The Introvert Reads; or, How I'm Spending My Summer Vacation

Happy summer! Though we haven't technically changed seasons yet, I've already been having post-school adventures. I visited Las Vegas, a weird and wonderful place, and have been working hard learning the ins and outs of Natural Bridge in order to take the Managing Editor helm come August. For anyone interested in checking out the journal I'll be yammering about for the next year, you can pick up the brand new, brightly colored Issue 27 at Left Bank (and hopefully at other indies, soon) or subscribe for only $10.

I've been writing new stuff, some of it workable, some of it bad, some of it scrapped completely. I'm writing consistently, though, and overjoyed about it. I've also been revising older pieces in preparation for the submission process. I haven't tallied up near enough rejections for my liking, and will start adding to my collection again soon.

I'm most excited, though, by how much I've been reading. In previous summers, I pushed reading aside to focus more on writing (and working and sleeping), but I seem to have found a balance, and have been devouring books weekly, delving into as many as three at a time. I've been exploring genres I've regrettably ignored as of late - Young Adult, Sci-Fi, and Non-Fiction, to name a few. Here's a rundown of some of what I've finished, and a Twitter-esque (though I don't actually have a Twitter; the whole thing still sort of baffles me) reaction to each:

The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson - Stunning storytelling, elegant prose, fascinating subject matter. Up there with The Tiger's Wife as one of my favorite pieces of new fiction. Has a sense of grandeur about it that one of my classmates compared to a superhero story. A reminder to myself that, in my own writing, I cannot be afraid to be bold.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green - Fun and funny and I bawled like a baby. Had real truths packed within witty dialogue and whirlwind adventures in Amsterdam. Not quite as enthralling as others described it, yet I'm not the target audience. Made me excited to delve further into the YA genre if it's this much fun; suggestions?

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf - Deeply interior, strikingly insightful, languid in its prose, and my lord was it tedious. Universal and profound in its truths, but not engaging storytelling. Glad I read it, and glad I earmarked the good bits so I don't have to read it again. 

Surprisingly, though, the book I most enjoyed was a work of non-fiction: Susan Cain's Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. I've been in the midst of what one of my fiction professors likes to call the "quarter-life crisis" - that time in your early twenties when you start seriously angsting about who you are and what you're doing with your life. I won't go on about it at length, because it's boring to those not currently experiencing it (a fact I must remember when trying to write stories about it), but I do want to discuss my struggle with introversion, and how this book helped me.

Before reading Cain's book, I didn't realize I was an introvert. I was a self-described "awkward writer type," though I've quickly come to realize not all writers are awkward, and not all awkward writers are awkward in the same way. I knew I struggled in some social situations, but not all. I relished alone time, found the idea of going out to a bar after a long day exhausting, but craved companionship. I was quiet at times, but not afraid to speak out at others. I made excuses for my perceived faults. "I'm sick," I would say to get out of certain social functions. I would cite writing or work as the reason for my early departure from parties and other gatherings. But I pushed myself to attend and mingle, to stay out late and drink and laugh just as much as, if not more than, the others (if you think writers don't have social lives, you're horribly mistaken).

All this started to take a toll on me. I got quieter. I was irritable, anxious, and constantly tired. I struggled to come to terms with, what I thought was, my "outsider" personality. Then I read Cain's book, and my self-confidence rose astronomically. I came to understand my personality, put a name to it - introvert - and realized it was not a damning title, a box to be shut into; rather, introversion describes a wide range of personality traits, many of which I have.

I strongly related to Cain's idea of the "high-reactive" child. The book speaks at length about psychological studies claiming babies and children who reacted dramatically to stimuli - crying at popped balloons, for instance - often grew into introverted adults. As a child, I was the kid shoving my fingers in my ears, not only during fireworks and buzzers, but in anticipation of such events (much to my family's embarrassment). I was afraid of both noise and surprise. Quiet's cited studies in high-reactivity reassured me that my introversion was not a mistake made somewhere in adolescence, but, perhaps, a born characteristic.

