Short Stories that Help

Two points about short stories today. I wanted to draw your attention to an excellent comment on the previous post by Hayley who mentioned that when depression left her unable to focus for long enough to read novels, short stories were recommended to her by a counsellor (Alice Munro was the first) and she has read them ever since. Has anyone else had this experience?

The second is how short stories can help in another way - the wonderful Metazen online lit 'zine is having a short story & poetry contest which is raising money for Somalian Drought Relief Effort (via East Africa Drought Relief Fund).Here are the details:

We will accept submissions with an accompanying fee throughout the month of August. All submissions will be considered and a winner and 3 runners up will be selected by our judges. Winners and runners up will get prizes. Yes.

So…you get to write, you get to win stuff and you also get to help support a cause. There is really no downside. Even if you lose, your karma will increase.

Please submit either one piece of fiction (limit 2500 words) or poetry (limit 2 poems).
There is no theme, we’re looking for something you’re proud of. Nothing filthy, nothing milfy, nothing too pithy. A little pith is okay. Not too much. Pith-ish.
Timeline: All submissions sent between July 24th and August 31st with corresponding paypal entry fee will be considered.

And here's what you can win:

First Place:

Publication on metazen.ca with accompanying commentary on your piece
10% of entry fees from contest
1 Copy of Frank Hinton’s “I Don’t Respect Female Expression” print and digital
1 DVD “MDMA” by MDMA Films

Runner Up (3 winners):

Publication on metazen.ca
(1) of the following:

- Fog Gorgeous Stag by Sean Lovelace
- Grease Stains, Kistmet, And Maternal Wisdom by Mel Bosworth
- Download Helvetica For Free . Com by Steve Roggenbuck

Get to it! Full instructions here.

Drunk and Lonely Men

Great title for a lit zine, eh? I am honoured that my flash, And Bruised, is published in Drunk and Lonely Men's third issue. These are their submission guidelines:

Submission Guidelines
Depress us.
Send up to 3 of your saddest poems or stories (250 words or less)
We accept simultaneous submissions and reprints, suicide notes and bomb threats.

I am delighted I managed to sufficiently depress them. Always the aim of my writing.
Go read the issue, it's killer stuff.

Validation, schmalidation

I had the most wonderful day yesterday! I was concerned, given the fact that I had been prone to anxiety, depression, that I might not be able to celebrate as wholeheartedly and purely as I so desparately wanted to. I worried that I might be upset by not having the book yet, or stressed about what people who have their copy might think of it, or a hundred other nameless, faceless anxieties. But, when the day came, it was absolutely fabulous.

The night before, James helped me come up with a ritual to perform in the morning. It felt important to me to do something different, especially since I couldn't hold the book. He suggested I write something, give thanks, and then I came up with the idea, inspired by the way people stuff messages in the Western Wall (down the road) to hang the written thanks note in one of our trees. I wrote it the night before, and yesterday morning, with my cup of tea, I went into the garden, read it quietly to myself, and hung it up. I think that must have set the tone for the whole day, I literally glowed. It was wonderful. (The large G&T last night definitely helped!)

But - and this is following on from last week's discussion on writers, even the big name ones, constantly needing validation - if you think that the fact that my book is enough validation for a month or even a week, think again! Turns out today I am back to my old self, wondering if lit mag X will want to publish my story, why competition Y hasn't announced its results yet.

However, this is not, I believe, I bad thing. If the book was enough, well then I would probably stop. I probably wouldn't write much, wouldn't send stories out. And that wouldn't really be being a writer. This way, with the old insecurities about whether anyone will like any of my recent stories rearing up (though most definitely not as strongly), I am spurred on to do the work. And it is work, it's all work. Luckily work that I love.

I was waiting for this book for 15 months because I felt I really needed to get it out so that all the 27 stories in it could be filed away under "Done". Ok, they are the past, now let's get on with the next thing, the next project. I can't wait to go on my writing retreat at La Muse in November and fill me head with new stories!

A bit down

I am feeling a bit down today. The day seemed to start well enough, getting up early-ish for me (before 9am), which left me with a feeling of great possibility. But by 10.30, a gloom had settled: I was hot, irritable, feeling unproductive, uncreative. I fell back, I am ashamed to say, on that old mood-lifter, Scrabulous. It gives me that adrenalin rush, that mental stimulation that I crave... but it WASTES TIME, and so I then feel guilty about it.

I haven't eaten properly today - but the highlight (and it's only 2pm) is the package that arrived from J this morning (he is away for a month, definitely a reason for some of my blue feeling) which included this:
Divine Orange Milk Chocolate. And it is. Divine. It was only a small bar, thank goodness, or I would be reporting that I was feeling a bit sick from having eaten it all in one go. Got home from my exercise class, made a cup of strong coffee, and ate it all. Amazing.

Still feeling blue, though. I never had such major mood swings while I was working full-time as a journalist. But in the last 18 months, since I gave it all up to write fiction, my lifelong dream, I seem to get depressed very easily. It is the lack of externally-imposed structure, deadlines? Is it something about creativity? I was happy as a journalist, I liked meeting people, but the writing itself was easy, boring. Writing fiction is the opposite - not easy, not boring, and the people I meet are in my head. Is this a recipe for emotional roller-coaster rides? Anyone have any suggestions?