Thanks, Wigleaf! And thanks to Lauren Becker for originally publishing the piece in Corium.
Whoa, whoa, wow: Friends, I am very excited to announce that FUN CAMP, my novel-in-shorts, is going to be released by Mud Luscious Press in 2013.
A huge thank you to Mud Luscious editors J.A. Tyler and Andrew Borgstrom for giving the book their close attention and interest. I also want to thank Sasha Fletcher, who strongly suggested I send MLP the book. “I don’t know,” I said, “I think this book is too chatty for them.” And then I sent it anyway.
Also, big thank you to the UMass friends who looked at early forms of many of these pieces, and to the editors of Matchbook, Notnostrums, Dogzplot, Everyday Genius, A cappella Zoo, Nano Fiction, Saltgrass, Hobart, Western Humanities Review, decomP, Wigleaf, The Lifted Brow, NOÖ Journal Gargoyle, American Short Fiction, Monkeybicycle, Quick Fiction, Dark Sky Magazine, The 2nd Hand, Pear Noir!, Orange Alert, Route 9, and Diagram.
I’ve posted a lot of google image camp pictures on this blog. Now here are a few personal ones (all enlargeable):
(To be clear, that’s a Skamania ’98 t-shirt I’m wearing in the first photo.)
Two years is both a long wait and not a long wait at all. Two years ago, I’d already written a handful of the earliest pieces in FUN CAMP. Two years from now, I will still occasionally be getting ideas for new Fun Camps and begging J.A. Tyler to stop the presses so I can cram new ones in.
So let’s all promise that in two years from today, we’ll meet again, and we’ll see what kind of people we’ve blossomed into. I will be the one trying to sell you a book.
** Check out a roundup of Fun Camps here **
A new Fun Camp short, Perk, is up at Wigleaf alongside my own Dear Wigleaf, a postcard I drafted before noticing the part in Scott’s email that said to keep it under 250 words. So I cut the postcard down to comply but was sad to let go of the chattier elements. So here I give you the indulgently long Director’s Cut of of my postcard:
Nashville’s still hot. This dog keeps barking. My new job has Fridays off. This evening, I almost got caught in traffic for the Titans game. “And this is just pre-season,” someone warned me. “You wait.”
A family friend told me the story of a guy she knows who moved to New Orleans and couldn’t figure out why his trash wasn’t getting picked up. He asked a neighbor about it. The neighbor said, “Have you paid the guy twenty dollars yet this month?”
Another friend and his new wife went to Costa Rica on their honeymoon and daytripped in Panama. That evening, the same Costa Rican guard who’d let them into Panama made up a law: “You can’t come back into the country so soon,” he said. “You have to stay in Panama for three days.” My friend said, “I’ve heard that there is a ten-dollar fee I can pay.” “Yes,” the guard said. “There is a fee.”
I was reading submissions for a magazine and thinking, “What if the people who sent their stories also sent me money?” (I love receiving money.) One solution is the trash collector’s: Stop responding to submissions until folks figure it out: “Durham doesn’t get back to you until you mail him some Cracker Barrel gift cards.” But it’d be faster to make like the border guard and tell them myself. “Dear Sir or Madam, We’re delighted to inform you that we’ve made a decision regarding the stuff you emailed us. To find out what that decision is, please paypal one chicken soft taco to gabe (dot) (diggity) donnovan @ errolsinternet (dot) com. Happy to let the decision fester on the curb until you do.”
But look at me, writing my way to insidery submission jokes. Let’s end on a better note: Last week, my dad called my grandmother’s cell and when she answered, there was music and laughter and loud chatter. He said, “Mother, where are you?” She said, “I’m at a hokey-pokey lesson.”
Love to yours,