(Please Do) Find Me on Substack

Back when real conservativism and being free meant refusing to wear masks to help stop a prolly fake global pandemic, I spent a lot of time connecting with other writers on Twitter.

It was mostly good.

When Elon bought the platform, people started to leave. I mostly did, too. Not because engagement changed, but because I thought and still think Musk was doing great harm to things that matter (Medicaid, for example). Enabling, other harm, too.

(Mask are cool, now).

In 2022, I started a sporadic Substack. More recently, the platform has added some Twitter-ish tools, and I’ve been reconnecting.

I am also trying to stick to a real Substack cadence: New shortform posts (2 – 5 minutes to read) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This blog (the one you’re reading right now), hosted by WordPress, won’t go away. I will use it mostly for updates when I have a new story, essay, or poem at a new venue.

I might cross-post or link to the MWF pieces, but I haven’t decided. If you follow me here, thank you! Please also consider following me there. For traction and stuff.

Be well. Stay warm. See you soon!

An Honest Question in a Mad Time

When they told you it was okay to kill George Floyd over counterfeit 20s, or Eric Garner for selling loose cigarettes, did you really think they would condemn the murders of Renee Good or Alex Pretti?

As the regime falters, as the lies are exposed, two things are happening. The base is shrinking, but it’s getting more vocal. It’s getting mad at having to do the mental gymnastics, and it’s taking that anger out on everyone else. This is how systems work.

This isn’t about politics, per se, though we need political solutions.

Our system has always been tenuous, has often forced us into zero-sum, binary assumptions.

But our system has not always yielded such toxic fruit.

You can be skeptical about both major parties but also realize that the President and his closest allies are pushing specific buttons for illiberal, undemocratic reasons.

People in both major parties have always lied, cheated, and stolen. Most humans do. That doesn’t excuse us from saying other true things. That doesn’t mean the specter of actual fascism is something we just live with because both so-called sides are “equally bad.”

The truth is, they aren’t. And I’ll be nuanced: MAGA and Republican aren’t the same thing. At least, they didn’t used to be. George W. Bush created ICE, but he never weaponized it like this. Barack Obama, Democrat, deported more people than Trump could ever dream of, but he didn’t do it like this. I don’t recall suggestions from either of those administrations that ICE could or should operate with complete impunity. I don’t recall either administration begging federal judges to allow warrantless searches. I don’t remember either of those presidents suggesting that someone like Alex Pretti was probably a criminal because he was legally carrying a firearm while helping a woman who’d been assaulted by federal agents.

In a sane time, no one would need bother pointing this out. But, as Wendell Berry said:

To be sane in a mad time
is bad for the brain, worse
for the heart. The world
is a holy vision, had we clarity
to see it—a clarity that men
depend on men to make.

That’s frustrating. Heartbreaking. Maddening. Probably true.

I will have missed much in this short post. I’m white, straight, middle class. We now know those things won’t necessarily save me from ICE, but I also know they mean I’m already, by default, safer than many people I love. I may have been too gracious in parsing good-actor Republicans from the red-hatted polloi. Afterall, even many non-MAGA folks have repugnant views and vote in unconscionable ways. I’m also aware that saying we need a whole different system can present as expecting perfection from Democrats, and that’s not helpful, either.

As I write this, much of the country is covered in snow and under Cold Weather Advisory. Dangerous conditions, apt metaphors.


Just Published: “Grazing on the Kyll” at Earth & Altar

Many thanks to Earth & Altar and arts and culture editor Terry J. Stokes for thoughtfully engaging this piece and giving it a wonderful home.

“Grazing on the Kyll” is a sonnet in the Petrarchan or Italian model, inspired by recent reading and revisiting of formal structures. It opened up the writing of two other pieces, which I hope to place soon.

While I have never been of the opinion that there is only one way to write (and I don’t typically write formal verse), the challenge of the form was rewarding for me as a writer. I hope it will be rewarding for readers, too.

Read it here, and feel free to comment below!

Cover Letter for Short Literary Fiction

I suppose “literary” is aspirational until someone publishes the story. Why does the word aspirational make me think of Yeti coolers?

Here’s a redacted cover letter I just sent out with a short piece I’m particularly fond/proud of. (Proud/fond of the story; the cover letter is functional, honest, and sincere, and I’m just sharing it here in case anyone finds it helpful OR if anyone has suggestions.)

Dear Editors,

Please consider my story, [Title]for publication in [Journal]. At just under [Word Count], it [Brief Description].

My work has appeared in Appalachian Review, The Shore, Hobart, Brevity, Belt Magazine, and VIA: Voices in Italian Americana, among others, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. I hold an MFA in Creative Writing from The New School.

Thank you for considering this submission. I have long admired [Something Meaningful, and, most importantly, Something True].

[Salutation],

[Name]

Good luck, writers!

Now That We’re All Talking About Oasis

Here’s a little thing from when I was 32. I’m 45 now. I was 17 when Be Here Now came out. I ran down to the record store (for real) and bought it the day of its US release, played it in the car from Toones Records to the Allentown Fairground where I was about to start my shift at the Fair. It was only a few blocks, so I didn’t get through the whole record. I think “My Big Mouth” was in my head all day. Afterwards, I went to my gf’s house and listened to the rest.

In this re-shared post from 2012, I said sure, it may have been something of a misfire. Friends, I was hedging. It was awesome. It is awesome. It didn’t just get me through my senior year; it may have saved my life.

For a really brilliant look at Oasis then and now, check out Steve Zeitchik:

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/music/music-features/oasis-gallaghers-met-life-concert-1236358264/

Agape (Open): For Billy Corgan

This isn’t quite a poem. It’s certainly not a sermon. It’s a little bit of exercise, and a little bit of grace.

Billy Corgan continues to interest me. Fascinate is too strong a word, but people are on journeys. I think we still allow that.

Billy, if you’re out there: thank you for “Tonight, Tonight.”

Agape (Open)
For Billy Corgan

It’s said that Billy Corgan pronounces the English word agape like the Koine word agapē (ἀγάπη).

Agape, agape
the bleeding heart of Jesus,
agape, agape
the spear wound in his side;

Agape, agape
the boulder-sealed entombing,
agape, agape
the beating heart of Christ.

Photo by Jose Antonio Gallego Vu00e1zquez on Pexels.com

Let America Be America Again: An Oracle of Langston Hughes

I remember learning about Langston Hughes at some point, maybe in high school. I am sure we read one (I am sure it was no more than one) of his poems, and talked about him in the context of the Harlem Renaissance. I’m also fairly certain that whichever poem we read was not “Let America Be America Again.”

Hughes wrote the piece in 1935. I didn’t learn it in 1995, ’96, ’97, or ’98. I came across it last night on a poetry playlist on Spotify. Amazing how prescient, especially considering the ironic foreshadowing of the prime political slogan and dog whistle of the last decade. An excerpt, lest you think Hughes was only concerned with things going on in Harlem:

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.”

Read the full poem here: Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes