Good Rejection from 42 Opus

Dear Jackson Bliss,

Thank you for submitting work to 42 Opus.

We're honored that you would consider it as an outlet for your creative work. 42opus cannot exist without your contributions. You should know that your submission was forwarded by the Assistant Editors to the genre Editors for further consideration; only about 10% of our submissions pass beyond this first round. Although we are unable to use your submission in the upcoming issues, we would love to hear from you again in the future.

Thank you once again.

Brian Leary
Managing Editor, 42opus

Writing = A Viral Delusion

Recent rejections from Missouri Review,which is my fave university-affiliated literary journal in the states, as well as from The Atlantic, Smokelong Quarterly, and from Elise Proulx, a lit agent out of San Fran, has made me pensive. Not snarly as I sometimes get, but pensive. My rejection from Missouri was a fantastic one, so good in fact that I didn't understand why it got rejected, but I can't help but wonder sometimes why any of us write. why we spend so much time creating something so few people get the chance to appreciate. It's funny, sometimes I feel like being a writer is just a viral delusion. We're infected with this idea that we have something important and interesting to tell the world, even if no one else sees it, not workshop morticians or journal editors, not lazy readers or family members, not consumers of glossies or random strangers. Really, so much of what we write never reaches anyone but we refuse to accept the blatant rejection of our art that is so universal and frequent, almost conspiratorial, but not that efficient. If you took away our stories, we would be, in a word, insane. We insist on a reality no one else sees or conforms to, we tell ourselves that we are writers even if we can't live by it, even if no one reads our stories, even if journals won't publish our fiction, we insist--correctly might I add, even necessarily--that everyone has it wrong, and someday, they'll get it right.

Being a writer is like playing make-believe, trying to get everyone else to play along. But even when they do, we think two things: what took you so long, and what's wrong with you?

What Is Art to Americans?

And why, oh, why can't I simply live as an artist? Why do all writers and poets and painters and sculptors and photographers have to schlep grocery bags and work in neglected shabby record stores and teach composition to lazy teenagers, just to survive? Why isn't art a self-sustaining profession? Why isn't it more valued in our culture? Is it the definition of social utility? Art = culture + critique. Art = politics + revolt. Art = unapologetic egocentricity + codified sexuality. What's more useful than that?

The biggest complaint I have about art is that only rich kidz and the bourgeoisie can afford to not work and make art all day, and strangely enough, only rich kidz and the bourgeosie have enough money and time to consume it too. For the rest of us, for almost all of us, we have to work at a bread factory, or teach world literature seminars, or sell used furniture, or give 50 somethings manicures, and each and every day, there is a work of art, another story, another photo we didn't take or write or make, and before you know it, we are haunted by the ghosts of our own creativity, we live in a world of shadows where the things we couldn't create because we're human and we need to survive, end up outnumbering the things we actually create. Only music and cinema are self-sustaining, but that proves it's not about the utility of art, because a movie is no more useful than a sonnet; a slick R&B song, is neither more nor less important than say, a still-life, or a short story. But we're willing to dish out 10 bucks for an album, or a flick. So what do artists have to do so that cultures are willing to invest in them everyday? Has art strayed too far from the mainstream for the public to relate with, identify with, and escape into it? Is this a question of entertainment? Emotion? If art could make people cry, or take them back to their childhood, the way a song does, would the human response be different? If art could hold someone's attention for 2 hours, and make them travel to new places, would they go on that journey? And why can't or won't artists engage people this way? Are we too indier-than-thou? Do we despise the public subconsciously? Are we alienating non-specialists, or trying to please critics and editors too much? How does art become a robust part of our evolving artistic mainstream culture again without selling out and compromising its ferociousness? Is this what we're afraid of, being consumed and understood by too many people? As artists, are we creating out own division of labor? Do we lose our special place in the world if a soccer mom from New Jersey is moved by our work? Was Andy Warhol wrong to make caricatures of rich people and then take their money afterwards?

