Memoirous

From the Corona Files Lately I’ve been in a state of limbo, where time has very little definition or meaning. This actually feels different than “time off” or “vacation” time. During the holidays I let go: go to bed and sleep late. With the caveat that it is all provisional—that eventually after the first of the year etc I will go back to work. In time suspended, in the time of corona I still set the alarm and get up as normal because I don’t want to forget. I want to remember what it feels like to have a schedule. In this surplus of time I’ve found another dimension. What about “me” time? Maybe I have a much bigger quotient of self-guilt; I know I can be harder on myself than others around me are—but when one cannot be productive how to quantify “me” time? I guess it could all be considered “me” time. Yet, during what would normally be considered working hours I spend that time stressing out about being unproductive; I worry about all the stuff I’m not doing. But once late

From the Corona Files I am slowly beginning to understand a call to duty. Full disclosure: I am anti-nationalist, anti-militaristic. Yes, I stand for Pledge of Allegiance and respect the flag; I just don’t wave it around. Remember right after 9/11 when every house you passed down the street had a flag out front. It creeped me out. I do not believe in American exceptionalism. Friends from Norway like to remind me that their country is first in funding the UN, their students do better than ours, and that their happiness quotient is off the charts. In Sweden they have words for this kind of lifestyle where residents are relaxed and cozy—while Americans are traumatized by school shootings. I find it hard to rally up patriotic spirit. Except lately. I am totally committed, 100% behind what my state governor and the Chicago mayor have called for: the stay-at-home order. I wear a face mask when out in public. I social distance. It is my civic mission to help keep others al

From the Corona Files Folks have been making a big deal lately about wearing pants. I get it. There are days where I stay in pajamas until noon. I’m lying—there are days I never get out of pajamas. For Zoom meetings no one needs to know I’m only wearing underwear. BUT when I do decide to get dressed I’ve come to realize my wardrobe resembles gardening clothes. It is the over-sized comfy shirt with threadbare elbows thrown on over the ratty T-shirt with bleach stains. I’ve never been big on jeans. Even as a teen I found them restrictive, but I sure as hell would not wear stretch pants, the polyester kind with the elastic top. Now—I live in yoga pants which is stretch pants by any other name. I have not worn shoes with heels now for a number of weeks. I scuff around in slippers or else garden togs. For the longer walk I wear paint-spattered tennis shoes. Every time I look at Dr. Birx in her countryclub get-up at the presidential press briefings I think, sheesh, lady,

OCWW is happy to announce the following upcoming event: Jane Hertenstein - The Memoir/Fiction Hybrid: Writing that Doesn’t Fit a Category- Remote Session Remote Date: April 30, 2020 9:30 AM CDT Remote Session Often our work crosses boundaries, blurs the lines. Today many writers are publishing hybrids. Examples of metafiction and autofiction that blur the lines are  T he Friend  by Sigrid Nunez, winner of the National Book Award for fiction, and  History of Violence  by Edouard Louis.   Jane Hertenstein will talk about what constitutes a hybrid, the freedom to color outside the lines, and also some practical and ethical questions that pop up when considering how to evaluate and place work that blends memoir and fiction. Come prepared to explore all the many directions your writing may take yo u. Jane Hertenstein  is   a repeat instructor at OCWW having presented on topics such as memoir and flash. She is   the author of over 80 published stories both macro and micro: ficti

Spartan considers literary prose submissions of fifteen hundred words or less. Please read an issue before submitting. We accept simultaneous submissions, with the request that we are notified immediately if a piece is accepted for publication elsewhere. We do not accept multiple submissions, except in the case of linked micro fictions and/or prose poems. For linked micro fictions, the entire series must be two thousand words or less. For micro fictions and prose poems, please send no more than five at a time. To submit, paste the entire text into an email and send it to spartaneditor (at) gmail.com. No attachments. We only accept electronic submissions. Please do not query regarding your submitted piece until thirty days have passed. We release online issues quarterly and short-run print issues, compiled from stories published online, annually. For accepted pieces, we require non-exclusive rights for both online and print appearances. Starting with our Spring 2017 issue, w

