The other day I shared an Instagram shot of some literary journals I had picked up that day. In my caption, I suggested that folks support lit mags in some capacity, whether it be buying a single copy or subscribing for a year, or even just borrowing them from the library.
I got to thinking about why I am such a huge fan of many of them, both as a writer and a reader (my favorites are listed below, though it’s certainly not a complete list). In all honesty, until about maybe eight years ago, I didn’t realize the wide, WIDE range of literary magazines out there beyond the biggies like Ploughshares or The Paris Review. But now that I am actively submitting short stories and essays to various lit mags (writer me) and no longer always have the time or attention span for books in some circumstances (reader me), I’ve discovered there are many reasons to love lit mags. Allow me to share them with you, and maybe even convince you to go snag one for yourself sometime this summer.
♦ If you are a writer and want to end up in a lit mag someday, you need to read a few. It’s a no brainer, but you should read a few issues of the journal(s) where you’d like to be published to get an idea of the caliber/style/content, and see if your writing is a good fit. But read others too. You will be both inspired by and aspire to be included among the truly great writing contained therein. Since I’ve made the recent decision to focus almost all of my writing efforts to submit to print publishers rather than online forums, this has been a crucial part of the process for me.
♦ Many of them have mixed content. I love the fact that most (not all) have an assortment of essays, creative nonfiction, interviews, poetry, short stories/prose, and/or book reviews. It allows for skipping around (or past) things to suit your interest in that moment.
♦ You will come across new styles/content that you might not have been willing to commit to in long form like a novel or an anthology, but are willing to dabble in for a moment here without much investment of time or money.
♦ Lit mags make a good palate cleanser between reading books or writing your own content. Sometimes I want to read things that most other folks haven’t read widely, mainly because I don’t often like being biased by popular and strong praise for something that everyone seems to be reading. While I always welcome suggestions for brilliant books, the other side of that coin (especially if you move in writerly/readerly circles online like I do) is that I often feel like I don’t want to read something because it’s already been talked about to death before I’ve gotten to it, sometimes ruining the experience for me when I finally do sit down and read it. By reading lit mags, I have fewer skewed expectations yet I know that it is writing that has been vetted by astute editors.
♦ The price is justifiable. You are not only supporting a lit mag and its writers (though I know that not all of them pay writers with money—that’s a topic for another day), but the reading experience is often quite on par with a short novel timewise. I can buy a newsstand magazine for about $4-5 and finish it in an under hour, but lit mags usually take longer to savor and get through which (I think) aptly correlates to the slightly higher pricing. In other words, it’s worth it.
♦ You will definitely find new or “new to you” voices and be intrigued by what else they’ve written (that happened with me and reading something by Sara Lippmann in Heavy Feather Review), especially if they are not big names (yet).
♦ You will also occasionally find nuggets from writers you already love, whether it be an interview of them or an essay that they’ve written that you didn’t know about (like when I read something by Roxane Gay in Tin House).
♦ Many of the writers are on Twitter, and some of them are fascinating to follow.
♦ It’s on paper. I love the tactile experience of paper books and magazines. Lit mags are often like a revved up version of those media because the paper quality and size is usually quite good. It makes it feel like you are reading something special (because you are!).
♦ Many issues have a theme, and so discovering how various writers (and the editors selecting the work for that issue) thought about that theme can be really interesting, especially if you are a writer trying to put down your own words in a new light or with a different slant.
♦ Lean and portable, they are a good alternative to your regular beach or waiting room reading.
♦ Many English language lit mags available for purchase in U.S. bookstores are actually published in other countries. I personally think there is a lot of good stuff coming out of Canada and the U.K., but I know that I still have a lot more to explore from other places.
♦ The artwork adds a wonderful element to the reading experience. There are some really intriguing illustrations, collages, paintings, photographs, etc. that are featured in these lit mags, and are often things that you might not see anywhere else (and certainly not locally to where you live).
♦ Lit mags look interesting on your coffee table or can be easily passed along to friends (though I save many of mine).
