THE SOMETHING BLOG

I’ve had to interview numerous people in my life whether it’s for professional purposes, schoolwork, or my own edification, and I have had to transcribe each and every one of those interviews.

It makes me sad just thinking about it.

“Transcribing an interview” means listening to an interview and writing down word for word what was said. It doesn’t sound so bad when it’s said like that, except it’s horrible for my mental state. There are numerous thoughts traveling through my head during interviews.
 - How long is the interview?
 - What’s the sound quality? Will I be able to understand what they’re saying?
 - What about the person’s accent? Can I understand the accent? Oh God, what if I can’t understand the accent? Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
 - Why did I ask that question?
 - That was a stupid question.
 - Do I really sound like that?
 - Have I always had a lisp?
 - Why am I slurring my words?
All of these things have gone through my head either before, during, or after the interview and its subsequent transcribing. There have been times when one of these has come up, and I have to listen to the interview over and over, whether it’s to desensitize myself to how dumb I think I sound or to get used to the interviewee’s accent or the way they talk. But then, there’s the act of transcribing. You have no idea how tedious this task is. I find myself wishing - hoping - beforehand for the person I’m about to interview to speak slowly, clearly, and to answer questions within a small period of time, like, five to ten minutes. It could totally happen.

It never does. I interview the person and then I have a fantastic interview I have to transcribe (all of it [EVERY SINGLE WORD]) only to edit it down to 750 words from the 1500 words it initially was. Once, I had an interview clock in at 2500 words. Word limit? 950.

There’s one shining glimmer of pride in transcribing the interview. Scratch that, there’s two.
1. When I finish, I feel damn proud of myself. I compare it to how I feel when I wake up refreshed despite only getting one hour of sleep. I kind of feel like a superhero.

2. There’s usually a damn good interview at the end of the day, and as it turns out, all of those evil thoughts ended up being nothing more than exaggerations, all of it in my head. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside to know I did a halfway decent job at, well, my job. I feel all the feels.

So just remember children, while transcribing interviews can be tedious and take a long time, in the end there are rewards in the form of finishing and in the form of realizing you got to know a little more about a person you didn’t know before.

When testing my blood glucose, I like to pretend I’m playing an old school 8 bit Game Boy Color game where I score points based on how much pricking my finger hurts, how much blood I’m able to squeeze out, and if I score between 120 and 180 on my glucose reading. I know how to make diabetes fun.

Every writer does it differently. There’s not one way life goes for writers. It’s all different. It depends on what kind of writing you do, how you do it, who your editor is, how they do things, and more. Now, the way I write music previews for Chicago Innerview Magazine is very different from how I write fiction stories. How I write fiction stories is different from how I write non fiction stories. Editors surely edit differently based on what type of writing it is. It’s different for everyone.

So I graced Facebook with this status last night:

“Two story rejections in one night. Ouch.”

Then my non-writer friend comments:

“That just means they are missing out.”

It’s encouraging, but somewhat misled. I was also feeling disgustingly pessimistic last night, so I said, “Either that or I’m in for couple more story rewrites.”

“Who edits your stuff?”

Let’s reiterate that there are different ways editing a story can go. DISCLAIMER: I don’t know about others, but in my own experiences, these are the main ways editing can go. DISCLAIMER PART 2: I’m only talking about literary fiction, nonfiction, and writing for arts/entertainment blogs and magazines. 

So, there’s the Raymond Carver-Gordon Lish editing route, there’s the more democratic back and forth between the author and editor, where suggestions and opinions are traded between the two (what’s ultimately called “communication”), then there’s where it’s mostly the author - the editor will act more as a guide pointing the author in the right directions, but ultimately the author is the one who has to figure it out (I find it’s mostly like this for me when I’m going for straight up literary fiction). The editor will make suggestions, cross out a couple lines, and say what they think the story is about, but ultimately, the writer has to decide for themselves what to do with the story. When it comes to editing my own work, I normally do the latter, though the middle way has come up. The first kind normally comes when writing reviews and whatnot. Anyway, with fiction (short stories and flash fiction, I’m not in the novel stage yet) I am ultimately the one who has to fix the shit with guidance from people who’ve read my work and it’s worked out pretty well for me. So I try saying this in a comment to my non-writer friend.

