I’ve been holding on to this secret for a little while now after signing and returning the publisher’s contract because I wanted to wait until the moment felt right to me, but the day has finally come! I sold my very first novel, Amnesia of June Bugs to 7.13 Books
Read MoreThe Spaces in Between
The period between March and June has always been, and will probably always be, a dramatic time in my life. Most of the best (and also worst) news I've received is during this time frame. For example:
1. Winning the Sparks Prize
2. Getting rejected from the JET program (for being too old)
3. Getting accepted into SC's PhD program in Literature and Creative Writing
4. Hearing back from all the tenure track jobs you applied to, where they gush about what an insanely large and especially talented pool of candidates there were, which made their job especially difficult
5. Seeing my short story on Tin House's website
6. Getting accepted in Notre Dame's MFA program
7. Visiting Rome, Hong Kong, Macau, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Tokyo, and London
8. Finding out whether I'm getting (re)hired at UC Irvine after an exhaustive application process
9. Getting married to LB, something I never thought I'd do and something I never wanted to do until we fell in love
This list could go on. If we were at a café, this list would go on. But the point is, shit always goes down this quarter. Sometimes, it's bad. Usually though, it's good. But it's always crazy enlightening (and crazy dramatic too). So, it's with immense curiosity (and slight trepidation) that I wait to hear the state of the world for me in 2016. Stay tuned, people. Shit could get crazy.
My First Reading from The Amnesia of Junebugs (for The Sparks Prize Reading Series)
Today is the day I give my my first reading from my debut novel, The Amnesia of Junebugs, the first + only time I have to give a reading as the 2007 Sparks Prize winner + also the first (but not the last) time I'll be reading to people at Notre Dame all by myself. I'm crazy excited + also nervous as shit.
Chuck Wachtel Gives Me Some Props for The Amnesia of Junebugs
Yo, I'm so happy. i want these words framed and put above my bed. this is what chuck wachtel, the associate professor of fiction at NYU who judged this year's sparks prize entry wrote about my submission:
Selecting this submissions as the first prize winner was easy. i was quickly engaged in the fast-paced cinematic prose, the humor, the vigorous motion of the plot. the narrator tells the story in a scatter-shot through controlled voice that at times brought junot diaz's stories to mind, at times, the earlier novels of lois-ann yamanaka. there is a surprising emotional accuracy, thus a genuine pathos: the work of this young author is already possessed of a genuine fictional beauty.
Every time i'm sad, discouraged, uninspired, self-destructive, professionally lost, creatively mercurial or just feeling like shit, i'm gonna re-read that quote and remember that for one moment, someone saw my writing exactly as i was trying to write it: cinematically, beautifully, with bursts of controlled intensity reminiscent of junot diaz. for one single second, i felt like a shorty that just met a man who understood her perfectly. if it's possible to be in love with the critical remarks of a stranger, then surely i am. in a continous flash flood of rejections, jeers and insults, it's good to have these little islands to gather strength from.
Selecting this submissions as the first prize winner was easy. i was quickly engaged in the fast-paced cinematic prose, the humor, the vigorous motion of the plot. the narrator tells the story in a scatter-shot through controlled voice that at times brought junot diaz's stories to mind, at times, the earlier novels of lois-ann yamanaka. there is a surprising emotional accuracy, thus a genuine pathos: the work of this young author is already possessed of a genuine fictional beauty.
Every time i'm sad, discouraged, uninspired, self-destructive, professionally lost, creatively mercurial or just feeling like shit, i'm gonna re-read that quote and remember that for one moment, someone saw my writing exactly as i was trying to write it: cinematically, beautifully, with bursts of controlled intensity reminiscent of junot diaz. for one single second, i felt like a shorty that just met a man who understood her perfectly. if it's possible to be in love with the critical remarks of a stranger, then surely i am. in a continous flash flood of rejections, jeers and insults, it's good to have these little islands to gather strength from.
