Tag: Reflections from Ann S. Epstein Writer

Submission form: Our journal is committed to publishing under-represented voices. Are you a member of a marginalized community?

Submitter’s reply: Consider me intersectional. First, I am old. Submission judges skew young. Elders like me are shunted aside. Second, I am blind in one eye, ergo a virtual cyclops. Our kind have hovered on the edge of extinction since the ancient Greeks persecuted us. Third, I am short. Not “Little People” short (as in dwarfism) but, like Dr. Ruth, I stand several inches below five feet. Much of the world, most notably supermarket shelves, lies beyond my reach. Fourth, I am a certified end-of-life doula. The number of people comfortable talking about death is distressingly small and so-called “polite society” shoulders us to the margins. Fifth, having come in contact with a noxious plant or insect while weeding the garden, I have a 3″ x 2″ itchy rash on my right shin. I trust this affliction is temporary, but it renders me a member of a limited demographic at the time of this submission. (Proof-of-rash photo furnished upon request). Sixth, I love Brussels sprouts. Even broccoli fans do not acknowledge me at vegan potlucks. Seventh, I hate cilantro. Unlike a certain genetic subgroup, I do not claim it tastes like soap. (CONTENT WARNING) It tastes the way underarm sweat smells. This condition, likely genetic too, goes unremarked in print. Eighth, my guilty pleasure is Coffeemate. I am part of the mainstream who imbibes this artificial creamer. However, among a small cohort who, like me, otherwise consumes only “real” food, my choice renders me an outcast, to wit, a “marginalized marginal.” Ninth, I swear by WordPerfect (although I convert files to MS Word to share them, e.g., with the editors of this journal). While the legal profession recognizes the superiority of WordPerfect, Ann Patchett and I are its sole standard bearers among the literati. Considering that “I’m with her,” I respectfully request that you accord my manuscript more than a cursory reading confined to the first paragraph. The tenth strand in my intersectional braid comprises 1 ⅔ missing toenails,. My right pinky toenail was surgically excised; two-thirds of my left big toenail spontaneously fell off a year ago and has not grown back. This combination of deformities is not even relegated to the margins of Podiatry Today. In conclusion, I hasten to add that my reply is not intended to make light of initiatives to provide a platform to traditionally ignored writers. I applaud those efforts. However, despite surviving other significant challenges, I am not BIPOC or LGBTQ+, a refugee or an immigrant, an unhoused or incarcerated parent, or the owner of a physical or emotional support animal. I am a writer trying to make sense of the human condition with openness and empathy. I willingly remain silent so I can listen to those with different life experiences, but at some point, I want to join the conversation. As an advocate of creative writing, I thereby propose that you create a broader definition of “marginalized” as a criterion of manuscript review.

How do you determine your margin(alization)?

Why writers write: “Only in the relationship between what is unique, even eccentric, and what is universal, is there a true subject, worthy of hours of work.” – Joyce Carol Oates

“For me the novel is character creation. Style is nice, plot is nice, structure is OK, social significance is OK, symbolism worms its way in, timeliness is OK too, but unless the characters convince and live the book’s got no chance” (Author Larry McMurty in a letter to author Ken Kesey). I agree. For me, before the seed for a story or novel can germinate, I have to answer the question, “Who is the book about. What’s the point of view?” Once I know the character(s), the ideas begin to flow and I can write. See more thoughts about writing in REFLECTIONS.

Why writers write: “I just knew there were stories I wanted to tell.” – Octavia E. Butler

A new book, Knowing What We Know: The Transmission of Knowledge from Ancient Wisdom to Modern Magic by Simon Winchester looks at how we transfer knowledge without quite saying what knowledge is. However, reviewing the book for The New York Times, Peter Sagal (host of NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me), says “one workable definition night be: information that gives pleasure, arouses curiosity and widens, if only by a small fraction, one’s appreciation of the vast world beyond one’s immediate vision.” My maternal grandmother Mindel used to say (in Yiddish) whenever she learned something new, “I’m glad I didn’t die yesterday or I wouldn’t have known that.” So, Sagal’s apt definition is consistent with the Mindel Moments I share in my monthly ASE Writer Newsletter. (Want to get the newsletter? Email me via CONTACT US and I’ll add you to the list.) I delight in the initial discovery (gives pleasure) and do research to learn more (arouses curiosity). Even the smallest tidbit triggers the “Wow!” factor (widens appreciation). I would add that knowledge is more than cognitive (or intellectual). Knowledge can also be emotional, spiritual, esthetic, sensory, somatic, and so on. I’m grateful that the world’s knowledge exceeds what I can learn in one lifetime. Mindel possessed more than knowledge; my grandmother also had wisdom.

