In Which The Author Lumbers Off in Clumsy Pursuit of Tenderness
And somehow lives to tell the tale.
Our third installment already! How joyous, how droll! If you’re new here, welcome: kindly help yourself to the baked potato bar in the corner while you explore our first edition, which explains a little bit about what we do (and don’t do) here. If you’re a completionist, you can also help yourself to our second edition here.
Once upon a time as a young journalist, I interviewed bestselling memoirist Mary Karr, and she told me to put my face in a pillow.
She also told me to eat some leafy greens, and if I felt like crying in the bathtub for 20 minutes with a washcloth over my face, that was OK, too.
She was talking about the importance of treating yourself with kindness after writing memoir, a process that doesn’t just require rendering past trauma on the page but also holding ourselves accountable for some of the hands we’ve inadvertently blundered over our many years at the table. (“It’s never fun, and it’s never comfortable to admit, ‘Hey, I was selfish, I was lazy, I was conniving, I was mean-spirited, I was heartless,” as she put it.)
Her self-care advice seemed so profound, so important, that I included it as the kicker in my article and fired off the draft.
A few hours later, I got an email from my editor, who I imagine was wearily rubbing her temples as her eyebrows neared her hairline: Is there a more resonant way to end this for readers besides putting your face in a pillow?
I’m 99 percent sure I choked on my iced coffee, reading that. I mean, good point, well made, right? I sent it back with a brand-new ending, and the piece was all the stronger for it.
But Karr’s advice has stuck with me almost verbatim all these years because at that point I couldn’t imagine writing as an act that required physical recovery. Sure, I sometimes felt exhausted after spending a full day on a draft, but nothing that required taking cover in my bathtub. I figured it was something only capable of the true greats, to write something so profound and affecting it would take a physical toll on the body.
Well. I’ve been working on a memoir piece these past few weeks that has been kicking my ass six ways to Sunday, and I’m here to confirm it is most certainly not something only the “true greats” (whatever that means) experience.
I’d finish my work on the draft for the day, realize my cheeks were wet, and physically recoil like Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own. I mean, crying? In writing? Something I’d done for more than a decade? What am I, new?
I ended each writing session feeling like a squad of very enthusiastic magical brooms had Brillo’d my insides. And this stunned me, the severity of the physical and emotional toll, even though it shouldn’t have. I’d spend my days raking my past self over the coals and then have the gall to be surprised when my current one felt scorched.
I now realize one of the reasons I had resisted Karr’s advice for so long is because I believed tenderness was something that had to be earned. Karr, I felt, had earned it a thousand times over in the tremendous greatness of the work she’d produced; I had not. But I also knew that if things continued at this pace, I’d soon be reduced to a pile of glittery ashes with a pair of googly eyes on top.
So for the first time in my career, I began courting tenderness – shyly, timidly, and embarrassingly clumsily.
I tried Karr’s pillow trick and almost suffered a panic attack at the lack of oxygen. I searched for fresh leafy greens in the aisles of Alaskan grocery stores in January, which went exactly as well as you’d imagine. I put a damp washcloth over my face and felt only dark and vaguely moist instead of comforted.
It turns out tenderness – like, well, literally everything else about writing – is unique to each writer. My version looks like burying my face in my dog’s criminally soft fur and hugging my knees under a ridiculously fluffy blanket and watching too many hours of fantastical television shows. It means communicating to friends and family why I might be even more of a flailing-husk-of-a-person than usual these next few weeks. It means making finishing my writing day with a bowl of tender scrambled eggs with rich, creamy curds, the culinary equivalent of a beckoning featherbed.
Mostly, it means reminding myself of the good I’ve still done each day, even after being scoured and Brillo’d and raked over the coals. So when my beloved comes home to find me tented under my blanket and asks me how the writing went that day, I try not to think of how messy it all still feels, how much work it still needs, how many hours I spent wandering the bleak, cobwebbed gray of the past, and how little I might have to show for it.
I wrote some really beautiful sentences today, I say.
And right now, that’s enough.
In fact, that’s everything.
Until next month—
Keep writing,
Nicki
P.S. If anyone else finds themselves craving a comforting bowl of tenderly scrambled eggs after reading, you’ll find my truly bizarre tips for making them at the very end of this newsletter, after our lovely list of March deadlines has concluded.
March 2023 calls for submissions
Lest we forget, many of last month’s submission deadlines are still alive and well. Chase them merrily, my beloved procrastinators!