♦ It is short story nirvana. And if you write short stories, you really start to appreciate how concise and sharp the writing must be to come in at under 1,000-5,000 words. I am learning so much, particularly with dialogue and pacing.
♦ The voices are fresh, and the stories are too. I like that the editors of these lit mags sometimes take risks that perhaps book publishers would not.
Some recent favorite literary journals (some of these probably qualify more as magazines) include Glimmer Train, One Story, Brick, Tin House, Orion, Popshot Magazine, Taproot, Heavy Feather Review (I purchased a volume of this for my iPad, which I loved), Womankind (this is new, but I love it so far), and Massachusetts Review. I also occasionally read a few others online as well, so even if a paper lit mag is not your thing (I actually just switched to an electronic subscription of Orion), I suggest poking around online. Many of the lit mags have an online presence (either exclusively or in addition to print), and sometimes their content is free (like a few of the stories in one volume) or can be purchased in single issues rather than subscribing for a full year.
Do you read literary journals? Which ones do you like best? Are you reading more as a reader or a writer?
Copyright (c) 2015 Kristen M. Ploetz
March was a weird month for me when it came to reading. I was all over the place—either in the middle of lots of things or picking things up for a quick skim—meaning that I only finished two books during the month. A nasty cold worked its way through the house too, and I didn’t feel like reading for about ten straight days when my eyes hurt from the sinus pressure. This had the serendipitous effect of making me fall in love with Parks and Recreation and The Office (BBC version) via Netflix.
Here are the two books I did complete, and my quick takes:
Yes Please by Amy Poehler – I definitely liked it very much, particularly the parts about being a mother and growing up in Burlington. I certainly giggled in a few places (though admittedly not as much as with Tina Fey’s book) and I liked her candor with what she was willing to share. That said, I’d love to see her write another book in another 5-10 years. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I felt like she was either holding back, or distracted, or sometimes coming from a place of sadness while writing it. I want to see what she has to say in a few more years. (Not surprisingly, this book was the catalyst for my Parks and Recreation binge; I was not into the series during its original run, but will now watch more of these when I need a chuckle.)
Sweetland by Michael Crummey – What a great story. Set in the town of Sweetland (an island off of Newfoundland), it follows the difficult decision that the main character, Moses Sweetland, must make in the wake of the government offering the island’s residents a financial package to pick up and leave their homes and the island for good. Moses is eventually the last holdout, and does not want to leave his home or this special coastal place that has contained almost the entire the universe of his life. I really got a sense of the hardscrabble coastal imagery. The characters are keenly developed and even though they were not always likable, I loved them all. It’s the second book I’ve read in recent months where it focuses on a difficult decision that must be undertaken by an older man (the other book, which I adored and caused the ugly cry, was A Man Called Ove, by Fredrick Backman). I’m not sure whether that means anything profound, but it’s a POV I’m growing to love.
The poetry I poked in and out of included the selected works of Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, Theodore Roethke, Sharon Olds, and Adrienne Rich. I needed a “reset” mentally, and poetry seems to work wonders that way.
I also borrowed a few poetry collections. I adored Ten Poems to Change Your Life, by Roger Housden (I’ll be ordering a copy of this to keep—poets included Mary Oliver, Rumi, Pablo Neruda, and Galway Kinnell) and Light-Gathering Poems, edited by Liz Rosenberg (might order this too). From the children’s section, I snagged The Night of the Whippoorwill, selected by Nancy Larrick, illustrated by David Ray (featuring all night-themed poems that are lovely for children and adults).
Near the end of March, I started (and am still reading) several other books that I won’t list here now (mostly writing craft books), but I will say that I am really enjoying many of the stories in Neil Gaiman’s latest, Trigger Warning.
What did you read in March? Tell me below or link to your own blog post if you have one.
Copyright (c) 2015 Kristen M. Ploetz
Stick and Stone is a lovely children’s book written by Beth Ferry and illustrated by Tom Lichtenheld. We picked this one up (M’s choice) at the Scholastic school book fair this week. (Note: I saw on Amazon that it’s actually not being released for sale until April 7.) The fact that my daughter chose this title over another book about zoo animals wearing underpants is most telling.