I also appreciated Cain's notion that introverts desperately need recharging. This seems like a fairly simple idea, but Cain recognizes that, when so many things demand your attention - work, school, friends, family, your own brain - it's hard to say "no." Quiet taught me it's both necessary and okay to say no sometimes, for my own mental well-being. I don't have to be the life of the party; I can be if I want, but I don't have to. This somewhat basic revelation has done wonders for me. I've learned to balance my social time with recharge time - curling up in the solitude of my room with a good book, for example - and not feel guilty about it. For anyone who struggles with their own introversion, or for any extrovert who struggles to understand their introverted friends, I can't recommend this book enough.

I plan to do more of these Twitter-style and in-depth book reviews in the future, so stay tuned. Here's my (tentative) reading schedule:

Currently Reading - Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo, A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin (seriously, check out his webpage; it's a showcase of 90's web design horror), and Blankets by Craig Thompson.

On Deck - The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides, The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker, and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl by Jesse Andrews.

Until next time!

Meet Me In The Bookstore: The St. Louis Literary Underground

I moved to St. Louis from Ft. Wayne, Indiana when I was eight years old. Well, technically that’s not true. I moved across the river from St. Louis, to a small Southern Illinois town, but we metro-area dwellers are like Chicago suburbanites – it’s much easier to say we’re from the city than face the constant perplexed expressions we get when we say the actual names of our tiny towns. But for all intents and purposes, I considered St. Louis home.  We crossed the river weekly – for shopping, baseball games, the zoo, dinner, lower gas prices. The list goes on. So had anyone asked, “Do you know St. Louis well?” I would’ve said, “Of course. Absolutely. I’m there all the time.”

When I moved into the city last summer, though, I realized that for most of my life, I was nothing more than a glorified tourist. I knew the area around Busch Stadium like the back of my hand, sure, and I’d been in the Arch more times than strictly necessary. But there were many things about St. Louis culture I had yet to learn. I learned that, if you haven’t gotten your car broken into, you haven’t been properly welcomed into the city. I learned how to drive 70 like a native. I learned where the good Thai restaurants are, and which ones to avoid.  

I learned that St. Louis gets a lot of bad press. Much of it's warranted. Some of it's a little harsh. But I also learned something about St. Louis that surprised me: it has an extremely active literary community. When I started working at Left Bank, I was shocked at the amount of author events the store held each month. Even now, I’m continually impressed with the status and variety of authors welcomed by Left Bank to the city. A sneak peak at what’s upcoming: David Sedaris. Alison Bechdel. Vanessa Williams. John Smoltz. Buzz Bissinger. There’s something for everyone.

But what most impressed me about the St. Louis literary scene was how willing the supposedly competing indie bookstores were to work together to keep the scene not only alive, but thriving. About a year ago, my boss at Left Bank banded together with the owners of many of St. Louis’ other bookstores – Subterranean, Pudd’nhead, Dunaway, etc. – to create the St. Louis Independent Bookstore Alliance. I’ll let the alliance speak for itself:

The mission of the [...] Alliance is to provide St. Louis with a wide variety of independent bookstores, each specializing in their own passion for books, staffed by expert booksellers and stocked with the most amazing books; to support the creative and literary efforts in our city; to share our love of knowledge and storytelling; to not only keep up with the times, but to stay ahead of the curve so that our customers get the best service, the best events, and books that fill their souls. It advocates in a variety of ways on issues that affect independent bookstores.

Their website links you to blogs, reviews, maps, e-books, and a giant St. Louis literary calendar that combines events from all the area’s bookstores into one accessible location. They organized a ridiculously cool flash mob for World Book Night. These bookstores aren’t simply concerned about keeping their heads above water; instead, they’re taking it upon themselves to keep indie bookstores a vibrant and vital part of the community. This excellent article from The Riverfront Times sums it up perfectly. In the words of Abed Nadir, “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The bookstores aren’t the only ones contributing to St. Louis literary culture, though. There’s the Regional Arts Commission, whose Arts Zipper calendar links you to a plethora of literary events happening all over the city. There are new presses popping up all over the place, produing creative and beautiful work – a friend of mine is doing some awesome things with poetry as editor of Architrave Press. And UMSL’s own Graduate Writers Association (of which I’m the secretary – “like” us on Facebook!) brings in multiple exciting fiction writers and poets each semester, and always for free. This weekend, we’re bring fantastic up-and-coming fiction writer Caitlin Horrocks into town. I’ve just started reading her prize-winning collection, This Is Not Your City, and it’s pretty spectacular.