SPECIAL ISSUE #11: "Hope in Renewal" (An Intermission) Lives around the world have been disrupted by the current situation. We wait in limbo for what might lie ahead in our own homes and outside our doors. And though we'll be documenting it for months and years to come,  Eastern Iowa Review  is sending out a call for writing and artwork in April focused on "hope in renewal." We welcome many interpretations of "hope," and realize not everything hopeful will be bright and shiny. If you're bringing us something darker, please make sure it ends with hope, with something that lifts our spirits. We all need that at this time. Scroll down to find the submission link. http://www.portyonderpress.com/

From the Corona Files So far I’ve played 85,000 games of Solitaire I think I'm reaching the peak, hopefully flattening the curve of loneliness

  From the Corona Files My building is beneath a common flight path. I’m used to seeing in early evening, like fireflies appearing, planes queued up out over the lake. Tiny little pinpricks of light in the twilight sky, circling before lining up to proceed to the airport about five miles west of my building. These days the lavender night skies are nearly empty.

From the Corona Files Today’s Headline: 'World faces worst recession since Great Depression' I was made for times like these I’ve always been a tough mudder—a reference to the race run through an obstacle course of water and mud challenges, but also an innuendo for a tough motha. One time when I was straining the meat out of some disgusting casserole to make a sloppy joe sandwich, a friend saw what I was up to and said, “In the apocalypse I want you on my team.” I was a saver, before saving was cool. For example, check out my bread tie collection. I re-use plastic wrap, getting multiple uses. I salvaged elastic, buckles, and buttons from old clothes before cutting them into rags to wax the floor, polishing my shoes with holey socks. Today I’m fashioning raggedy T-shirts into face masks—using hair ties stashed here and there for the elastic that slips over the ears. I am the daughter of a daughter of the Great Depression.

SPECIAL ISSUE Information:  ADANNA Seeks women's stories during the Pandemic of Coronavirus outbreak    DEADLINE:  May 15, 2020 Adanna Literary Journal  is a women focused print publication.  We are seeking essay, poetry, and creative non-fiction that speaks towards the experience of mothering in a time of crisis—caring for children, especially those with children in college returning from affected areas, those with younger children exposed to media and the anxiety of school shut-downs, as well as women who are caring for elderly relatives or those in the medical profession.  To submit, please e-mail adannasubmissions@yahoo.com.   The subject line should read “Special Issue” to distinguish this from our annual issue.   Art & Photography will also be accepted in submission.

From the Corona Files So this is the week I would have been going to Grand Rapids for the Festival of Faith & Writing. Instead I’m sitting at home. Last week I realized that when I opened up my non-fiction project, made changes, and saved it—that I’d accidentally “wrote” over my file—thus the stuff I’d saved earlier before going on coronavirus hiatus was lost. Is any of this making sense? And, the only two “jobs” I’ve had lately: 1) running deliveries to our front desk upstairs to people in lockdown and 2) volunteering at the homeless shelter, serving dinner once a week—I will likely be giving up as I’ve been deemed high-risk. Does my life feel insignificant? Small? Yes. Even Thomas Merton at his hermitage (within Gethsemani Abbey) in Kentucky was able to work in his garden, break the intense isolation by walking down the hill. They say these next two weeks could be the worst (been hearing this for awhile) and that perhaps by early May things might loosen

From the Corona Files I was talking to a friend the other night, speculating that when this is all over and we’d made it, I will be diminished. Today I see better what I was trying to say—                                        we will have lost our innocence.

From the Corona Files A Voice from the Past We’re hearing a lot these days about keeping in touch with friends—via social distancing. So I’ve been making and receiving calls. Last week I answered the phone and was thrown into mental gymnastics. “Guess who this is?” I racked my brain. Mary Anne? I’d last spoke to Mary Anne maybe 30 years ago. In 1980 when I moved out of the house after high school, Mary Anne was my first roommate in Dayton. So yeah, it’s been a minute. We took a good while to catch up. We each had gotten married, divorced, had kids, now grown kids. She has grandkids. It was actually hard to imagine. When we lived together in Dayton near UD it was the “bad” side of town. Not exactly a ghetto, but working class in a working class town. Mary Anne told me that the district had gone through gentrification and urban renewal. The house we lived in would likely sell for half a million. I remember the electrical being so fragile that we couldn’t run an

This Year, by the Mountain Goats From the Corona Files A Lockdown To-Do List What comprises my day? The high-functioning Jane is gone, the one who could get a foot-long to-do list done in a day, the one used to doing three things at once. For example cross-stitching while watching TV—a foreign film with subtitles. Now there’s no to-do list. There are no deadlines or dates. If I’m lucky there’s a Zoom on the schedule. I’ve been reduced to the elemental, to sitting and staring out the window, drinking tea, and the occasional quarantine snack. My to-do list is made up of calling old friends, writing letters, baking bread. Reach out, be kind. And, if I do half of that, I’ve been highly productive.

