Twitter.
You are right! The video is amazing!
I have one of those that I've watched over and over and over again... and sometimes I watch humans do things that are extraordinary and I marvel that we're the same species as I cannot imagine my body or mind doing anything close to what they're accomplishing.
Thank you for sharing and for reflecting on the power of sharing. I think it's such a basic human need... we talk about shared attention in child development and how that is how we grow and learn - beyond just connection, it's how we make sense of the world, how we create shared meaning.
And the story of the art intern and your story?! Love that!!!
Professionals are always spotted in their hard won ability to make the difficult look simple. In that sense they have already endeared themselves to us.
The fluid movement of each skater corresponds intimately with their companion as we watch them, communicating nonverbally with each other and, consequently, us much the same way as two actors in a classic movie convey emotion to each audience member.
Fantastic skating!
I get the same WOW feeling after watching Vera Ellen dance in “White Christmas”. Incredible.
Becky ! Thank you so much for that lovely post of the skating professionals - it’s truly inspiring like you mentioned and I shared it on FB. Something akin to expressing the wonder and joy of being human … sharing, hoping, believing ♥️♥️♥️Thank you for reminding me …
I have had readers reach out to me regarding essays I've written for consumer publications such as SheKnows and Insider. I share about my son's journey through a neurological speech disorder and multiple psychiatric disorders...so I've ended up in conversation with complete strangers who see their own family in mine. But I can't say the same (yet?) about my pieces for literary magazines, beyond people I know putting a like or writing a short comment on social media after I share the piece.
This might be a topic for another day...but I'm curious if anyone else is frustrated/puzzled/annoyed by friends and family members who don't comment, or even acknowledge, when you're shared a new piece. I understand not everyone may be comfortable with offering an opinion on something like poetry, but it doesn't take much energy or interest in writing even to simply say congratulations. I've learned to manage my expectations when it comes to sharing my work with certain people and I do have writer friends who respond appropriately, but it still bugs me. How do you all handle this?
That video was so beautiful I could have cried. Great, thoughtful post, Becky. As usual.
I’ve watched this video now twenty times! Thanks, Becky!
this is lovely! feel compelled to point out that morgan cipres is a convicted sexual abuser but they were massive in their prime, and i've always felt like being a top level athlete must come with some strange and special kind of emotion and rawness. i don’t know, something in the glory and the competition and the transcience of it all
Yikes, thanks for sharing that, Meagan. I had no idea.
I love your blogs and your interviews with editors. This question about sharing our work and what it really means reminds me of a poet friend who always shares on Facebook when he hears his work has been accepted by a journal and then later posts the link (if there is one) when the work is published. This gives him the opportunity to hear from those most likely to comment, people who know him. The usefulness of having a link makes me prefer online publications (or those that are both print and online) versus print only for my own submissions.