Author Archives: Marilyn Cavicchia

A Not-So-Designing Woman

When I started this blog, it was with somewhat mercenary intentions. My husband and I had just fallen off the same cliff as a bajillion other Americans, in that his unemployment benefits were about to run out, with no job in sight (and no extension this time).

So I was going to be the family hero, riding in with my red pen to rescue us all by building a freelance editing and writing business — in my spare time. And … I was going to do that using the power of SEO. Someone had told me blog posts were really great for that, because each one is a new shot at climbing that Google ladder. I was going to build a great website, blog a lot, have the two things play off each other, and BOOM! Skyrockets!

Well.

What’s happened since is that I’ve been enjoying blogging about writing, and reading other people’s blog posts about writing, and about editing. And about reading. You get the drift. I’ve been enjoying it so much that the Designing Women-type business-getting drive, at least in terms of this blog, is all but gone (seriously, I envisioned myself in the shoulder pads).

So much for SEO mastery.

And yet, it’s all working, somehow. I do get freelance assignments — through good, old-fashioned word of mouth. All have been interesting, all have taught me new things — and just when I wonder when/if a new one will arrive, sure enough, it does. I am profoundly grateful.

But … If you need an editor or writer, please do let me know. My assignments thus far have run the gamut from academic proofreading to manuscript revision of all types to simply sharing some tips with an aspiring poet and nonfiction essayist.

I would particularly love to find more creative writing clients. I can proofread, give you an honest opinion, share some thoughts on where you might submit your work, and generally be your editor friend (well, OK, a friend whom you pay) who knows how it is because she’s also a writer. If that interests you, please let me know.

And if not, then please do stick around and I’ll get back to blogging about writing soon. As a matter of fact, I’m taking off my shoulder pads right now. Ahh, that’s better. Those things get heavy, you know.

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A Thank-You to Some of My Trail Guides

I have often said that I’ll know I’ve made it when I see my name in Poet’s Market. No, not in an interview or other feature, accompanied by a suitably poetic-looking headshot … in the actual listings, where the publications name a few poets whose work they have published recently. It would be maybe a little spooky to see my name there, but it would also be really, really thrilling.

I have a long history with Poet’s Market. I may have bought my first one while I was still in high school. I know I had at least one when I was in college. I would read through all the different listings and dream, and sometimes submit poems — and once or twice, I actually got something published.

Then came the long fallow period after college. When I wasn’t writing for a grade anymore, when no one particularly cared whether I wrote poetry or not, I found it very difficult to keep doing it. I threw my energies into other things, some more worthy than others. The career-marriage-family nexus I don’t regret at all, but if I had diverted some of my attention away from horrible/engrossing daytime TV or obsessive, but not so skillful crafting, who knows what great poems I could have written during that lull, which lasted more than a decade?

I know there were at least a couple of times during those years when I bought the latest Poet’s Market but didn’t use it. It felt good, anyway, just to have it around — as if I might need it again someday. Once my writing life was restarted in earnest, I knew just what I needed to get, and I continue to buy the new one when it comes out in the fall.

I highlight, cross out, star, and otherwise make a path through the listings — a path that becomes a rough plan for where I’ll submit in the coming year. I divert from the path as needed, and sometimes I scrap the plan completely and start another one. Lately, I have been putting little hearts, in highlighter, by the publications that have accepted my work. Yes, really.

On my many trips through Poet’s Market, there are certain poets whose names I encounter over and over, and whose names have become indicators for me. That is, if I see a certain name listed, I have a sense that the publication is looking for the kind of work that I enjoy — and that maybe it would be a good home for my poems, too.

Now that I’m having a measure of success, I sometimes discover that one or more of these indicator poets is in the same publication and same issue that I am. I love it when that happens. I don’t personally know any of these poets, but I feel as if I do, and I want to thank them for helping me find my way in:

Lyn Lifshin

Ruth Moon Kempher (Hey, look — Lyn Lifshin is there, too.)

B.Z. Niditch

Virgil Suarez

Please know that I’m not saying my own work is comparable to any of theirs. It’s just that nine times out of ten, when I see one of their names, it leads me to a publication that I am glad to know about and enjoy reading — whether or not it ultimately accepts any of my work.

Maybe someday, I’ll join my indicator poets in those Poet’s Market listings. Until then, it is always a pleasure to read their work, and a special thrill whenever our paths cross in the pages of a literary publication.

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Cover Me

I’ve chosen the poems to send to one of the publications I had in mind, and now I *just* have to write the cover letter. Well … that, and do a little more editing, print the poems again, stare at them for a while longer, and carry them around with me until I’m sick of them and myself. This will involve reading poetry on public transit — my own poetry, no less — which always makes me feel a bit effete, and as if I’m hoping someone will notice. Which I’m not. Really.

But I digress … What I was going to say is that I find cover letters really difficult to write. I know they won’t make or break anything, but I fear sounding like a total jackass, and then this really might jaundice the editors’ view of my work. Will my attempt to sound humble and normal instead come across as false modesty and tweeness? Now that I have some publishing credits, how many of them can I armor myself with to make the point that other people think I’m good — or at least, have thought so in the past (butmaybemybestworkisbehindmeandI’llneverpublishanotherthing)? Past a certain point, a long string of credits must look pretty desperate, as if you believe your work can’t stand on its own. <Cough> And I don’t feel that way at all.