And that’s not the half of it. There are always exciting things going on in the St. Louis literary community, if you know where to look. We’re not Portland, but we don’t need to be. As the Indie Bookstore Alliance’s motto goes, “We are the literary underground, my friend.” We think small, but we’re growing. We are becoming more visible by the moment. We are overlooked. We are dismissed. But we’re here. And we’re not going anywhere.

March Madness

Hooray! It’s April!

Why such a good thing, you ask? Because March was crazy. Since AWP, my life has been nonstop stress and chaos and excitement. You might've wondered if I had, in fact, disappeared into that wormhole I mentioned (you probably didn’t, but I like to think you did). So this is just a life update – where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, what’s happened to me in the past month.

First off, I’ve been writing. Yes, yes, I know, I’m always supposed to be writing. But I’d been working on one particular story for about a year, revising extensively within the past few months. I’d gotten some generally positive feedback on the piece, and I felt confident the revisions I made would remedy many of the concerns raised in initial critiques. To put things bluntly, I was wrong. I’ll spare you the details – let’s just say there are significant problems, not only with the story, but the way in which I tend to construct stories, in general. Tough to swallow, but enlightening. I’m in a rut. So I’ve been tweaking my writing process, trying new things – less editing as I go, more thinking “outside the box,” more trust in my own instincts. But more importantly, I realize I need to write more. I need a routine. I’ve managed to get by on a fairly loose and irregular writing schedule. That’s all changing now. I’m going to sit down and write (prose!) every day. No exceptions. No excuses. This is the only way I’ll get better.

I've also been leading a workshop of about ten undergrads in a beginning fiction writing class. It’s awesome. They’re awesome. The best thing about UMSL’s undergrad writing classes (no disrespect to U of I’s; those classes changed my life) is that they’re electives – all students in the class enrolled because they wanted to, not because they’re required. This makes teaching them a lot of fun. They’re talkative and funny and say and write tons of interesting and smart things, and they’re making my semester much more enjoyable.

I became the new secretary of UMSL’s Graduate Writers Association ("like" us on Facebook!), which means you all get more information about awesome author events going on in St. Louis. Speaking of which, Caitlin Horrocks is coming to the Regional Arts Commission April 27^th at 7pm. I just got my hands on the galley for her collection, This Is Not Your City, and though I haven’t read it yet, a good friend of mine raves about her and her work. More info about that to come.

And last, but definitely not least. Last post, I mentioned a pretty awesome job I was applying for. That job was Managing Editor of UMSL’s literary journal, Natural Bridge, and I’m beyond excited to say I got the position. This is a really spectacular opportunity, because even before I applied to grad school, before I knew I wanted to study writing, I was interested in publishing and editing, and this is one of the best ways I can imagine to start learning the ins and outs of the industry. I can’t wait to get started, and I’ll definitely be sharing my experiences here.

So that’s a snapshot of my life since you heard from me last. Plans for April and beyond: rooting for the Blues in the playoffs, watching tons of Cardinal baseball, running a 5k in Champaign (my old college town), getting a new phone (finally), writingwritingwriting, and hopefully, staring on my summer project: reading one book a week until September. I’ll let you know how it goes…

Until next time!

AWP: A Retrospective (Part 2)

So I promised I’d post yesterday, but, well, I didn’t. See: multitude of jobs. But I did have a bit more time to decide what I wanted to say about, arguably, the most engrossing and enlightening part of the AWP conference…

The Bookfair

I work at a bookstore, so when I found out there would be a bookfair at AWP, I thought I knew what to expect: a roomful of tables, small stacks of books from different presses for purchase, a leisurely stroll through a corridor of literary journals. Ha. How wrong I was.

The AWP bookfair consisted of four giant hotel conference rooms full of tables, representing literary journals, MFA programs, small presses, and grant/fellowship programs from across the country. A good friend and I decided to brave the bookfair our first day, but ended up perusing only one room, walking down rows and rows of tables without stopping, overwhelmed, barraged with “swag” (pins, erasers, notepads, pens, etc.), calls for submissions, contest announcements, and occasionally, free journals (thanks, Lindenwood Review!). We both admitted it was a little frightening, but braced ourselves and returned the next day bolder, wiser, and ready to take advantage of all the bookfair had to offer.

