Number of submissions made (the whole shebang):  93

Number of rejections:  59
Personal:  24
Form:  34
Hard to say:  1

Number of acceptances:  5

Longest time out:  329 days (I’m looking at you, McSweeney’s)

Shortest time out:  0 (a tie between Word Riot and Indiana Review–although the IR piece was one I withdrew.)

What’s that definition of insanity, again?  Something something something…expecting different results?

It also has Katherine Moennig, who is a separate point of excitement in our household, for slightly different reasons.  We were excited to consider the possibility that on the two nights when aerial filming took place on our dumpy little street in St Johns, KM was possibly up in a helicopter looking down, thinking, hey, look at that neat little farmhouse with the overgrown yard and the hurricane cellar that needs major work.  I’d like to know the people who live there.

We’re also excited to see what’s on her head.  Because it’s always special.

That is a lot of split ends for a District Attorney.  Or whatever.

We love you, Katherine.  Don’t ever change.

Yes, no, I know that’s not earth-shaking.  I know people who read well over a hundred books in a year, to which I say WHAT THE WHAT.  I don’t know how they do it–not with full-time jobs and families and life and stuff.  Maybe they watch less Parks and Recreation.  But that is not the path for me.

I’m happy with my 66 books in 2011, especially since this is the first year when I’ve managed a fair representation of women authors.  It baffles me, how after three years of keeping track and paying attention, I’m still struggling to make the fifty-fifty mark there.  I’m a feminist, I’m trying.  I’m humbled.

I also know I’m behind on books by folks of color, non-American folks, and pretty much everyone else outside of the publishing mainstream.  That’s an ongoing battle.  For 2012, I hope.

For now, the annual cover collage:

A thing of beauty.

It also seems to me that Goodreads quizzes are neglected babies.  If you love reading, Goodreads is the site for you–it lets you track your reading and share reviews with friends and see what other people (including authors) say about titles you’re considering.  It’s great, and pretty user-friendly.  I use it to track my reading over the year–and can proudly say that I’ve read 65 books this year, with one more almost finished.  Thanks, Goodreads!

But quizzes seem like something the Goodreads folks thought up and then sort of dropped.  When you make a quiz you don’t seem to have options to add media, like pictures or links.  You don’t get an obvious “share” link when you’re done, to push it to FB or Twitter or whatever.  You do get an embed widget, which I’m using here–but you have to dig like a badger to find it.  You have to manually tell Goodreads to notify you when people comment on the quiz, and while you get a ping in your notifications if someone likes it, the likes don’t show up anywhere others can see them.  Star reviews do show up, but they’re mysterious–how many of them have been given?  By whom?  You also don’t get notified when people take the quiz, and you don’t get a badge or anything else you can use on the site to, you know, promote the quiz.

It’s no big stuff obviously–and I’m not an author desperately trying to promote a book or drive traffic to a blog or whatever–but it seems like a lot of missed opportunities are just sitting there, waiting to be grabbed.  Book people like quizzes.  We like them a lot.  I can testify to that.  I stayed up late last night typing last lines into boxes for no good reason.  It was fun, an I may even do it again.  But I’d sure love to see some more handles on that suitcase, for me to take it more places and show it off.

And Goodreads, feel free to use any of these ideas to improve your quizzes.  Freely given!  Just email me when they’re ready so I can try them out.

Last line number one:  “I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. “

What we haven’t all done is made a big-budget feature film based on a board game.  And not a board game with characters and rudimentary narrative.  A board game about guessing the position of stuff you can’t see.

Behold, Battleship: The Movie.

This is the end, beautiful friends.

What I find really interesting about LNL is that Erin and Paul do close readings of the texts in conversation.  They read excerpts, discuss craft, and talk in detail about the work.  Reviews are great, but I haven’t seen (or heard) a lot of other critics giving this much careful attention to single works–let alone new works by unknown authors.

So I was super-pleased to see that Poets & Writers just mentioned LNL in their News and Trends feature.  Copping their text here:

Late Night Library, a monthly podcast out of New York City and Portland, Oregon, presents close readings and conversation about contemporary poetry and fiction with writers Erin Hoover and Paul Martone. Each week the bicoastal duo discuss a book by an early career author, spotlighting writers such as Kara Candito, Leslie Jamison, and Mathias Svalina. The free podcast is available on the Late Night Library website (www.latenightlibrary.org) and via subscription on iTunes.

What they said.  Nice work, Paul and Erin!

The fine print described this as a movie executive-produced by Garth Brooks, and…based on his song of the same name.

To which I said:  huzzah!  At last, free from the shackles of wearisome scripts!  No longer burdened by plots and words and things!  And then I scribbled some notes on the back of a Wet-Nap, and sent it to The Rumpus, where Elissa Bassist kindly put it up.  As Funny Women post #69, no less.

It’s not every day you see your name above the fold in an awesome place like The Rumpus.  Right below the Old Spice guy!  Excuse me while I preserve this moment for posterity.