Writers, do you find cover letters difficult, too? Editors, what makes a good one?

And what better way to end a post on cover letters than with a list of credits? Thank you very much to the following publications, which will always hold a special place in my heart (evenifIcan’taffordtosubscribetothem AND eveniftheyhavesubsequentlyrejectedme — what’supwiththat?):

Nibble

Literary Mama

Alimentum:The Literature of Food

the Aurorean

The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review

Cider Press Review (upcoming)

Exit 13 (upcoming)

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I’m not writing — and I love it!

I am now deep into another submitting phase, which means I temporarily have zero interest in writing any new poems because I am so wrapped up with looking back at the ones I’ve written in recent months, and with trying to find good homes for them  — and for some that previously came back rejected but that seem to deserve another chance.

When I first got restarted writing poetry, I feared this phase. Why did I no longer feel like writing? What if I never wrote again? But now I know better than to fear it — or fight it. When I try to write during a submitting phase, the lack of engagement with what I’m doing is very apparent. It is all too clear that I’m not doing what I really want to do, which is to take another flip through Poet’s Market, get some sample copies of publications I haven’t read before, and start sending things out.

Both phases have their appeal, and each has different things that make them exciting. During the submitting phase, I love reading different publications, admiring what other poets have written, and getting a sense of whether I can imagine certain of my poems in those pages, too. I love dithering around and agonizing over which poems to send to a particular publication. I love making myself so crazy that I eventually have to pull the trigger and just send it already. And then I love the time of possibility, when every day might bring an acceptance in my mailbox — virtual or actual. That I sometimes (often) get the opposite result doesn’t dampen my excitement … or at least, not by much.

Here are a few places to which I’ve already sent poems, or intend to soon:

Blood Orange Review

The Dirty Napkin

5 AM Poetry

Pearl

As for writing, the only thing I’m doing, really, is following Robert Lee Brewer’s weekly prompts — because I love them, and the community that convenes at his blog on Wednesdays.

Other than that, I am reveling in not writing a single thing. Little whiffs of ideas come up from time to time, and I feel wonderfully, luxuriously lazy because I don’t try to chase them and wrestle them into words. Why? Because I’m in a submitting phase. It feels like I’m gorging on cake frosting — and like this is totally OK.

But when you eat a lot of sweet, empty stuff, eventually it gets to be too much, and then a salad tastes really good to you again. April will bring another Poem-a-Day Challenge. Until then, I’m really enjoying March. More frosting, please!

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It’s gettin’, it’s gettin’, it’s gettin’ kinda hectic

First of all, I should say that I did eventually finish the bird puzzle. It took me almost a month, sometimes only a couple of pieces a day. What finally pushed it over the edge (ha — remember how I said I should have done the edge first?) was a combination of factors: 1) A friend posted on Facebook that it was National Puzzle Day. 2) I was getting ready to go out of town, and my husband said the puzzle could not remain sprawled all over a giant corkboard on top of our coffee table while I was gone. 3) When I made a motion to take the puzzle apart, since the whole thing was ridiculous and also not fun anymore, my daughter told me very firmly that I just needed to “believe in myself” and then I’d be able to finish it. Also that she knew I could do it. #$@^ the adorable optimism of the young! Of course I had to finish it then. J was kind enough to help me. We stayed up until 2 or so — more like National Puzzle Morning After, then. This actually felt much better than just taking it apart.

Around that same time, I was also working on a giant editing project — a history of an alternative high school here in Chicago. I actually just finished it tonight, after a couple of rounds, both before and after my trip. I had wanted to really push hard and finish the whole thing before I left, but it became clear really wouldn’t serve the project well. Some things demand a little pause in between, and New Orleans certainly provided that. The heyday for this high school was in the ’70s, and it turns out that though I am much (much!) younger than those who graduated in that era, I actually know two of them. It was fun to get a glimpse of their high school experiences — and because I spent a lot of time with their stories, I feel like I came to know many of the other students, too. There’s a copy of the school newspaper from “back in the day” online, and I might spend a little time with it to ease my withdrawal.

My next project is much shorter — proofing an article for an academic journal. I have been very fortunate so far, in that just as one thing wraps up, another one presents itself. Here’s hoping that continues.

With the full press of a big project plus travel plus work plus family (and my birthday, and two colds — book-ending my trip — and and and), it’s been somewhat hard to prioritize my own writing. Not so much the actual writing, which I compel myself to do on most days (though I did lapse while in NOLA), but the revising and submitting. It requires a different frame of mind, and I feel like I’m clicking among so many different frames already, and super super fast.

Speaking of super fast, though, February is flying, and there’s a deadline I’d hate to miss. Alimentum arrived just in time to remind me that it feels really, really good to be published. If that’s not enough of a spur, maybe I can call on my daughter for a pep talk. And after that, maybe I’ll start another puzzle.