A classmate of mine summed up the bookfair experience by saying it simultaneously made her feel better and worse about the chances of getting her stuff published, and I mostly agree. On one hand, you come to understand how much competition there is. You look around the room, and you see that everyone is like you, looking at the same journals, submitting to the same contests. You realize you are a better writer than some of them. You realize some of them are much, much better writers than you. You realize these journals only accept a few fiction pieces per issue. You must not only be better than the person standing next to you. You are one of thousands. You must be exceptional.

However, you look around the room, and you also see hundreds of tables of literary journals, all different, all searching for a variety of aesthetics, many finding new, creative ways to get your work to the masses. Hoot Review enticed us to their table with a giant dice game, and I won a free sample of their monthly magazine – one piece of “mini” poetry or prose printed on a beautiful postcard. We missed the University of New Orleans MFA program’s yo-yo contest, but got a free swag bag from their summer abroad program in Edinburgh. I bought a journal from the Cincinnati Review (one of my favorites) and got free journals from, among others, Crab Orchard, the Missouri Review, and the Mid-American Review, whose staff enthusiastically encouraged me to resubmit to their journal after I told them I was forced to withdraw my last piece. (I managed to refrain from informing the editors of the Missouri Review that they rejected one of my pieces, as I’ve heard some people tend to do at AWP. Yikes.) I also worked at the table for UMSL’s lit journal, Natural Bridge, and met a ton of really cool people.

So overall, I left the bookfair optimistic. I may have an obscene amount of competition, but it’s better to realize that sooner than later. I also realize I have options. So many options. If my work is good enough, it will find a home. It’s now my job to make sure the work is good enough.

Chicago Miscellany

• I've never seen/smelled a hotel room more disgusting than ours after eight people lived in it for five days.
• The Modern Wing of the Art Institute of Chicago is gorgeous.
• I can now hail a cab like a pro.
• If you've had your fill of Chicago style pizza, try Gyu-Kaku Japanese Barbecue (specifically the enoki mushrooms) and Jitlada Thai House.
• The University of Tampa knows how to make a bunch of awkward writer-types socialize: open bar. Liquor us up and let us dance. I danced so hard I got a mysterious wound on my forehead.
• Stop by George's Louge on Wabash. Awesome dive bar, jukebox, good strong drinks.
• I have very lustful feelings for the city, as a whole. It's big and loud and exciting. I always leave thinking, I could move here someday. But could lust turn to love? Would the feeling last? Chicagoans, what say you? 

In other random exciting life news: I'm applying for a pretty awesome job for next school year. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

AWP: A Retrospective (Part 1)

A little over a week ago, I stumbled off a bus downtown St. Louis, hauling a duffel bag, a backpack, and two totes full of lit journals – some I’d never heard of, some I dream of one day being published in. I was exhausted and disoriented and I smelled sort of bad, and I kept thinking to myself, Where am I? What day is it? Did I just disappear into an alternate dimension and emerge in a different time/place/reality?

Fear not, intrepid readers. I didn’t fall into a wormhole, nor did I hitchhike across the Midwest or get kidnapped by a band of rogue literati. I did, however, attend the AWP conference in Chicago, and the experience felt much like I would imagine getting dropped into an alternate reality would feel.

For those who don’t know, AWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) hosts an annual conference for writers, students, and teachers – and anyone, really, who wants to shell out the $230 non-member, non-student fee. AWP is Mecca for writers, and this year, Mecca came to Chicago. This was my first AWP conference, and I had no idea what to expect. This is what I experienced.

The Panels

First of all, the conference schedule is almost paralyzing in its number of options. There are over twenty panels you can attend during each hour-and-fifteen-minute block, with subjects ranging from “How to transition from short stories to novels” to “The business of publishing,” to “The poetry of the music video.” My initial game plan involved making myself a rigid schedule of panels to attend, and attending as many panels as possible. I quickly realized this was a stupid, if not impossible, plan.