Winning the Sparks Prize
I can't fucking believe it. I won the sparks prize. i really did, i won it. i keep telling myself this over and over again cuz i don't really believe it. for those of you not at notre dame (i.e., the rest of the civilized world), the sparks prize is a competition open to 2nd year MFA students in notre dame's creative writing program and the winner gets 20k and has no comittments except one public reading of his bip (book-in-progress). it's the sweetest deal ever and i never thought i'd really win it cuz it's so unpredictable.
Unofficially, i'm planning on moving back to chicago, and coming down for some of the Lula readings, some of the guest fiction readings, and some of the football games. i most def. want to have a stronger presence on campus than the past 2 winners--no disrespect to them at all. and i think chicago is a perfect compromise: it's close enough for me to still be part of notre dame but far enough that i get breathe in urban culture, eat thai food more often, and--imagine this--possibly date again.
Perhaps even cooler than this prize, is just the love and encouragement from my fellow writers and friends. when coleen called me, i thought i was having an out-of-body experience. no, for real. i think i almost stepped out of my body i was so stoked. coleen's excitement was so touching, i almost started crying right there. and then when some of my peeps wrote me, and told me "jackson, you deserve this," god man, that moved me so much, that almost meant more than anything else. i mean, if they approve of the prize in any way, then i feel like, hey, maybe i do deserve this as much as anyone else.
Today is the literal antithesis of yesterday: yesterday, it was 73, i was wearing a t-shirt, and i found out the JET program rejected me. today, i was wearing my winter coat, it was 37 degrees, and i found out i won the sparks prize--the complete reciprocal image of yesterday in every possible way. wednesday has always been the day of change for me, a period of transition between energy fields. but i never expected it to work out THIS way. not in a million years. a humdulilah.
::
In the next couple of weeks, i'm gonna write up a daily schedule for the next year that includes some or all of these things:
yoga and meditation
exercise (e.g. biking and or jogging)
read 2 hours of fiction, non-fiction and poetry every day, both journals and books
write AT LEAST one piece of flash fiction each and every day
submit manuscripts every single week to journals, both online and print
research and attend at least 2 conferences (one of which, should be AWP)
find an agent if Lynn Nesbit doesn't bite
write for at least 4 hours everyday
try to publish 10 new stories in the next academic calender year
Well, that's just the beginning, but that's the basic idea. i'm totally gonna take this prize seriously and give it the honor and respect and hard work it deserves, otherwise, i don't deserve it.
Unofficially, i'm planning on moving back to chicago, and coming down for some of the Lula readings, some of the guest fiction readings, and some of the football games. i most def. want to have a stronger presence on campus than the past 2 winners--no disrespect to them at all. and i think chicago is a perfect compromise: it's close enough for me to still be part of notre dame but far enough that i get breathe in urban culture, eat thai food more often, and--imagine this--possibly date again.
Perhaps even cooler than this prize, is just the love and encouragement from my fellow writers and friends. when coleen called me, i thought i was having an out-of-body experience. no, for real. i think i almost stepped out of my body i was so stoked. coleen's excitement was so touching, i almost started crying right there. and then when some of my peeps wrote me, and told me "jackson, you deserve this," god man, that moved me so much, that almost meant more than anything else. i mean, if they approve of the prize in any way, then i feel like, hey, maybe i do deserve this as much as anyone else.
Today is the literal antithesis of yesterday: yesterday, it was 73, i was wearing a t-shirt, and i found out the JET program rejected me. today, i was wearing my winter coat, it was 37 degrees, and i found out i won the sparks prize--the complete reciprocal image of yesterday in every possible way. wednesday has always been the day of change for me, a period of transition between energy fields. but i never expected it to work out THIS way. not in a million years. a humdulilah.