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Don't Do All the Birds First

I love jigsaw puzzles and hadn’t done one in a while. My daughter and I turned over all the pieces and separated out the edge ones. Then we started making birds.

At midnight last night, my husband asked if I realized I’d done everything except for a) the edges and b) anything else that was all blue, with no distinguishing marks. Oops.

I’d meant to do only a few birds and then complete those edges, like a good puzzler. Honestly, I thought that’s what I’d done. Instead, I’d gotten so carried away with birds — with the “fun part” — that I’d forgotten the less fun structural work.

Writing is that way, too. By all means, make birds and keep it fun — but don’t completely forget your structure along the way (unless, of course, this is part of your creative process).

Believe me, it’s intimidating to go back later and try to build in the structure once all the fun parts are done. Wish me luck with this sea of blue!

Don’t Do All the Birds First

Don't Do All the Birds First

I love jigsaw puzzles and hadn’t done one in a while. My daughter and I turned over all the pieces and separated out the edge ones. Then we started making birds.

At midnight last night, my husband asked if I realized I’d done everything except for a) the edges and a) anything else that was all blue, with no distinguishing marks. Oops.

I’d meant to do only a few birds and then complete those edges, like a good puzzler. Honestly, I thought that’s what I’d done. Instead, I’d gotten so carried away with birds — with the “fun part” — that I’d forgotten the less fun structural work.

Writing is that way, too. By all means, make birds and keep it fun — but don’t completely forget your structure along the way (unless, of course, this is part of your creative process).

Believe me, it’s intimidating to go back later and try to build in the structure once all the fun parts are done. Wish me luck with this sea of blue!

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Submitting a Chapbook, Mourning a Chapbook

Well, I finally did it … I submitted my chapbook based on poems I wrote in November. It wasn’t even due yet — I had until midnight on the 31st. But I didn’t want it hanging around any longer. Or did I?

I’ve been carrying it around for days now, reading it over and over, marking it up, printing it out again. And repeat. Part of me was very ready to let it go, but part of me wanted to hang on to it … possibly forever? 

(By the way, I think that’s what was behind the grammar quandary I posted about early this morning … I ended up reverting back to my original and like it so much better. And then it was time to let … it … go.)

While I still had my manuscript — and was the only person who had it — I could polish it and love it as much as I wanted. The only critic it faced was me, and I was fairly kind to it. Now it goes out into the world to compete against so many others — the works not only of the other poets who posted their efforts throughout November, but of those who (perhaps wisely) eschewed the public display aspect and held them back. Who knows how many of them there are, and what utterly devastating poems they wrote? I don’t know … and it bothers me.

As I am putting something like this together, and while I await word about a judge’s decision, I always feel as if I have permission to hold certain hopes for it. Again, I can still love it. When a chapbook comes back rejected (as all of them have so far), it’s as if it ceases to exist. I don’t reread it and wonder what I ever saw in it — I just don’t reread it. Ever. I just shrug and move on.

A certain measure of that is normal, even healthy, if you are writing regularly. When you are first getting started, or restarted, each poem feels precious. Whether or not it is accepted feels like do or die, because you truly are not sure whether you will ever write anything that fine again. Or anything at all. When you’ve been going pretty steadily for awhile, as I have now, the momentum doesn’t give you much time to feel downhearted over your rejections. That’s a blessing.

But I wonder, at times, whether I’m too quick to mentally file those efforts in a reject box and say it’s because I’m moving on to other, better things. If I were honest with myself, might I acknowledge that part of it is the bad habit, well known among writers, of accepting the opinion of one editor, judge, or critic as the last word — especially when that last word is no? 

Maybe my next step as a writer is to learn to love my best efforts (not blindly, you understand — I’m talking about something akin to parental love here … wherein you love them, faults and all, and seek to help them improve where they can) even when they do come limping back home.

Maybe I’ll work on that between now and February 2 — that’s when I’m supposed to hear back about this chapbook.

 

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What I Really Need Is Subject-Verb Agreement

A poem of mine has a line in it that begins, “What I really need to save are breaths” I just spent many insomniac minutes trying to convince myself anew that it shouldn’t be, “What I really need to save is …” even though breaths is plural. It just looked so wrong. After consulting several grammar sites, I mostly had to concede — but I was still trying to fabricate exceptions. Somehow, it seemed different because the sentence began with “what.”

Then I tried a trick I taught a GED student I tutored years ago: Flip it around. Would you say, “Breaths is what I really need to save”? Well, no. But now, as I type this, it looks wrong all over again. Perhaps I should go back to bed. What I really need is/am/are sleep.

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Chapbook Challenge

I now have 20 poems, edited and binder-clipped. Are they the best 20 that I wrote in November as part of the Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge? I have no idea — but there they are, clipped together in such a fashion that I can flip through them like a book and see which poems will pair up on opposite pages. The next step is for me to carry around this binder-clipped wad for a few days, read through it until I’m sick of it, maybe make a few more edits, print the whole thing out again (sorry, Earth), probably undo some of my edits, and then finally send it off. Will this be my first chapbook that actually gets published? I don’t know … but as always, the work of putting it together has been a good exercise.

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