Divided Loyalties

As an erstwhile professor, I used to research and write academic papers. As a professor outside the academy, I no longer have the opportunity. My day job, however, takes me occasionally into the hallowed halls and I start to feel a little lonely for the academic publishing world.

Sure, the papers are boring and read by maybe a dozen people, but I never had the difficulty of getting them published that I do with my fiction. My non-pseudo-nym was fairly well known among colleagues and they knew, as a friend once said, “the author is as important as the story.” In the fiction realm, I’m nobody.

Recently I met with many professors. The experience divided my loyalties. Before meeting with them I had been making good progress on my latest K. Marvin Bruce project. Since meeting with them I’ve been brooding over whether to try more academical writing. So boring. So dull. Yet, I can get it published.

It sort of makes me wonder what’s wrong with the fiction-publishers’ world. Just when I think my writing sucks I get nominated for a writing award. It can’t go on my professional résumé since my professional colleagues don’t know I write fiction. They comment on how productive I am. They have no idea.

I still write serious, academic stuff. In fact, I published a book last year. Still, my heart is in fiction although, if the publishers say with Captain Ahab, “From Hell’s heart I stab at thee!” If you cut us, do we not bleed?

Different areas of a writer’s brain are activated by these different kinds of scribbling. I don’t take academic writing of others too seriously. I guess I don’t take much too seriously. The obvious exception is my writing. I write two blogs, so many fiction stories I’ve lost count, and academic papers, yet I’m left thrashing about the ocean, a man who can’t swim.

The world isn’t always a friendly place for writers. Even with my limitations, I intend to keep after the fictional beast. I’ve got something to say and even a nobody can make a difference, if somebody will really listen.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

Gothica

The other day I asked a friend to define “gothic.” Heavy, dark, supernatural—these were a few of the words suggested. When autumn comes my thoughts turn gothic, and I’m always looking for good gothic things to read. I have blogged in the past about how reading literature that isn’t great is good. I’m serious about that. You can learn a lot by reading poor writing. Some gothic literature is more the former than the latter. Like Dark Shadows novels. Dark Shadows was running on daytime television when I was a child. As a teen I began to read the novelizations, by Marilyn Ross, whenever I could find them. Belles lettres they’re not. Gothic, most decidedly so. That’s why I keep coming back to them. They aren’t scary. In fact, they’re formulaic and predictable. But so, so gothic. Spooky mansions, the Maine woods, forlorn vampire, faded wealth. Even, yes, dark shadows. The stories create a mood I find difficult to locate elsewhere. Inspired by the most r

K. Marvin Bruce

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