::
In the next couple of weeks, i'm gonna write up a daily schedule for the next year that includes some or all of these things:
yoga and meditation
exercise (e.g. biking and or jogging)
read 2 hours of fiction, non-fiction and poetry every day, both journals and books
write AT LEAST one piece of flash fiction each and every day
submit manuscripts every single week to journals, both online and print
research and attend at least 2 conferences (one of which, should be AWP)
find an agent if Lynn Nesbit doesn't bite
write for at least 4 hours everyday
try to publish 10 new stories in the next academic calender year
Well, that's just the beginning, but that's the basic idea. i'm totally gonna take this prize seriously and give it the honor and respect and hard work it deserves, otherwise, i don't deserve it.
Chicago + SoBe
First, i finally saw emily wednesday in chicago. we talked for awhile at cafe ennui, where the second male barista was power-tripping my ass. are you using that, he asked, pointing to my g4 that was plugged into the outlet, no right now, i said, it's recharging, but are you using it? he asked, yes, i said, well then can you unplug it please? it was bizarre. i just didn't his point. i didn't get his issue. okay, i said, laughing, i don't understand why, i added, but fine, whatever man. . . so we left that place. fuck that dude. sometimes, guys get really bitter when you're a cute dude and you're with a really attractive shorty. that's not my problem though.
Anyway, em decided to boycott cafe I'm-so-bored after that guy went all judge-Kafka on me. so then we walked, picked up eithiopian food to go at the Ethiopian diamond and hopped on the el.
--We have 5 stops, she said.
--Okay, quickly, tell me everything, I said.
We talked until the lawrence stop, and then she kissed me on the lips to say good bye, and i kissed her back, slowly lingering between her lips before she stood up to leave.
--i love you, she says. and then she was gone, just like that.
Yup, everytime i see em, it's magical.
::
So i've been procrastinating writing assis's 3rd chapter in my novel. i really don't want to write this chapter cuz this is where Hassan dies. i wish he didn't have to die, but i've known for months now that he has to go. it's the only way i can show the random abuse of power that les flics have in france, particularly over arabs. but still, it breaks my heart that i have to kill one of my fave characters. i've given him all the time in the world to say his last prayers. i hope he has.
::
I ran into t and colby at the cambodian joint last night. it was nice seeing them. we talked about our plans afterwards, lamented about the sparks prize and the vague criteria, then we speculated about shero's sexuality, took apart the department and talked about living in leland someday. t is the first man i've ever seen who basically ordered, and took down, 3 separate thai soups for dinner, before nibbling on colby's chicken pad thai. one of the soups was technically curry, but still . . .he drank it like soup.
::
Even though i've only hung out with erika once, i think about her all the time. i really need to see her again. i really want to know if she could be my next chemical inbalance, my next maze, my next exercise in simple present. but i won't know until i talk to her again. i won't figure out how i feel until i know how her tongue tastes in my mouth.
Anyway, em decided to boycott cafe I'm-so-bored after that guy went all judge-Kafka on me. so then we walked, picked up eithiopian food to go at the Ethiopian diamond and hopped on the el.
--We have 5 stops, she said.
--Okay, quickly, tell me everything, I said.
We talked until the lawrence stop, and then she kissed me on the lips to say good bye, and i kissed her back, slowly lingering between her lips before she stood up to leave.
--i love you, she says. and then she was gone, just like that.
Yup, everytime i see em, it's magical.
::
So i've been procrastinating writing assis's 3rd chapter in my novel. i really don't want to write this chapter cuz this is where Hassan dies. i wish he didn't have to die, but i've known for months now that he has to go. it's the only way i can show the random abuse of power that les flics have in france, particularly over arabs. but still, it breaks my heart that i have to kill one of my fave characters. i've given him all the time in the world to say his last prayers. i hope he has.
::
I ran into t and colby at the cambodian joint last night. it was nice seeing them. we talked about our plans afterwards, lamented about the sparks prize and the vague criteria, then we speculated about shero's sexuality, took apart the department and talked about living in leland someday. t is the first man i've ever seen who basically ordered, and took down, 3 separate thai soups for dinner, before nibbling on colby's chicken pad thai. one of the soups was technically curry, but still . . .he drank it like soup.