And people stayed at home And read books And listened And they rested And did exercises And made art and played And learned new ways of being And stopped and listened More deeply Someone meditated, someone prayed Someone met their shadow And people began to think differently And people healed. And in the absence of people who Lived in ignorant ways Dangerous, meaningless and heartless, The earth also began to heal And when the danger ended and People found themselves They grieved for the dead And made new choices And dreamed of new visions And created new ways of living And completely healed the earth Just as they were healed. poem by Kitty O'Meara, a former teacher and chaplain from Wisconsin, in trying to process the worsening news surrounding the catastrophic spread of the coronavirus. She had adopted the persona of a poet writing years before the Spanish Flu, then even made up the idea that it presaged that pandemic and now

OCWW is happy to announce the following upcoming event: Jane Hertenstein - The Memoir/Fiction Hybrid: Writing that Doesn’t Fit a Category- Remote Session Remote Date: April 30, 2020 9:30 AM CDT Remote Session Often our work crosses boundaries, blurs the lines. Today many writers are publishing hybrids. Examples of metafiction and autofiction that blur the lines are  T he Friend  by Sigrid Nunez, winner of the National Book Award for fiction, and  History of Violence  by Edouard Louis.   Jane Hertenstein will talk about what constitutes a hybrid, the freedom to color outside the lines, and also some practical and ethical questions that pop up when considering how to evaluate and place work that blends memoir and fiction. Come prepared to explore all the many directions your writing may take yo u. Jane Hertenstein  is   a repeat instructor at OCWW having presented on topics such as memoir and flash. She is   the author of over 80 published stories both macro and micro: fiction,

OCWW is happy to announce the following upcoming event: Jane Hertenstein - The Memoir/Fiction Hybrid: Writing that Doesn’t Fit a Category- Remote Session Remote Date: April 30, 2020 9:30 AM CDT Remote Session Often our work crosses boundaries, blurs the lines. Today many writers are publishing hybrids. Examples of metafiction and autofiction that blur the lines are  T he Friend  by Sigrid Nunez, winner of the National Book Award for fiction, and  History of Violence  by Edouard Louis.   Jane Hertenstein will talk about what constitutes a hybrid, the freedom to color outside the lines, and also some practical and ethical questions that pop up when considering how to evaluate and place work that blends memoir and fiction. Come prepared to explore all the many directions your writing may take yo u. Jane Hertenstein  is   a repeat instructor at OCWW having presented on topics such as memoir and flash. She is   the author of over 80 published stories both macro and micro: fiction,

Another in my series of the Corona Files The Decameron seems like the right book for the right time. Composed in 1348 the premise involves a group of young people who have fled the Black Death to a secluded villa outside of Florence. They’re bored; they’ve eaten through their quarantine snacks; they’ve binge-watched the latest Netflix. And, because they don’t know about social distancing, they sit around together and come up with a plan to entertain each other. For each of the days of lockdown one of the members will share a story. The author, Giovanni Boccaccio, is himself a young man. The plague, ravaging all of Europe and his hometown, has claimed the lives of Boccaccio’s father, step-mother, and many of his close friends. I’m wondering if he is self-soothing by writing the tales that number The Decameron (one hundred). The book is structured as a frame story—meaning that the setting, the prescribed situation of death hanging over their heads, the end of the world a

Another in my series of the Corona Files Last month. I was upset that my conference got canceled, my email inbox was stuffed with notices of cancelations or postponements, I couldn’t plan from one day to the next if I’d have an appointment or a meeting. I learned to pivot, getting used to the new normal. Purell was still available. I rode my bike to my workout class where we laughed about the people we knew who were over-reacting. Then. The workouts got cancelled. Three weeks ago I downloaded Zoom and learned about Google chat. It wasn’t the same as meet-ups and the audio was glitchy, but hey, it worked. First it was groups of 50, then 20, then 10, we couldn’t congregate. We were told to social distance. I bought the last roll of toilet paper. I found myself switching back and forth from my work to the latest news. A friend gave me a link to a pattern to make masks. Then. The governor called for a shelter-in-place. Two weeks ago I picked up the phone and called