September Sentiments/Georgia Review/Hillary, and I don't mean Clinton

SEPTEMBER. In the old days, September meant school, me walking out the door on Mayor Drive heading toward Calle Mayor K-8, and later in the opposite direction toward South High. Usually it was foggy in the morning living that close to the beach, only a mile away, and rarely hot in the AM, except of course, on those first days of classes. Record heat. Always.

I wanted to wear my new clothes, wool skirt, turtleneck, knees socks in high school, but on the occasions when I couldn't resist, I ended up feeling--and looking--like a Good Humor Bar left forgotten on the grass in the broil of August.

Eventually, September meant school for my kids, me driving carpool every third day, and dropping them off on Mentor. They wore uniforms, neat and tidy at 8:15, wrinkled and stained by 2:25 or whatever that odd pickup time was. And I ended up back at school too, teaching English, except the community college starts in August, dog-day hot, me wearing pants and a jacket despite discomfort because of my need to look professional--and vanity still intact--to look thinner.

But now, in September, no more school in my family, everyone launched in their own directions, so I stay home in shorts and tank-tops, no shoes for most of the day. I miss that old discipline, the preparation for a new year, new adventures, new successes and even new failures. The rhythm of September works if one can capture it, and that's what I'm going to try to do. I've been "lolly-gagging," my mother's word, and now it's time to work. September, hmmmm.

GEORGIA REVIEW. A couple of weeks ago someone I don't know left a comment on this blog. I'd written about submission season and my dilemma: What to work on, book or short stories? Organizing writing priorities is a problem for those who must also support themselves with day jobs and therefore can't spend full days over the computer. About the same time, Kev received some advice from one of his favorite authors who championed "the novel" because the readership of short stories is small. Here's one response to that discussion:

"What a sad approach: give up writing short stories on the chance of getting more readers and I suppose more money with novels. Then, when the novels don't work out, you can just give up writing, since apparently that wasn't what mattered in the first place. Shrink the artist's world; yes, that's just what's needed."

I don't know the author of the comment: Stephen Corey. I thought, hmm, isn't that the name of a short story or a poem? (Richard Cory is a poem) I googled it. And was shocked at what I saw! Stephen Corey turns out to be the editor of The Georgia Review, one of the holy grails for short story writers!! This man read MY blog?!? Holy ***t.

I sent Mr. Corey a note, thanking him for taking the time to comment, then I danced around the site and decided to order a recent copy of the mag and when it came, there was a note from him. He hopes that if I like what I see, I'll blog about the Review. Me!

I will, but first I must say it is a little intimidating. When I used to go to Iowa in the summer and spend hours with my buds at Prairie Lights, we'd order double-shot capuccinos and dig though lit mags for clues about how to turn readers on. One of those lit mags was The Georgia Review. Slick production, the cover satiny under fingertips, sophisticated art. And inside. Clear font on quality paper. Beautiful. It even smelled good. Sounds like I'm sucking up, doesn't it?

We writers know where the stories for the America's Best series come from, and we want those mags to publish us, and The Georgia Review debut their share, but in the new issue I received, there is only one fiction story. One. Lots of interesting articles, a feature about Richard Hugo, poems, essays, reviews, but only "The Color of Darkness" by Alexandre Mas with a killer first line: "Many years ago, when I was little more than a girl, my eyes failed me" made it in. What are the odds for writers to get into these quality lit magazines? I think I actually moaned. But...

That's the way it is. I've always accepted this fact. If an writer wants to make it at that level, then he or she has to be enormously talented and self-disciplined. Not one of those things, but both. It's a reality check, not a bad thing. However, typing this, I feel a little down, reminded that this is a big world filled with many, many talented writers all struggling to do the same thing. So what can I do to keep my heart in the game? Really? Read the best, learn from the best, and not think about the publishing side of the scoresheet. If I worry about the where, I will end up playing Spider Solitaire all day and sucking up episodes of Law and Order all night. After I read Mas' story, I'll report whether it blows me away or not.