“I do. I usually know what to do up to a certain point. When I reach that point, I toss it to a friend and get their opinion.”

Then I get this - “You should have another person edit your stuff after you review and change it a few times. People often can’t see their own mistakes.”

I don’t know. When a non-writer friend tries to tell me what to do in terms of my work, I go into elitist mode and enter the mindset of “psh, you wouldn’t know what it’s like! You’re not a WRITER!” I wasn’t sure how to take it. I eventually responded by saying that that’s what I meant (which is was) and she said that was good. I don’t know, it’s something I can’t wrap my head around. I have friends who are in the medical field. I don’t try to tell them how to prepare for heart surgery.

As a responsible, adult, mature 21-year-old who lives at home, I decided to complain to my parents about it and get their opinions to see if I was being too dickish (which, looking back on it, I was/am right now). What proceeded was my dad telling me how writers work with editors, how editing goes in the writing world.

My dad is a stock broker. He is not friends with any writers.

It’s just that I’ve had multiple experiences with multiple editors/readers/whatever, and most of the time, whether or not I use their suggestions, I end up having to finish up a story myself, whereas non-writer friends and family around me think that ultimately the editor has the final say of whether or not a story is finished (again, which may be true for some writers).

I just don’t know. I guess this was less informative and more of me complaining to the general intangible void of the internet.

Hello, lovelies. I need to make this quick because I need to rest before my big Fall Out Boy concert tonight (also known as paradise [don’t you dare judge me]).

So there are artists. They make art, hence why they’re called artists. You, as a fan/viewer/general citizen of the world view this piece of art in a certain way, whether you love it, hate it, or have an opinion somewhere in between. But do you judge the artist through their work? I’ll explain further.

People involved in the lit scene hear like to talk about others in the scene. That said, for all the admiration and compliments the people in the local scene have for each other, there’s also a lot of shit talk, how it goes with any “scene,” really. I’ve heard great things and horrendous things about the same people. I take those things into consideration, while also being able to separate how I feel about them from how I feel about their work. There are people who I want to punch in the throat every time they walk into a room, but I will love and respect their work. There are writers I know who are incredibly sweet, caring people, but their work is average at best.

I don’t always achieve this. Sometimes someone will be the kind of asshole where it overshadows everything he or she does. Sometimes a person I know is so wonderful, I can’t help but think everything they do is wonderful and the sun shines out of their ass and they shit unicorns and ice cream and teddy bears. It happens to the best of us.

I mean, I’m sure Stalin was a sweet and caring dude to his pet dog (presuming he had a pet dog, and if he didn’t then think hypothetically for the sake of my point), but the guy was a dick. Then there’s a guy like FDR who ends up being one of the best Presidents this country’s ever had (saw us through the Depression, WWII, and Social Security was created under him - SOCIAL SECURITY), but he kind of sort of cheated on his wife, um, a certain amount of times with a certain person.

THE POINT OF ALL OF THIS: Actually it’s not really a point, but just something to mull over while you’re reblogging Doctor Who, John Barrowman, and Supernatural gifs - do you judge artists through their work or through their actions outside of their work?

I’ve been going back and forth as to whether or not I should write about a thingy which happened with a blog. There are reasons why I should and should not write about it.
 - Should: It has to do with writers and writing because it deals with the importance of the relationship a writer has with his or her editor, a relationship which involves trust and respect and knowing when to back off (like a marriage, or pet ownership).
 - Should not: I generally like the blog, like what they do, like how they’re putting a much needed spotlight on Chicago’s lit scene, and don’t want to cause any more problems than I’ve already accidentally started.

In short, a “review” (I use this term lightly) of mine was taken off a blog site and the reason I was given was it received undesirable responses. Then, I was directed to a person and tried to apologize. Then I was directed to another person. Then people started getting mad at me, then at each other, then…

Oh fuck it I don’t know what happened. Could I find out what happened? Sure.
Do I want to find out?
Do I have an undying need to find out?
Will I never sleep, eat, or drink again until I find out the details of what happened to that oh-so well written and cleverly constructed “review?”
My piece of art?
My child?