Knowledge takes may forms, can be transmitted in multiple ways, and elicits many reactions

“Rushdie went on, ‘I just thought, There are various ways in which this event can destroy me as an artist.’ He could refrain from writing altogether. He could write ‘revenge books’ that would make him a creature of circumstances. Or he could write ‘scared books,’ novels that ‘shy away from things, because you worry about how people will react to them.’ But he didn’t want the fatwa to become a determining event in his literary trajectory” (“Defiance” by David Remnick, The New Yorker, 02/13&20/23). Writing takes courage, vision, and sometimes, heroic single-mindedness. For more literary thoughts, see REFLECTIONS.

“Weekends and weekdays don’t matter to a writer. I’ve discovered through my life, if you take the day off, it takes you two days to get back to where you were. You need to keep it going in your head” (Erica Jong, “How Erica Jong, Writer, Spends Her Sundays,” The New York Times, September 24, 2022). I agree. Writing is self-fueling. A day without writing is as unsatisfying as a day without chocolate. More thoughts about writing in REFLECTIONS.

“When you’re an adult watching a kid playing with a little toy, you just think that kid’s doing that and there’s nothing else to it. But from the kid’s perspective, that toy is playing with them. It’s interactive” (Lynda Barry, interviewed by David Marchese in “A Genius Cartoonist Believes Child’s Play Is Anything But Frivolous,” The New York Times, September 02, 2022). As a writer, as well as a developmental psychologist, I wholeheartedly concur. Creative writing is a form of play. The story is a toy and the writer must be open to playing with it. Psychologist Jean Piaget said, “Play is the work of childhood” and Mr. Rogers described play as serious work. Creative play should also be the work of adulthood.

According to LitNuts, an online book promotion service that only features publications by indie presses, “A book by an indie author (many of whom have created their own imprint) is definitely an indie book. So are books from the small, university, and micro presses competing for attention with the Big Five corporate publishers and their ~250 imprints. (The Big Five are HarperCollins, Penguin Random House, Simon & Schuster, Hachette Book Group, and Macmillan. They may be about to become the Big Four, pending the outcome of the antitrust suit to block the merger of Penguin Random House and Simon & Schuster.) The Big Five have an 80%+ market share in the United States. That translates into 80%+ of shelf space in bookstores and 80%+ of online book real estate, as well.”

My novels are all published by indie presses (Vine Leaves Press and Alternative Book Press). When you buy books from indie presses and encourage others to do the same, you support their efforts to publish a wider variety of voices than those represented by large commercial presses. Thank you for investing in this vital share of the literary and publishing world!

As a novelist and short story writer, I have criticized charges of “cultural appropriation” because they stifle creativity and don’t acknowledge the role of empathy and imagination in fiction (see my essay “Theirs or Ours? Who Owns Culture? Appropriation on the Docket”). Claiming something is “Mine!” is normal in toddlers, but damaging in literature and the arts. So, it was with many head nods that I read The New York Times opinion piece, “The Limits of Lived Experience” by Pamela Paul, which says, in part, “According to many of those who wish to regulate our culture, only those whose ‘lived experience’ matches the story are qualified to tell the tale. As with most points of view, some of it is valid. Clearly those who have lived through something — whether it’s a tsunami or a lifetime of racial discrimination — have a story to tell. Their perspective is distinct and it’s valuable. But it is, crucially, only one perspective. And to suggest that only those whose identities match those of the people in a story is a miserly take on the human experience. Surely human beings are capable of empathizing with those whose ethnicity or country of origin differ from their own. Surely storytellers have the ability to faithfully imagine the experiences of ‘the other.’ If we all wrote only from our personal experience, our films, performances and literature would be reduced to memoir and transcription. What an impoverished culture that would be.” For additional notes from Paul’s essay, and more of my literary thoughts, see REFLECTIONS.

The value of Netflix stock dropped 35% in April after the service lost subscribers for first time in over ten years. Some pundits attributed the loss to Netflix tightening the screws on password sharing; others to folks going out more as pandemic restrictions eased. My theory: people have reset their mental bandwidth and now have room to read at length. I haven’t owned a television for nearly twenty years. I opted to read instead. By coincidence, however, I signed up for Netflix shortly before COVID. At the pandemic’s height, when anxiety peaked, I unwound each evening with a half hour or so of screen time. I still read, but not with the same concentration. Now that COVID anxiety has abated, I can again dive deep into books. So perhaps other Netflix subscribers are also hitting “reset.” Their spirits up, they’re settling down with a good book. More literary thoughts at REFLECTIONS.