This month’s listings in brief
Solarpunk Magazine: Solarpunk submissions from BIPOC authors, plus “Solarpunk Myths” entries
FIYAH: “Carnival” submissions by and about Black people of the African Diaspora
Spotlight pick
Thema: “Help from a Stranger”
Thema has been putting out themed calls for submission since 1988, and its latest premise is “Help from a Stranger.” Any submitted short fiction, essays, or poems must relate to the theme. Submissions must be mailed with a SASE; no emails unless the submitter resides outside the U.S. (I know this may seem like a pain in our Submittable-driven digital world, but the cost of two stamps is much less than the reading fees some outlets charge these days, and I find dashing off a typed manuscript in the post to be charmingly old-fashioned. And remember, international submitters are welcome to email!) Contributors are paid $25 for short stories and $10 for poems and short-short pieces (fewer than 1,000 words). If this theme doesn’t strike your fancy, there are two others happening later this year: “The Magic of Light and Shadow” (deadline: July 1) and “The Missing Piece of the Puzzle” (deadline: Nov. 1).
Deadline: Postmarked by March 1 (for “Help from a Stranger”)
Other listings
Cunning Folk: Vampire-themed submissions
Cunning Folk, a magazine about “magic, mythology, folklore, and the occult” is seeking submissions for its sixth issue, which has a theme of “THE VAMPIRE.” Nonfiction, poetry, and short fiction are all welcome, although submitters should note the magazine primarily publishes nonfiction. “We want your articles, interviews, rituals, poetry, and short fiction pertaining to the vampiric, that intersect with our other themes and that shine light on what lies behind the vampire’s shiny façade – and what that tells us about the current age, the unconscious shadow, and humanity,” editors say. Payment is £100 for prose, £50 for poetry and rituals.
Deadline: March 1
DASH: “Futurisms” submissions
DASH Literary Journal, a student-run publication out of California State University, Fullerton, is open for submissions for its 16th issue. The issue’s theme is “‘Futurisms,’ conceived broadly,” editors explain. “Whether named movements like Eco-, Afro-, or Indigenous futurisms, emergent forms like altermundos, silkpunk, or hopepunk, or approaches unnamed, we want writing that moves us on.” Submit poetry up to 30 lines or prose (fiction, nonfiction, criticism) told in 2,000 words or less. Hybrid works are also permitted.
Deadline: March 1 according to the website and the journal’s introduction in Submittable, although the Submittable deadline itself is set as March 9. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Plan on March 1 to be safe, I’d say.
Knight Writing Press: Seasonal-themed anthology submissions
Knight Writing Press has a wide variety of seasonal anthology submission windows closing on March 1st for its “Particular Passages” series. Autumnal topics include fall-themed stories as well as spooky and “spoopy” stories (i.e. ones that are “spooky but mostly fun”), while the wintery titles welcome “winter holiday stories of warmth, good cheer, love, and miracles” as well as “stories of long winter nights, pale winter suns, and people with cold hands and colder hearts.” No genre restrictions beyond excluding extreme horror and stories that gratuitously support forms of inhumanity. Submitters should know that the press uses Draft2Digital to distribute in order to take advantage of its royalty-sharing program; submitters will need to create a D2D account if their stories are accepted in order to receive payment.
Deadline: March 1 (“when we all ought to be feeling more ready for springtime stuff anyway,” as editors say.)
Parabola: “The Cosmos” submissions
Parabola, “a quarterly journal devoted to the exploration of the quest for meaning as it is expressed in the world’s myths, symbols, and religious traditions, with particular emphasis on the relationship between this store of wisdom and our modern life,” is looking for submissions for its summer issue, which has the theme of “The Cosmos.” Send “well-researched, objective, and unsentimental” articles or translations (1,000 to 3,000 words) or up to five poems. No submission fees. Both mailed and emailed submissions are accepted.
Deadline: March 1
Read Furiously: Novellas and longform essays
(This one isn’t as “themed” as our usual suspects, but it’s so rare to see calls for novellas and longform essays that this call felt specific enough to justify its inclusion.) Read Furiously’s One ‘n Done series takes novellas and longform essays (17,000 to 20,000 words) and publishes them in a 4 x 6 book designed “to be read quickly without sacrificing quality of story and content.” Poetry and short story collections, black and white comic one-shots, and one-act plays are also accepted. Interested writers will need to provide a brief synopsis, a manuscript sample, and a timeline for the completed manuscript upon submission in addition to a few other materials. No submission fees. Note: I always like to link to the specific outlet’s website whenever possible, but I did feel that the call for submissions published on CLMP.org by Read Furiously was more detailed than the main website in this case; interested submitters may find that link more useful.
Deadline: March 1
Solarpunk Magazine: Solarpunk submissions from BIPOC authors, plus “Solarpunk Myths” entries
Solarpunk Magazine’s “Colorful Roots” issue, which exclusively contains work from BIPOC authors, is back for 2023. Its submission window will be open from March 1 to March 14 and will be open to BIPOC writers only. Its other themed issue, “Solarpunk Myths,” is open for submissions from all writers. Entries for the latter issue are accepted in any open submission window. Writers should tag their cover letters with #ColorfulRoots or #SolarpunkMyths, depending on which issue they’re pursuing. Word counts and payment are as follows: 1500-7500 words and $.08/word ($100 minimum) for fiction; up to 5 poems or 5 pages of poetry (whichever is shorter) and $40/poem; 1,000-2,000 words and $75 for nonfiction.