HILLARY THE DAUGHTER. Today's final note is about my daughter, faithful reader, chief advisor, straight-talking editor for my stories. She never lets me down. She tells me exactly what works and what doesn't in my work in such an honest, compelling way, I can't afford not to listen to her. Since we share DNA, she seems to get what I'm going for even when what I've emailed her is an embryotic disaster. Thanks, Stalwart Hill. And Jane. You too, thanks, sis.

Another Lesson From Reality TV: Emulate those who succeed

Project Runway is my absolute favorite reality show. Although my other favorites feature real talent and creativity, PR features the kind of creativity that I relate to. Not saying I could do what they do anymore than I can sing or dance. I can't sew anything but a curtain panel, but I'm talking about deeper stuff, that digging into the hidden corners of the right brain when doing art and finding originality. That's what two designers were able to do on last night's premier of Project Runway, Season 5.

What is originality? Talent and imagination, certainly, but also a third component, knowing what to do with it. One could say a person either is talented or not, has imagination or doesn't, but I don't believe that. Like everything else in our genes, the amount of talent and imagination varies, but of more consequence is what we do with what we have. Last night's first episode of PR is a good example of what I mean. There is talent and imagination in each contestant, but two of them also showed that third component: savvy, the wisdom and shrewdness to pay attention to those who succeeded rather than to those who failed.

I can't remember their names, Blond Tattoo Girl and Wistful Guy is what I'll call them here. BTG and WG are obviously students of the show and so were familiar with last night's challenge: Season 1's grocery store outfit, and they were successful because they looked to the winner of that challenge while everyone else focused on what previous contestants had done wrong. That shift of perspective last night made all the difference.

Here's the set-up. The contestants were taken to a grocery store and given $75.00 to purchase materials to fashion an outfit. Tim Gunn told them to think about the WOW factor, to come up with something that would "blow the judges' socks off." Austin Scarlett, the competitor who WON this challenge four years ago, pointed out that he succeeded by delivering the unexpected. The name of that episode was "Innovation" and his design, a bustier sundress made of corn husks, transformed an ordinary agricultural product into a snazzy little summer number. Yet despite these admonishments, many of the contestants headed straight for the easy-way-out aisle.

The most obvious and forgiving "materials" to purchase are, of course, trashbags, shower curtains, and table cloths. My immediate thought as they scurried into the aisles to buy these exact items was "These guys have thought about this challenge." Of course they have. Me too. Everytime I take onions and avocados out of their plastic netted bags I think 'evening gown yoke.' But unfortunately, this year's designers focused on the contestants who floundered with seemingly unsewable products, and they were determined not to fall into the same trap.

All except Blond Tattoo Girl and Wistful Guy. They paid attention to the winner of that challenge. They recognized Austin's inventiveness and had considered about how they too could innovate. WG made probably one of the most impossible choices. He bought plastic drinking cups. As one of the judges said, "Exactly what ANYONE would hurry to grab for this challenge." But it worked. He molded--literally with an iron--a corset top and bell skirt that looked wearable and was definitely sexy. He remembered the word "innovation" and by the silhouette he chose, he also remembered the corn-husk design. He kept it simple and pretty, AND used the unusable.

This worked for BTG, too, who won the challenge. SHE was crazy-creative with her vaccuum cleaner bags, her coffee filters, her tacks, and her binder spirals. Again I'm positive she's thought about it before the show, asked herself, "What would I do if..." Her dye and bleach treatment to the bags created a fresh and artistic skirt. The burn-out filters worked humorously with the tacks for the bodice. It was charming. I was pleased she won.

So why am I--a writer--spending all this time on this topic? Because this first episode of the season carries with it a potent message: emulate those who succeed, not those who lose.

How many times has a writer, a friend, or even me, said, "I read the worst book. I know what's wrong with it, so I know what not to do!"

Is this what any creative person should think about? An artist? A designer? A writer? Or should he or she instead, study what's hanging on the walls of the Norton Simon and MOOLA? Watch what's coming down the runway at Olypus Fashion Week? Or read closely for the content, the structure, the language of To Kill a Mockingbird or The Yiddish Policeman's Union or Tess of the D'Urbevilles and shout out loud, "Now this is the kind of art I want to do!"

The two best pieces last night were created by savvy designers who listened, who studied the winners, who dug to the center of their imaginations, and who executed with confidence and verve. That's the kind of writer I want to be. An original.