1st Story Accepted in 2008

Yesterday, I just found out (officially) that a short lyrical essay I submitted to SOUTH LOOP REVIEW about my おばあさま(my grandmama) was accepted for its September issue. Holla!

The SLR is a rad (not to mention, pretty-looking) journal out of Columbia College Chicago offering creative non-fiction and photography. I'm so stoked. This is my first CNF piece to be accepted, and also, it will be nice that my peeps/family can buy something I've written at one of the Borders in Chicago.

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.

Bitch Session about Literary Fiction (Journals)

You know, i'm an incredibly patient man. i am. i've been told this many times and i'd like to think it's one of my unusual talents--like making up lame-ass jingles on the keyboard--it's just something i can do without putting any thought into it. the truth is, i rarely complain about the fickle and elitist nature of literary journals, but recently it's been pissing me off so i'm gonna bitch about it. i'll understand if you don't wanna read this.

Here are the reasons why american lit journals are a failure right now:

1. College MFA students shouldn't be the front line for lit journals.. i understand they make the editor's life a lot easier, and occasionally, some MFA readers have sharp eyes for sharp writing, but most of the time, they don't have a fucking clue. i mean, what do these little fuckers know about getting published? What did I know about publishing fiction when I was a reader for the Notre Dame Review? Absolutely nothing! Most fiction readers have never published a damn thing to save their fucking life, so the fact that they're simultaneously deciding what is basically publishable from the perspective of writers who are essentially opinionated amateurs, is fucking absurd.

2. The same 40 writers keep getting published over and over again and it has made this market dull indeed. i don't care if you're junot diaz, i don't want to read a story from you every time i shell out 5 bucks for a new yorker. what i don't understand about writers is why they don't understand their own saturation points. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. And there's def too much of a bad thing

3. My personal opinion is, it's better to write 4 amazing books than 14 very good ones, but writers feel pressured to pump out a novel every 2 years, even more if they're commercial writers

4. Until magazine start embracing short stories again, which creates an implicit message that the short story is not an intrinsic part of our culture, short stories are still going to be part of the domain of high-brow realist garbage literature, read almost exclusively by other writers. aspiring writers read them (the honorable ones, anyway), established writers publish them, and then other wannabe writers buy their journals to steal their tricks.

5. New writers shouldn't have token cameos in lit journals just so they can say, look, we're not the enemy of the emerging writer. it's gotten so bad that journals like Ploughshares actually have a new writers issue, which only points out how rarely they publish new writers.

6. If it takes you a year to reject me, you need to send me your home address with the rejection letter so i drive to your stuffy apartment and smack you across the head for wasting my time and feeding my irrational dreamworld.

7. Safe sucks. The traditional writing programs like Iowa + Columbia are injecting this industry with writers that are very polished technically, and most of the time, don't have one ounce of soul, originality, rebellion, genius or ambition to save their lives. for every tc boyle there are a million writers gifted at creating beautifully empty fluff that sounds amazing + doesn't mean a thing + doesn't have any staying power whatsoever. it has become enough simply to write + to publish, not necessarily to matter, to provoke, to critique, to explore, to take readers to a high place of awareness, to depict social injustice, to explore complex social issues, to create a place of beauty, to render deeper insight into our own existence

8. If only lit fiction writers had some of the imagination and intelligence of experimental writers, and if experimental writers could match the strength of their ideas with the quality of their prose that many lit. fictionistas have, we would be a changed world indeed.

9. Lit fiction writers, stop stealing ideas from newspapers! use your fucking mind and come up with something original.

10. The dullness of the lit fiction market has made our art obscure. how many times have i told people different journals i've been published in, only to see their mouths hang wide open like dogs overheating in the backseat? it's not their fault. most writers are so sick of getting rejected that they've created their own journals and now we have more lit journals than at any point in history but we DON'T have more readers. Karmically, if you want to get published in a journal, then shell out 20 bucks that you'd use normally for a second pint + fucking subscribe to a journal instead. Just one.