Not really.

Funny thing is everyone around me began scrambling and freaking out. In the meantime, I stood back looking at the mess I created thinking, “OH GOD OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

That being said, while trust is a big factor in the relationship a writer has with their editor, communication is just as important. A writer and his or her editor must listen to each other. Some examples of why you should pay attention to what I’m saying:

When I took a class taught by the author Megan Stielstra, she invited a friend of hers by the name of J. Adams Oaks, the author of Why I Fight. He spoke of working with his editor and how a small issue came up. Oaks had a couple pages in his manuscript for the novel written in all capital letters. His editor said he “couldn’t do that.” That it wasn’t right, couldn’t be done. You get the gist. He immediately went home and shuffled through pages and pages until he found this book.

There are paragraphs and full pages in this book, all in caps. He showed this to his editor, and the editor relented.

In the case of an author listening to an editor, there’s Gordon Lish and Raymond Carver. If you want to imagine how Lish edited Carver’s manuscripts, imagine 60%-70% of the lines in this sentence crossed out except for the bare minimum, perhaps a word here or another word there. Lish edited hard, but it got Carver published. Eventually Carver’s true, original works were published afterward to equally great acclaim. Take from that what you will. What I take from it is that sometimes you have to be more patient to get your work out there the way you want it to be seen.

My experiences have varied, but in the end, I stood my ground when I felt it was needed, but I also listened when I knew I should.

Going back to the initial point of this post, will I write about what happened? Not right now. Maybe another time when we can all joke about it. Or when the yelling stops.

…for the life of me I could not figure out how to enter in my height. I entered it all:
 - 5’10
 - 5’10”
 - 5 feet 10 inches
 - 5 foot 10 inches
 - 5 ft 10 in.
 - 5ft 10in.
 - 70 inches
 - 70 in
 - 178 cm

I stopped, shut off my computer, and fell asleep at 3am, woke up at 7:30, injected my stomach with 12 units of lantus, and fell back asleep until 10:30. I got back on my computer, tried it again, then I clicked on a tiny picture of binoculars next to the height box. Lo and behold, there was a list of heights and codes to click on. Turns out 5’10 is listed as 510.0.

IN SUMMARY: I am applying to graduate from college and it took me, a 21-year-old woman, 7 to 8 hours to fill the application.

Gather ‘round, children. It’s time for Auntie Lisa to talk about writing jobs and things in general about trying to get money for stringing sentences together better than others.

Let me say that it’s not what all you (we?) budding writers, authors, Renaissance men, and gladiator girls think it will be - sitting at home, churning articles, essays, op-eds, humor pieces, rants about old people, open letters to the NRA, etc. for magazines and websites like Vice, the Huffington Post, or the The New York Times, raking in the dollar bills. Hell, if a whiny schoolgirl can get a blogspot-level rant into The Wall Street Journal then you, a far more advanced, educated, and grammatically aware writer, can do the same.

Unfortunately, you’re not a high schooler writing rants with enough controversy to get in a prominent newspaper, but with enough restraint to where there won’t be mass riots. Also, there are a surprising number of other writers who, like you, are talented at the science of putting coherent words together one after the other to create sentences that are not only readable, but enjoyable. It’s a problem. It’s great that there are so many people with such a writing capacity, but it sucks because in the end you’re all fighting for the same jobs and freelancing gigs. Since I’m a writer, most of my friends are as well and I love it, though at the same time I can’t help but think, “Man, we’re all going to be fighting for the chance to be the next J.D. Salinger/Mike Royko/David Foster Wallace.” I imagine it ending through either war or apathy.
 - War: We fight to the literary death armed with pens, pencils, typewriters, notebooks, laptops, and phones with internet and typing capacities for those who prefer the twitter end of literature (microfiction = the ultimate test of sanity).
 - Apathy: We cancel each other out. Jobs are given out because of chance rather than merit, employers throwing names into a hat, shaking and shuffling it back and forth, then shoving in a guilty fist and pulling out a paper that could either have the name of one person or another, the opportunities being identical.