Please, please, darling let us stop this. This artificial separation between us is painful, it is undignified, and it fools no one. In company, we sneer at each other and make those cold, cutting remarks. And why? You laugh at me for telling the same stories again and again. I call you boring and joyless. Is it wrong, my dear, that I hope the cruel things I say of you cut as deeply as the ones you say of me?

Zing!

I’m tickled to see a story by Heather E. Goodman in there, too.  Heather and I were at the Tin House Summer Writers’ Workshop together in 2008, in Andrea Barrett’s class.  Heather wrote a terrific story about a snake.  It’s great to be in her company again.

The issue theme is “menagerie,” which is to say:  animals, creatures, beasties, oddities.  Just the kind of thing that cranks my gears.  There are reminiscences about childhood pets (some funny, some ill-fated), as well as strange and fantastical stories about real and imagined critters.  It’s a great collection, beautifully edited.

My short story, “Nocturne,” is in there, and I’ll be sending a copy off to one generous soul who contributed to the 2011 Strange Horizons fund drive.  I’ll also be sending a copy of Alden Bell’s The Reapers are the Angels, not because I have anything to do with that excellent book, but because I think it’s under-read and absolutely amazing.  Literary zombie fiction, for reals.  Put it on your holiday shopping list!  You won’t be disappointed.

10.  The costumes.  From the late nineteenth century to the early twentieth, from the Victorian era to early modernism, they’re fantastic.  Static, staid characters don’t update their dress much; freewheeling, open-to-the-world characters change a lot over the years.  What you see on an artsy, foppish man turns into regular wear for all men within a few years.  You can read temperament, station in life, and a hundred other things in how people dress.  So subtle, and so great–and the actors do a wonderful job of appearing to age over the years of the story.

9.  The passage of time.  It’s called a saga for a reason.  We see characters change over the course of their lives–some of them ossifying, some learning lessons, some treading the same ground over and over.  Children bear the burden of their parents’ mistakes, or emerge from them.  Meanwhile, the world continues to turn.  If you like a long arc, you’ll love the Forsytes.

8.  The little moments.  The private investigator chuckling at the marble nude, Monty Darty standing up in his car singing opera as he drives, old Jolyon’s golden labrador nuzzling his hand as he sits on the garden patio.  Soames biting the necklace.  It’s a rich, rich story–and the writers, director, and actors do an incredible job of bringing it to life.

7.  The focus on the family.  In a good way, for once.  The death of Queen Victoria, the Boer War, the internal combustion engine–they all glide by without really drawing our attention away from the family talking about itself, fighting with itself, wooing itself, being itself.  Nothing takes focus from the Forsytes.  Nothing, I tell you.

6.  Soames.  Never a more complicated, layered, real, and at the same time clearly symbolic character.  Despicable, spiteful, miserable, and pitiable.

5.  The Jolyons.  Everyone should have a grandfather like old Jolyon.  (And every grandfather should have a Turkish fez for smoking after dinner.)  Almost everyone should have a husband or father like young Jolyon.  Young Jolyon is the anti-Soames, the positive charge to his negative one.  Young Jolyon believes in love, art, freedom, and kindness.  Basically, young Jolyon has got it all figured out.  (Soames has not.)

4.  Irene.  Gina McKee is incredible as Irene Heron/Forsyte.  She has an inimitable poise, as well as depths of emotion.  She can show compassion, regret, revulsion, or delight with the slightest expression.  She’s absolutely amazing.  And Irene herself…never a more wonderful, resilient, principled, surprising character.

3.  Robin Hill.  The house is practically a member of the family.  It’s the catalyst for violence and disruption, the site for reunion and forgiveness, the backdrop for a hundred dramas.  It’s also classic arts & crafts–and it’s great to see the Victorian establishment respond to its brave new ideas (open space! windows! pocket doors!) with fear and derision.  Of course, within a generation it’s the very thing.

2.  The feminism.  Or at least, the sympathetically realistic portrayal of women’s lives when they were considered the property of their husbands.  From callous comments to violence and abuse, we see what women have to bear–and what little recourse they have for it.  Even the wealthiest women have a crappy lot, if they don’t happen to marry a noble and enlightened man.

1.  The messages.  They’re not hard to find:  Love is more important than property.  If you love someone, you must respect them.  Marrying for money, title, or prestige isn’t worth it.   People cannot belong to other people–unless they choose to.  Considering the books were written by a man in the early twentieth century, they’re pretty good messages.

The books were published between 1906 and 1921, and are available from your local library or bookstore–as well as on Amazon for Kindle (where
they’re free.)  The 10 episodes filmed by PBS for Masterpiece Theater are at your local library too–or your favorite indie video store.  Probably not at your nearest Red Box.  But they’re worth getting, and diving into over the holidays.

With many thanks to my friend Laura, who introduced me to the story in the first place.