11. As long as lit writers ignore their readers or write for their friends who are editors, this market and this profession is doomed. i'm not saying dumb the writing down, but i am saying the experimentalists and the literary fiction writers can, and need to, acknowledge the blatantly dialectical nature of writing/reading (roland barthes, eat your fucking heart out), which is why commercial fiction is so successful because the authors give readers exactly what they want, dreary and obsequious as that sounds. likewise, i think commercial fiction writers can elevate their craft, originality and level of ideas and basically expect more of their readers too.

12. I'm all for working my ass off but goddamit, i want to know who my agent is and which company is going to publish my first novel inshallah. and if not, please tell me so i can send my shit to someone else who will passionately stick up for the kind of art that i create.

13. Sadly, the more into my writing and my profession i become, the more time i spend in limbo not knowing what the hell is going on.

14. BDG, please please please help me. this isn't actually a point, but i wanted to say it anyway.

15. I've come to the conclusion that i've wasted way too much time submitting short stories to journals without almost nothing to show for it. i mean, the number of print journals i've published stories is prohibitively small, and sometimes i feel like only inertia, pride, ego and stubbornness keep me writing and submitting the way i do.

16. The sheer arbitrariness of lit journal acceptances has turned me off completely to submitting. i have friends who have worked in the editorial dep't of journals and readers/editors have picked stories (and rejected them) for the most ridiculous reasons you can imagine, from the fact that the reader likes butterflies and unicorns to the fact that he can't stand stories with hispanic voices or second person narratives.

17. I'm calibrating my submission technique. now i'm only gonna submit my stories to the best lit journals (defined in my own way), journals that accept online submissions, and journals that give me good rejections. enough of this flooding the market stuff. i tried giving the small, indie, obscure journal its fair share, and with some notable exceptions, it just feels like a small journal trying to be a big journal, not a small journal celebrating its smallness.

18. New Yorker: what the hell is wrong with you? does it really take you over 7 months to send me this as a rejection email:

Dear author,

We haven't read your story and never will because we don't know who you are and your name won't attract readers. So why don't you stop sending us stories until people know who you, then we'll make you (more) famous.

Okay, they don't say that, but they might as well. . .

19. I'm gonna get into journals through my the way most authors are doing it these days, so most of my attention is going towards getting BLANK and my (soon to be) 2 collections of short stories published.

20. Watch: the instant after i post this rant, i'm gonna get an acceptance from one of the journals i just excoriated (or not). but that's fine. my tastes change, my sentiments and my critiques change over time. i may even feel differently tomorrow morning, but right now, this is exactly how i feel. I make no apologies.

What Universe Am I In?

These past two nights, i've been doing strange shit RIGHT before i go to bed. Why do I do this? For example:

Last night, i was just about to close my little polar white Macbook when i suddenly decided to write three novel query letters to literary agents and try to pitch my novel to them, even THOUGH i'm waiting to hear from Mcsweeney's, Simon & Schuster, and my friend, BDG at Hachette promised she would read The Amnesia of Junebugs and talk to two of the greatest agents in the history of literary representation on my behalf, after a gentle push email, that is, and the strange thing is it just happened, just like that.

And tonight, i was about to go to bed, Erika was badgering me to fall asleep with her like she always does, and i was just about to follow her into the bedroom, and then the next thing i know, i uploaded a short story to Crazyhorse's 2007 fiction prize contest, wrote up a quick cover letter, and signed a check that's ready to be mailed off tomorrow. sometimes, i can be so random.

Strange thing happened in the course of 10 hours: one of the queries i sent at 2 in the morning was to Miriam Goderich at the illustrious Gystel & Goderich, and i got this rejection email from her ed assistant later this morning that began with "Dear Author". that's a rejection in less than TWELVE HOURS. that has GOT to be a record in some time zones. the strange thing is, this lit agency hates generic queries but they sent me a generic rejection. there's a word for that.