::
Even though i've only hung out with erika once, i think about her all the time. i really need to see her again. i really want to know if she could be my next chemical inbalance, my next maze, my next exercise in simple present. but i won't know until i talk to her again. i won't figure out how i feel until i know how her tongue tastes in my mouth.
Sparks Prize Deconstructed
I've broken down the sparks prize enough to know that it:
1. Does not necessarily decide which writer is the most talented
2. Does not which writer necessarily works the hardest (though I think I'm undoubtedly one of the hardest working writers in our program, that much I will say)
So, i shouldn't trip if i don't get it, which is a very definite possibility
It's a prize that's based on the judge's perception of which manuscript is the most publishable, and as we all know, a lot of complete shit gets published, and a lot of amazing writing gets rejected continuously, and then, sometimes, good writing slips through the cracks too, and then, on top of everything, even if i don't win the sparks prize, i still think i'll get my book published in the next couple of years, and i've already been published. so there.
It's just that the sparks prize is 20k with NO COMITTMENT EXCEPT ONE PUBLIC READING.
All things considered, i guess winning the sparks prize would really be the perfect way to end my MFA and spend time in Chicago again with my brother, friends and family and i know i'd work really hard and write all the fucking time to honor that prize and the privilege of having a year to develop my career, but those are rational reasons, and rationalism doesn't trump subjectivity or art, and honestly, it's not supposed to. i really loved interpreter of maladies, but do i think it was the best book in 2003? god no, absolutely not the best, but certainly one of the best books that year. and ditto with salman rushdie and the nobel prize in literature. just cuz he deserves it doesn't mean he's going to win it. and thought these might be lofty self-juxtapositions, i find comfort in them.
I guess i have to for now since next month is judgment day, and, ultimately, i have to accept the fact that even if i think i'm one of the most talented fiction writers in this program, and one of the hardest working ones too, that doesn't mean shit for this award. the beauty and the brutality of the sparks prize is that it's given completely out of context, which means the best writer could win it, or just as easily, the biggest poser of all time could win it too. in 30 pages, you can fake almost anything.
Okay. End of sparks prize lamentation
1. Does not necessarily decide which writer is the most talented
2. Does not which writer necessarily works the hardest (though I think I'm undoubtedly one of the hardest working writers in our program, that much I will say)
So, i shouldn't trip if i don't get it, which is a very definite possibility
It's a prize that's based on the judge's perception of which manuscript is the most publishable, and as we all know, a lot of complete shit gets published, and a lot of amazing writing gets rejected continuously, and then, sometimes, good writing slips through the cracks too, and then, on top of everything, even if i don't win the sparks prize, i still think i'll get my book published in the next couple of years, and i've already been published. so there.
It's just that the sparks prize is 20k with NO COMITTMENT EXCEPT ONE PUBLIC READING.
All things considered, i guess winning the sparks prize would really be the perfect way to end my MFA and spend time in Chicago again with my brother, friends and family and i know i'd work really hard and write all the fucking time to honor that prize and the privilege of having a year to develop my career, but those are rational reasons, and rationalism doesn't trump subjectivity or art, and honestly, it's not supposed to. i really loved interpreter of maladies, but do i think it was the best book in 2003? god no, absolutely not the best, but certainly one of the best books that year. and ditto with salman rushdie and the nobel prize in literature. just cuz he deserves it doesn't mean he's going to win it. and thought these might be lofty self-juxtapositions, i find comfort in them.
I guess i have to for now since next month is judgment day, and, ultimately, i have to accept the fact that even if i think i'm one of the most talented fiction writers in this program, and one of the hardest working ones too, that doesn't mean shit for this award. the beauty and the brutality of the sparks prize is that it's given completely out of context, which means the best writer could win it, or just as easily, the biggest poser of all time could win it too. in 30 pages, you can fake almost anything.
Okay. End of sparks prize lamentation