writing opportunities

it’s november


With titty concern month behind us, we turn our attention to the less nether regions of the male anatomy and steel ourselves for grocery store clerks to panhandle for

NaBloPoMo

Image by marymuses via Flickr

the prostate and endure local media celebrities’ attempts to grow facial hair in support of their other hairy area. Heavy, heavy sigh. And this on the heels of yet another study pointing out that cancer screenings for both breasts and prostates are not the panaceas they are touted to be. Not that anyone who’s done even the slightest bit of actual research or even paid attention to the fine print in the annual two month assaults press doesn’t already know.

But November is not just sweaty ball sacks and mustaches, it’s all a month of words. Lots and lots of them as the hobbyists and the real writers man up to their keyboards to pump out the volume. It’s quantity over quality month. NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo are back, baby. Worry about the polish in December and churn out those posts; pound out those daily word counts.

Because I haven’t enough real work to avoid, I decided – last night – to give NaBloPoMo another shot. They’ve found a new home at BlogHer though sadly not a better blogging tool.

BlogHer is even ponying up incentives like syndicating the worthy on the main site and handing out passes for BlogHer 12 in NYC next summer, providing the world hasn’t imploded before that as I hear the Greeks are looking nags in the mouth today.

So, check out my first day’s effort, and leave a comment. Comments are like gold stars and like most D-list bloggers, I get precious few of those. And if you are inclined, please click over and vote for this blog at the Top 25 Canadian Mom Blogs list. I am steadily dropping out of the top 10 due to lack of votes. I am annoyed enough with the constant vote whoring I have to do to not feel too honored with being nominated anymore. It’s like receiving a birthday gift that requires you to take up a hobby you wouldn’t have sought out on your own.

Oh, and happy All Soul’s Day. Decades ago in my Catholic school girl days, today would have found me bobbing up and down at an all school mass. I can’t recall if there are any rituals unique to the day. It’s not a throat blessing with candle-sticks sort of thing (which was disconcerting because Father stood up on the steps of the altar and it didn’t matter how tall you were, he still managed to jam the cross-section of the candles snug up to you throat and pinch your jaws til you choked). I do remember that most of my classmates had candy to share but not until after communion. God forbid that anyone take a wafer on a tongue coated with red dye number whatever.

It’s November. Grow a ‘stache. Feel up your balls or someone else’s. And then don’t forget to write about it.

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For Interested Writers/Readers


Been stumbling across all sorts of publishing and blog opportunities the last week or so and thought I would share a few.

Hint Fiction Contest

What is hint fiction? Well Konrath put it this way:

It’s a story of 25 words or less that suggests a larger, more complex story. The thesis of the anthology is to prove that a story 25 words or less can have as much impact as a story 2,500 words or longer. The anthology will include between 100 and 150 stories. We want your best work.

It’s possible to write a complete story in 25 words or less — a beginning, middle, end — but that’s not Hint Fiction.

The very best Hint Fiction stories can be read many different ways.

More strenuous than flash but brevity should be a writer’s aim.

Creative NonFiction is looking for end of life stories and they are currently seeking narrative blog posts from 2009 for an upcoming issue. I am not sure about the former but the deadline is end of the year, so I have time, but I think I will go back and see what the year looks like in terms of my own posting. Any posts come readily to your mind that might make a good entry? Suggest away.

Maria at Editor Unleashed is looking for your favorite writing blogs. She is doing a top 25 list.

Elements of Horror is looking for some flash fiction. and Horror Unbound is currently in a submission period too.

One of my goals for the new school year – ‘cuz I am a former teacher and I think in terms of school year as opposed to calendar year as normal people do – is to submit once a week somewhere as I work on the memoir and novel. And I know what you are thinking. What about us? Your gentle readers who have expectations. You worry too much is my reply.

I am going to try to pass more of this kind of thing along. Not because I think I have all that many active writers among the readership but I read your blogs (those of you who have them) and think that some of you should think more about sharing your writing more widely.

Oh, have you read the awesomely written post my amazing husband wrote for me?

Running in Place


We got back from the States early Monday evening. Thanks in large part to the fall back to standard time, we gained two hours, but that hasn’t helped me much. I came down with the flu on the day we left. Ran a fever even. A real one that doctors would recognize. Normally my temp barely cracks 97 F, so anything over 98 leaves me feeling like death. A recognized fever floors me. My sweet husband pulled all the driving duty then on the way home so I could sleep, but I still feel punk.

Even ill I managed to start NaNoWriMo and should push past the the 15,000 word mark this weekend. Surprisingly, to me alone I suppose, was that the words just run like water from a tap on this project. I am also finding it easier to merely tell the story and not seek perfection as is my wont when I write – although not necessarily on this blog as my husband and Silverstar can attest.

After having a second piece at 50 Something Moms picked up for syndication, I am feeling pressured. It is entirely self-pressure, but it is stifling me a bit idea-wise. I also have no idea what to do with the publishing credits I now have. How to parlay them into a new opportunity has become my new dilemma.

I am missing my dad quite a bit. I was speaking with him daily and around the time I would usually call I find myself becoming sad. Rob saved a phone message for me last year with Dad’s voice. I played it yesterday for myself and discovered it was the birthday call he made to me not quite a year ago. His voice sounded so weak and the message was very short. It was nice to hear him again.

My brother sent me an email mid-week asking me to call him. This was after I had talked to Mom and discovered he’d called her and hinted around for money. He knows better than to ask me for money, but I am betting he wants me to talk Mom into helping him. That will not happen. But I am not putting off the return call for any reason other than I don’t want to speak with him right now. I cannot assure myself that I won’t tell him exactly what I thought about his behavior just yet. After an entire year – plus a difficult summer – of dealing with him over the phone, I need a rest. Am I my brother’s keeper? It would appear so but even keepers need vacations.

I have received condolence cards this last week. One from the Holy Family Schools, probably the alumni office – now there is a job, keeping track of the family deaths of old students – and another from my oldest friend, Lisa J. who is actually younger than I am but I have officially kept in touch with her longer than anyone else I have ever known.

Lisa J and I go back to 5th grade at Resurrection Grade School. That’s about 35 years. She sent a card offering her sympathy and memories of Dad. Chiefly, she recalled that he was always working on one or the other of our cars, a consequence of never buying one that wasn’t used or older than 8 years. She also remembered him fixing a flat on her bike, which I don’t remember at all. Finally, she remembers him scolding us about people who leave mass early.

“Would you leave a movie ten minutes early?” he asked.

She says that has always stuck with her.

I didn’t read a single card I received after my late husband died. Didn’t send one “thank you”. I frankly found the cards impersonal and a stark reminder of how alone I had been on that journey and how only his death seemed to spark people. I don’t feel the same way about the cards and wishes I have received about Dad. Listening to Mom talk about reading and replying to cards has done much to take the sour taste of my own experience out of my mouth, though it hasn’t made me forget or suddenly want to dig them out and write a bunch of belated thank you’s.

Trying to get back into the swing of life as usual this week has left me feeling a bit like a gerbil on a wheel, but slowly routine is seeping into my bones.