There's a word for that. It's lame. L-A-M-E, lame.

I also discovered last night that the Writers Post Journal, the small indie magazine out of pittsburgh that was about to publish "Hula Dancing in the Bronx" suddenly shut down for good, without any real explanation. They didn't even email me to let me know. In fact, all of my follow-up emails got bounced back. Somehow this is worse than getting rejected. Putos.

Anyway, onward then.

Lastly: I sent out 19 more submissions for my last push of 2007 to journals like playboy, the virginia quaterly, the atlantic monthly, fiction international, iowa review, fugue, tin house, and many more. i think i have sent out close to a 120 manuscripts in the past 7 months. it's gotten so bad that the clerk recently asked me if i wanted to open up my own private account with the post office, complete with a free post office box and complimentary USPS cap. okay, that's not true. but it might as well be.

Hearing Michael Martone Read from His Book, Michael Martone, Doublewide +

Fort Wayne is 7th on Hitler's List, The Blue Guide to Indiana, Alive + Dead in Indiana, Pensées of Dan Quayle, + others.

Today LB and i drove down to hear Michael Martone read at Notre Dame, and as usual, he was funny, entertaining, clever, the whole 4-movement symphony. i sent him a text (he asked all of us in the audience to) that said:

This is your mother.
Drink your water.

Which he did, though, not because he'd read my text.

While i was there, i chatted with Steve about science fiction, who i still call tom sometimes, i talked with William about his pile of slush from last year that he is only now sending rejection letters for, i talked about binary translation fallacies with Joyelle, being a mom, her 2 books coming out with fence and tarpaulin sky press, then i ran into Valerie, and i gave her a short update, later i ran into Megan the ndlf organizer extraordinaire, and Laura Fox, who is probably one of the most impressive, put together (and cute) undergrads i've met in years--we talked about Simon + Schuster and i think she knows Ginny Smith. que pequeño es el mundo, cabrón.

::

I have to say, it felt so good running into these people. they reminded me of what i love the most about my experience at notre dame, and it filled a small void in me to be able to talk books for a few hours, something i complained about ad nauseum last year, but that i can appreciate in bursts like today.

I hope i get to have coffee with Valerie, Steve, and William in chicago in the near future, and as Michael Martone requested, i'm definitely going to email him and pick his brain about writing. maybe, just maybe inshallah, if i'm really lucky, Michael Martone will actually read defiance of objects, the manuscript i submitted for the FC2 innovative fiction prize, but that's probably wishful thinking. on verra. . .

Another :: Entry

Fulbright & macdowell colony: fuck nancy regan, just say yes!

Other voices: i feel like we're breaking up cuz you don't call or write, and you aren't telling me what's on your mind.

Journals that don't even both to send rejection emails: as the brits say, piss off wankers! translated: you don't deserve my shit, bitch!

Simon & Schuster, BDG & Mcsweeney's: this is lame autosuggestion, but you really wanna give this kid a chance. he'll write his ass off for you.

Bee: how's the deep south?

Knowing what it is that you love in your life, and even better, learning how to do it justice: amazing.

Life: t'es si bien equilibrée à présent.

New yorker: i'm aging over here.

Jackson Bliss: so far this year has been awesome, but don't forget the vibration of your name

Blessings: work hard so that you always feel like you deserve them.

The Link between Domestic Chores + Manuscript Submissions

Yesterday i was in this crazy mood so i:

1. changed the lightbulbs in the bathroom
2. re-organized the strange pile of recycling bags
3. recharged LB's iPod so she'd have tunes for our run
4. washed all the dishes
5. prepped 13 new manuscripts (e.g. fiction and CNF)
6. made the bed
7. sent off my 13 new manuscripts to 13 journals, including Elle, Esquire, The Yale Review, Indiana Review, 4th Genre, Michigan Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, Epoch & Black Warrior Review, among others

At the post office, the clerk and i started chatting and she wanted to read some of my fiction, which was really flattering, so i told her to look up my STAND piece and my WRITERS POST JOURNAL piece, even though they won't be ready forever. it was so nice.