Deadline: March 14 for “Colorful Roots”
Belle Point Press: Mid/South Sonnets
For an upcoming anthology, Belle Point Press is looking for “both traditional and experimental approaches to the sonnet form” featuring writers and themes from the American Mid-Southern region. Send up to five poems for consideration along with information about your work and your connection to the region. Payment is two copies of the anthology and an additional Belle Point Press chapbook of the writer’s choosing.
Deadline: March 15
Kings River Review: Work from community college students
Two-year community college students are welcome to submit creative nonfiction, short fiction, and poetry to this biannual journal. Submit prose up to 3,000 words or up to 5 poems.
Deadline: March 15
Sequestrum: “Time” and “Wonder” submissions
Sequestrum has two themes closing on the same day, one for “time” and one for “wonder.” Submissions for both should not exceed 12,000 words (for fiction and creative nonfiction) or 35 lines (for poetry); however, journal editors will consider works outside of those limits “if your work is outstanding.” Payment is a $20 honorarium and a 6-month subscription. Subscribers do not have to pay reading fees. General (non-themed) submissions are also welcome year-round.
Deadline: March 15
Dragon’s Roost Press: Stories about original monsters
For its “weird, dark, speculative new anthology series,” Novus Monstrum, Dragon’s Roost Press is looking for 1,000- to 5,000-word speculative stories featuring a “never-before-seen monster.” Payment is $.03 cents per word and a contributor’s copy; no submission fees. “Transform us, terrorize us, open up our minds!” editors urge. “We’re ready to read your story.”
Deadline: March 30
FIYAH: “Carnival” submissions by and about Black people of the African Diaspora
“It’s Carnival time! Bring us your colorful stories centered on the mystique and pulsating energy of the bacchanals, the festivals, the soca fetes, and jamborees from all across the globe, time, space, and even the multiverse,” FIYAH’s editors instruct. “We want intoxicating merriment, daring mischief-making, and chaotic melodrama fueled by the riotous revelry of the Carnival.” Authors from the African diaspora and the African continent can send speculative short fiction from 2,000 to 7,000 words and novelettes up to 15,000 words, poetry submissions up to 1,000 words, and essays (which are not required to fit the Carnival theme) between 800 and 1200 words. Payment is $.08 a word for fiction, $.10 for nonfiction, and $50 for poetry.
Deadline: March 31
Finally: The Author’s Tips for Making Scrambled Eggs That Will Make You Forget Your Troubles, Get Happy, or At Least Remember You Wrote Some Really Beautiful Sentences – Because Sometimes, That’s Enough
Whisk your eggs gently, as if they, too, are in a fragile emotional state.
You are what you eat, after all, and you don’t want to eat eggs that have had all the tenderness beaten out of them, do you? Mix until the yolks and whites and dairy are pale yellow and just combined and not a fork-stroke more.Add a teensy splash half-and-half, if you have it.
I know no one likes this tip, because it requires you to have perishable dairy on hand, and half and half at that, which can’t even commit to a level of fat like a respectable dairy product. But I do think it is the best for creamy but not cloyingly rich or piteously lean eggs. That said, we live in trying times, so use what you have and whisper positive affirmations to the carton that it, and you, are enough.Use butter, not oil (or nothing).
Listen, did I call these tips “Scrambled Eggs for Savvy, Mentally Well Dieters?” We’ve just been viciously exfoliated by our own memories! Spare me your side-eye and use the butter! Melt it over a medium heat until it quiets its gently foaming protests before pouring in your whisked eggs.Use wooden chopsticks to stir the eggs (or a rubber spatula).
This is a trick I learned in my days working at Cook’s Illustrated, when they suggested using chopsticks for a rolled French omelet recipe. I was skeptical when I first learned of it (“If a fork is good enough for Jacques Pépin, it’s good enough for me”), and admittedly still am for omelets, but I love how swiftly and gently they break up scrambled eggs as they begin to form into fluffy, creamy curds. A rubber spatula is also terrific, but be wary of plastic spatulas ( also called turners or flippers), which can break up the eggs too severely to form the large, tender curds we seek.The mix-ins make the meal.
Shower your tender little egg friends in herbs! Scatter shredded cheese when they’re almost done in the skillet! Add chopped ham or leftover beans or cooked vegetables or whatever little scrappy foundlings you find lurking in your fridge! These fixings can transform a bowl of eggs from a sad, belated breakfast into a strapping, respectable brunch or brinner.DO. NOT. OVERCOOK.
The perilous path from pillowy curds to pebbly ones begins in the final stages as the eggs start to firm. There should be no visible pooling liquid in the skillet when you remove it from the heat, but your curds should look intact and still a bit – for lack of a more appetizing word – “wet.” If they look pale and dry, you’ve gone too far, my friend. I turn the burner down once the eggs begin to firm in the pan and then remove them entirely when they’re very close to being done – the residual heat in the skillet should be enough to gently carry them home.