The first panel I attended was the aforementioned “short story to novel,” in which I anticipated the speakers bestowing upon me some enlightening and specific advice on craft and the writing process. What I got was a mixed bag. Hannah Tinti, author of The Good Thief and editor-in-chief of One Story, was engaging and thoughtful and relatable. Kevin Wilson, author of the absolutely brilliant short story collection Tunneling to the Center of the Earth (seriously, stop what you’re doing and go read it now) and The Family Fang, was funny and charming and had many relevant experiences to share. But another author on the panel (whose name I can’t remember) talked mostly in abstractions, mentioning the cosmos and humanity’s shared neurological experience and a lot of other arty babble, which confused and disappointed me.

Many people already have this conception of writers as pretentious weirdos, sitting around waiting for the world to bestow inspiration upon them, until they vomit words onto a page. That’s not my experience at all. Yes, we are sort of weirdos, but we’re not vacantly sitting around waiting to become a vessel for literary genius. Writing is a craft, which requires a lot of practice, finessing, and working very hard on minor (and major) technical issues. It's not easy for us. Stories are like machines; if one part isn’t working, the entire contraption fails. If we didn’t practice, only waited for the next brilliant idea to come to us, we’d never get anything done.

That’s why I was so disappointed to see published and respected authors treating the writing process like some sort of mystic ritual. Not only does it perpetrate the stereotype, but it’s not helpful to other writers searching for some solid, tangible advice on how to improve their craft. Many of the panels I attended at AWP were like this: some knowledgeable authors and editors giving helpful advice, and some knowledgeable authors saying flowery things that didn’t mean a whole lot. (Not the editors. The editors are very practical about writing. Sometimes painfully so).

So my advice for those attending their first AWP is this: plan on going to the panels that sound like they'll truly help, that really interest you, but don’t expect your life to change. You’re going to get some helpful advice. You’re going to get some not-so-helpful advice. But don’t plan your whole conference around the success of the panels. Leave time open for other activities, such as socializing, perusing the bookfair, and wandering around in an overwhelmed daze.

More on these things tomorrow…

My two loves

So because I have an awesome, awesome job (referring to the Left Bank job, this round), I get to go see Mr. 2,632 himself - Cal Ripken, Jr. - this evening. And you can too! Cal wrote a children's book and is signing that book at the St. Louis County Library tonight at 6:00. It's free and open to the public, and seriously, how many times does Cal Ripken, Jr. waltz through St. Louis? I bet not often. Get there early, because he's only signing for a limited amount of time.

I love moments when my worlds collide like this. Books and baseball - what more can I ask for? 

Is this thing on?

I must be a tad masochistic, starting a blog. My days are already filled to the brim with words. But I guess that’s also the reason the idea of a blog appealed to me. Words are what I know, what I do. I’ve had a long-standing fantasy of tattooing a quill to the skin of my left wrist, so I could remind myself to write always, and to give strangers a glimpse of who I am. But I have a fear of needles (and commitment), so this will have to do. These are the things I want to remember, and the things I think are worth sharing.

Still, maybe one day I’ll get that tattoo.

For those who don’t know me, I’m a twentysomething currently in my second year at the University of Missouri-St. Louis’ MFA program in fiction writing. So there are drafts upon drafts, workshops, readings, edits, submissions, and the eternal mantra: “You must write every day!”  And I do, in some form or another. In order to get myself through grad school, I have a multitude of jobs. I tutor, helping students with everything from basic grammar to literary analysis. I teach a beginning fiction writing workshop two days a week, and sell books at Left Bank in the Central West End on weekends (and Mondays). Each year, from March through October, I usher at Busch Stadium for the St. Louis Cardinals (my first, and therefore purest, love).

So time, I ain’t got. But I still feel like a blog is something worth starting. I’m writing this for my family, so they can get a better idea of what I do all day, every day. I’m writing this for my friends, who are crazy enough to stick by me, despite my best efforts. I’m writing this for the writers struggling through their own MFA programs, or thinking about grad school, so they can learn from my mistakes. I’m writing this for random strangers who are weird enough to want to read about me. Weird is a compliment, trust me. And I’m writing this for me, because I know, despite all the stress and the headaches and the panic and the insomnia, this is where life is changing, maybe for good, hopefully for better. These are the things I need to remember.

Here’s what you can expect from me: general writings about writing, awesome anecdotes about me failing (and occasionally succeeding) at grad school, moments with particularly memorable students, cool things I’ve read, literary goings-on at Left Bank and throughout Stl, general rants about my life, etc. Welcome, and enjoy.