Today, par contre, i finally did something i've wanted to do since graduation in may. i submitted my novel BLANK to mcsweeney's press. i'm sure it will take them forever to get back to me, but as long as they read the whole thing--as if, kid--i'm cool with that. so now my novel is under editorial and agent consideration at simon & schuster, grand central and mcsweeney's, and yo, i couldn't be happier!

Sidenote: sometimes i can be random. i was just about to shave and take a shower, and then, the next thing i know, i'm composing a cover letter to the book submissions editor at mcsweeney's and writing this blog in my boxer shorts. what is going on with my mind?

Finishing My Collection of Flash Fiction about Glass

I finally fished my novella/collection of flash fiction a few days ago and i'm really happy about this. it's 52 pages and centers around people looking through windows, which includes:

12 small blurbs about the molecular composition of glass, the history of glass blowing
and 12 short shorts ranging from 2 to 5 pages each, that include the stories of:

1. a girl looking from the backseat of her car.
2. an alcoholic who pawns her grandmother's jewelry to buy a gold beretta
3. a japanese woman who stays in tokyo hotels to see her city for the first time
4. a father on the amtrak who is visiting his daughter with the creepy militia husband for the 1st time in 15 years
5. a man who walks through portland late at night to see his life inside the window display of stores
6. a woman who watches her schizophrenic neighbor through the peep hole of her door
7. a boy who turns his father in for stealing his collector's edition hans solo action figures
8. a girl who watches the city from juvie detention for ripping the gun out of a cholo's hands
9. a guy who gives his brother advice on how to sleep with smart chicks by wearing fake glasses
10. a woman who falls in love with a man working in a window office
11. a man who deliberately boards crowded el's in chicago to be touched by passengers
12. a man who tries to live his whole life with open windows

I'm going to include this novella in my second collection of short stories. i've already submitted many of these stories to journals like the santa monica review, sentence, boulevard, flyway, and others too. now it's up to lit journals to get their shit straight and publish them!

Now if i can just think of a name. . .

4 Things to Inspire Hope

1. I recently submitted defiance of objects, my first collection of short stories that i've been working on for years now (and this summer, revising) to 2 more first book contests at:

FC2's innovative fiction prize
The bakeless prize at middlebury college

2. Brick Magazine sent me a nice rejection letter that said "piano lessons" was engaging and stylistically beautiful. right then.

3. I'm still working on my short novella/flash fiction collection about people looking through windows. i'm almost halfway done. i'm planning on including this in my second collection of short stories once it's finished. Maybe.

4. If i don't get an agent or a publisher in the next 6 months, i'm gonna start submitting to some of the excellent small/indie presses: greywolf, soft skull, red hen, granta, stuff like that.

Get Your Game On Jackson Bliss

University of Iowa has a short fiction contest, awarded to a first book of fiction, so yesterday i sent DEFIANCE OF OBJECTS, my first, and more experimental collection of short stories to iowa city, all 234 pages of it, for the short fiction award. i'm also planning on sending this collection to one or more of the following first book contests in the next few months:

1. umass juniper prize
2. FC2 prize
3. bakeless prize

I'll continue working on a second collection of short stories very soon that is more plot and character-based, with more controlled language, that i hope to get ready to submit in the spring. i'm aiming at one or more of these first book contests:

1. ohio state prize
2. the flannery o'connor prize
3. the pitt prize

Ginny, one of the editors at simon & schuster told me she was really impressed with my novel. she called it a great novel and had some insightful suggestions on making the ending more potent, so, right now i'm following a lot of her suggestions, and i have to say, she's right. her ideas are making the climax stronger, and the novel, simpy better. thanx ginny.