It’s a bummer. More importantly, it worries me. I decided to enter into one of the lowest paying professions and now I have to figure out how to beat odds that aren’t so much odds as they are fact. Every person I know who classifies as a writer has a day job or two.

I scour the internet and my college’s hiring program-portal-thingamajiggers for writing jobs that pay actual money and I always come up short in the whole “being qualified” department. Take this Craigslist ad for a job as an Assistant Editor for hair magazines:

Simple enough. I can be an assistant. Can learn while doing things I’m qualified for. It’s all good. I’m cool with that.

I know about hair. I’ve had hair all my life. I’ve brushed my hair. Washed it. Tied it into forms and shapes with fancy names like “bun” and “pony tail.”

Yes.

YES.

YES. I AM MADE TO DO THIS.

lol fuck

Then there are the gigs where I’m qualified but don’t get spit because those two or two hundred people who were a smidgen more qualified had that edge over me and suddenly life becomes terrible.

Not that it’s impossible to get any paying gigs. Hell, I’m about to get $50 for a story I wrote ages ago. But I get published once and then that’s it. I need to find the next thing. That’s where it gets tricky.

I could go for internships, and I do, except most of them don’t pay and when they do pay, you find yourself in the usual battles with the two hundred others trying to snag the internship from your grasp. This has been a problem for me lately and half the time I feel like going home, tearing my clothes off, lying in bed, and leaving the earth a happier place by staying dormant in my room all day naked as a newborn babe, vulnerable, and chillier than normal.

Sometimes I think the only way I’ll be able to get a “job” in writing is if I do it for no pay. In that respect I already have a writing job. Thinking about it turns me into a ball of meh.

Here’s where my friends and classmates come in again. Sure we may end up applying for the same gigs, jobs, and short story contests, but we also support and inspire each other. One is a working mom, full-time student, has received recognition on Glimmer Train, and is about to graduate with her MFA. Oh yeah, she also has a blog. Another is about to be published in the same book as me, has been featured in Time Out Chicago, The Examiner, and because of a blog he started where he reviews gross alcohol and regales readers in drinking stories, he now can get free alcohol sent to him. This is on top of the one million jobs he has on top of school.

In all probability I won’t be raking in the Benjamins, but I’m still going to try my damnedest to get my work out there, whether or not I receive monetary compensation for it. Or at least maybe a Subway coupon. 

The Hungry Brain is the kind of bar where you need a flashlight in order to see the faces of the people sitting across from you. There are tables set up, seats, cushy armchairs, and stage with a sofa, and some snazzy and funky artwork that adds some flare and originality to the place. Opposing the wall covered in artwork is the bar with a good collection of affordable drinks and a placard high on a shelf (I like to think of it as a pedestal) with a brain in the middle of it. Below it reads, “The Hungry Brain.” I like it. It’s an arty kind of dive, it’s fun to be at, and more importantly, I can get there in less than fifteen minutes.

Except the walk seemed longer because I had a raging headache, but I made it to the bar like a good little trooper. I sat at a table with some good people, including readers Megan Stielstra, Virginia Baker, Liz Grear, Cyn Vargas. Also worth mentioning is that Two Cookie Minimum is a reading series with no cover (a.k.a. free) and provides free cookies, with different cookies provided every time. The stories and readers are also pretty chill. So it’s a win-win-win. Hot damn. You don’t see that often, do you?

Once the crowd had liquored themselves up enough, it was time to get our literature on. Virginia started things off with a story about two friends who might or might not be in love with each other, but either way are great at drinking whiskey, possibly the only thing they’re good at. Tony Luce continued the lucky stride with a story about young punk love and homemade tattoos in risque places, with a side of teenage wonderment. The ever-powerful Megan Stielstra pounded us (as usual) with a powerful story concerning a girl treated as “one of the guys” all her life until an unfortunate moment that differentiates her from her largely male immediate family. She was followed by Jael Montellano, who read a soon-to-be-published story, a haunting piece of an enemy of sorts in the midst of a family.

Unfortunately, I missed half of the reading because my blood sugar decided to take a dip. Downside, I almost didn’t make it back home. Upside, I got to eat the free cookies I snagged from the reading. Hell yes.