Geared for the 4-8 year old set, it’s a short, heartwarming tale of two lonely strangers, Stick and Stone, who quickly become friends when one sticks up for the other on the playground because that’s what friends do. With minimal text, and drawn with fun and expressive illustrations, we see the adventures these two friends go on together until one of them goes missing in some inclement weather. It all turns out fine in the end, but the message of this book is clear: friends look out for each other, no matter what.
It’s a fun read for early/emerging readers (lots of rhyming) and a good one to hear aloud from an adult too (lots of play on words). This would make a sweet gift book for any elementary school aged child.
What children’s books have you recently read and recommend?
Copyright (c) 2015 Kristen M. Ploetz
Even though February was a short month, and despite all the snow we shoveled within those four weeks, I somehow managed to read a few books. Here’s my quick rundown:
Loitering, by Charles D’Ambrosio (essays) — I have been really enjoying essays over the past year or so, and this collection did not disappoint. The writing—the vocabulary, even—is quite remarkable. Indeed, it is the book that prompted me to purchase a new thesaurus. Some of the essays are dark and uncomfortable, but D’Ambrosio offers so much depth, nuance, and keen observation that you find yourself immersed in places that you likely would never find yourself, like a disturbing haunted house or thinking about Mary Kay Letourneau. They were all much like living the experiences first hand which, to me, is the mark of a really great writer. The only one I did not care for was Salinger and Sobs, but that was solely because I barely remember what Catcher in the Rye was about and so I felt a little lost when he used the book in the context of describing his brothers’ deaths. I will certainly re-read this collection again at some point, even if just to be awed by the eloquent prose.
Being Mortal, Atul Gawande (nonfiction) — I already reviewed this important and well-written book on the blog, and you can read it here.
Ticket to Childhood, Nguyen Nhat Anh (fiction/translation from Vietnamese) — I have to be honest, I found this story to fall a bit short of what I was hoping for based on the jacket description (“a sly and lovely story about what we lose when we grow up”). Maybe I missed something (totally possible) but it felt a tad disjointed. There were certainly a few very profound passages, but the story as a whole just didn’t do it for me (which, now thinking back, has happened for me on a number of translated stories).
Almost Famous Women, Megan Mayhew Bergman (short stories/historical fiction) — In addition to essays, I am favoring short story collections these days. I really liked the variety of short stories about largely unknown women in the past. Some of the women were not likable and surprisingly that’s what I loved when coming across those kinds of characters in this book. My favorite story in the collection was The Autobiography of Allegra Byron; the emotional turmoil endured by Allegra’s caretaker, a woman who’d lost her own daughter to typhus, really came across the page, as did life in the abbey where the little girl was sent to live. I will defer a more thorough review to this one done by NPR, which is what first compelled me to buy the book.
The Drunken Botanist, Amy Stewart (nonfiction) — If you are interested in the history of various alcoholic spirits (gin, wine, tequila, beer, elderflower liqueur, etc.) and love plant life/gardening, this is a great book. It covers a wide range of spirits (many I’d never heard of) and how plant life is responsible for each of them. I purchased it for my iPad when BookBub offered it on sale a few months ago. Since I don’t read a whole lot on my iPad, I’ve been chipping away at this one here and there and finally finished it (I could never seem to read it all in one go). I think this would be great to have on a bookshelf devoted to gardening or food/drink rather than on an iPad, and would make a great gift book too.
The Five Moral Pieces, Umberto Eco (essays) — This line on the back of the book is why I picked it up for a read: “What does it mean to be moral or ethical when one doesn’t believe in God?” The back cover also declares that the underlying subject of the five essays is “the ethics involved with inhabiting this diverse and extraordinary world.” Hmmm. Honestly? I read one of the five essays, and skimmed (super fast) the other four. I enjoyed the one I read (When the Other Appears on the Scene) because it mulled over the question above and gave me much to ponder and note in the margin. The other four were just of no interest to me (that became apparent about four or five paragraphs in).
What I’m currently reading:
Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion, Sam Harris (part memoir/part exploration of the scientific underpinnings of spirituality, according to the jacket)
Sweetland, Michael Crummey (novel)
What did you read this month? Anything you recommend?