I wrote an email to my friend, bdg, at hachette/grand central publishing, who is a senior editor there, and i asked her, hey do you know these two agents, one is Michael Chabon's agent, the second is junot diaz's agent, and bdg, was like, yeah, i know them, i know them well. . . SOOOOOO i asked her if she could talk to them and get them to check out BLANK, and she said, god bless you bdg, lemme read your novel first jackson so i have something to talk about, and then i'll talk to them. let it be known that my internship is STILL changing my life for the better.

Shameless Self-Googling is Good for You

I know, I know, it's vain and egocentric to google yourself. except when you discover that one of your fave online travel journals published a memoir of yours about africa. AND they didn't tell you either. so tonight, i was waiting for erika to get home, i'd just finished applying for a part-time tutoring gig online, and after i did some self-googling--which, i admit, sounds totally kinky--i realized that POLOGY magazine published my piece "Stripped Down" about the bike trips i used to take from my village to the malian border. anyway, there are tons of run-on sentences, but i think it's still a good memoir. check it out peeps, it's evocative enough, even if it is travel writing.

::

I'm stoked about my reading at notre dame in february. for more info, check this out. i can't wait to hit the mic

3rd Story Accepted in 2007 (Aka Goddamn the Irish but God Bless the Brits)

We just got our asses handed to ourselves by Georgia Tech. That was one of the worst ND football games I've ever seen.

On the flip side, i found out that one of Britain's best literary magazines, STAND MAGAZINE, just accepted "A Nimble Calligraphy," a language-drive short story i sent them well over a year ago.

After A Year of Hope + Possibility, BLANK is Rejected by Janklow + Nesbit

It's devastating, man.  Priscilla Gilman (Lynn Nesbit's daughter) from Janklow + Nesbit associates, rejected my novel. Here are her words verbatim:

[Jackson,] I wanted to let you know that I have now had the opportunity to read your novel and will with some reluctance be passing on the chance to represent it. I think you are a very talented writer with lots of important and interesting things to say. But the evident merits of your work notwithstanding, I don't feel strongly enough about the material to justify taking it on. Best of luck in securing the
passionate representation you deserve.

Dave Eggers Is a Cool Dude

When i met Dave Eggers in february at the Notre Dame Literary Festival, i thought he was funny and charismatic, and i respected the way he was using his celebrity to draw attention to genocide in the sudan, but i thought he was way too busy to follow up on his promise to me. for those of you checking in for the first time, after chatting with him for 10 minutes or so, i told Dave Eggers about a few africa pieces of mine, a memoir and a chapter from my novel, and i asked him if he'd take a look, and he said, i'm be happy to, send them to mcsweeney's and tell the editor to forward them to me, so what's your name?

Anyway, so i sent him two pieces and waited. that was in february and it's strange cuz i was just thinking recently, man, he's never going to read those two pieces, and i deliberately sent him two short pieces, one is 4 pages, another is maybe 5 pages cuz i know he's mad busy. well last night, i got two emails, one from the mcsweeney's editor and another from Dave Eggers' assistant, both saying, i'm so sorry, your email got lost in the shuffle. mcsweeney's editor rejected a story i sent him in february, but told me to send him more fiction, and he also wanted me to know that he just recently read the email i'd sent him 6 months ago and he forwarded it to dave. and then dave's assistant, michelle, also sent me an email saying, Jackson, we're so sorry about this, we know you sent this email 6 months ago, but i want you to know that right now Dave's in the sudan, but he wanted me to tell you that he got your two pieces and he's going to read them when he can.

You know, it almost doesn't matter if Dave Eggers doesn't publish what i sent him. just the fact that he stayed true to his word and the fact tat he remembered me, and that he sent his assistant a personal mesage for me, makes me really happy.

Now, if Dave Eggers will just pick up either of those two pieces, i'll be ecstatic for the rest of august inshallah.

Anyway, right now, i have mad respect for Dave Eggers. he's a true mensch.