Copyright (c) 2015 Kristen M. Ploetz
It’s been a while since I’ve done a longer book review here, but one of the books I just finished, Being Mortal, by Atul Gawande, really merits a few paragraphs.
I first learned about this book when I recently saw Dr. Gawande, a surgeon, as the opening guest on Real Time With Bill Maher. I was immediately intrigued by the book he’d written and its core topic: how we take care of (or do not, as the book also points out) people who are in the last days/weeks/years of their lives. In other words, how and where we make our inevitable progression toward death. It is not necessarily as you think it might be.
Yes, this—death and dying—is an uncomfortable topic for virtually everyone to talk about, myself included. But when it is something that is going to happen to each and every one of us, shouldn’t there be more compassionate treatment and open discussion of this ultimate life truth? I think so, especially if you are going to be involved in deciding how someone else has to spend that part of their life. And, more to the point, I think that these considerations should be made far earlier than in the thorniest, most heart wrenching parts of life’s ending.
But to do this, you also have to have an idea of what the current state of affairs is. You need context for how it was, how it is, and, thankfully, how it might all be better in the future if we have a collective shift in how we treat those we love most in their final days.
Dr. Gawande does this so eloquently in this important book. He lays all of this out there, including his own choices in the process, both as son and doctor. Admittedly, he achieves this by giving the reader ample yet often heartbreaking anecdotes in the process when he recounts various stories of patients and people he’s come to know while working on this book. Truth be told, I cried at a few points during this short book. Sometimes I teared up when I related to what I am likely to encounter at some point in my own life (not my own death per se, but the deaths of my family members), but often it was just the lives being described in the book. Do not let those difficult feelings stop you from reading this book.
Here is why I think this book is important: I think many of us are completely clueless about exactly what happens and what choices do/don’t exist when we are nearing the end of our lives. I certainly had no real idea. My only knowledge was based on seeing how my and my husband’s now deceased grandparents and great grandparents progressed through that phase of their lives. Some of those situations were representative of the current state of affairs, and the others fell on either side of that dividing line, but in the end there is much that I completely failed to take into consideration or understand.
I was also ignorant about how “medicalized” it all has become, particularly in the U.S., and it is not necessarily the best road to take. I was taken aback by how much of a loss of autonomy is forced upon the elderly when they enter a nursing home or even assisted living, and the drastic effects this can have. Just the aspect of who nursing homes are often designed for and marketed toward was eye opening. Children want safety for their elderly parents, but this comes at a cost to the parents: their ability to make choices for themselves is stunted if not removed wholesale. Even something as simple as deciding when (or what) to eat is taken away, purportedly in the name of safety. Yet, can you imagine life like that for yourself? It’s hard to do. In the same vein, I was encouraged by Dr. Gawande’s mention of more progressive ways that we are, as a nation and society, rethinking how the elderly should and can spend their lives at the end. Those stories offer hope.
I learned so much from reading this book and was forced to consider, at least for a moment, how the kinds of choices that exist, and those that do not, will play a part in my life as a daughter, wife, etc. At forty-one years old, I know that those decisions, discussions, and difficulties still lie ahead for me, and goodness I hope for a long while still. Obviously no amount of preparation can really make it easy. But by starting to think about them now, I can start to knit together the various aspects that will come into play and how they might be approached. It’s a responsible, though clearly difficult, thing to do as an adult.
I wish more of us were adept at talking about death and how we go through this process with loved ones or alone, as the case may be. This book helps us start those conversations, and it does so with a keen compassion and insight.
Incidentally, though I have not yet watched it, there is a PBS/Frontline documentary based on this book. I plan to watch it once I put a little heart space between myself and the book. There is something about seeing (versus reading about) people in this situation that I am not sure I can handle at this particular moment. But here is the link if you are interested.
Copyright (c) 2015 Kristen M. Ploetz
Copyright (c) 2010-2014 Kristen M. Ploetz. All rights reserved. Personal theme was created in WordPress by Obox Themes.