Another round of incredible publications by our membership. Each month when I put together this post, I’m awed by the determination, talent, and perseverance of every one of us who gets our words out into the world. So congratulations to the following WWS members who published work during the month of October!
Continue reading “WWS Publication Roundup for October”By Noriko Nakada
Three months have passed since I’ve written here, and this week the weather in LA turned cool. Back in March, I wore jeans and hoodies to teach my classes from the kitchen table, and this week I pulled on sweaters and socks and continued teaching from the kitchen table.
We are living through a pandemic. An election looms. The humidity has dropped tempting spark and smoke.
Despair rests around the edges. In the dregs of my coffee. In the nightmares that wake me. In the cough I hope is just a tickle in my throat and nothing more sinister.
I revisited an essay tonight as I watched the World Series with one eye, too afraid to hope for a Dodger victory. In the final essay of How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, “On Become an American Writer,” Alexander Chee discusses many ideas, but one is how we must continue to create when writing feels pointless. He considers what to say to his writing students when overwhelmed with despair; when they wonder, “What’s the point?”
Over the past few months, I’ve often asked myself this same question. As I stare into digital rectangles, some fluid with life, others dark and revealing just names, I’m not sure what to say to my students as we hurl across our syllabus toward a month of novel-writing. I’m not sure what to say to myself, or to other writers when we meet to discuss our work. And still, I believe in telling stories, and I believe in the stories within each of us.
Chee says, “I turned my back on the idea that teaching writing means only teaching how to make sentences or stories. I needed to teach writing students to hold on—to themselves, to what matters to them, to the present, the past, the future. And to the country.”
As the women and non-binary writers of Women Who Submit stare down this unfathomable stretch of time, I invite us to believe Chee when he reminds us that writing matters. “[I]t’s the same reason that when fascists come to power, writers are among the first to go to jail. And that is the point of writing.”
Are you writing? Is it a poem, a phrase, a string of words waking you up at night? Are you staying up late or setting the alarm early? Do you log into a Zoom or steal a few moments while the kids watch tv? What are you writing?
Keep breathing into your work. Keep pushing your best work into the world. Otherwise, what’s the point?
Noriko Nakada writes, parents, and teaches eighth grade English at Emerson Middle School in Los Angeles. She is the author of the Through Eyes Like Mine memoir series. Excerpts, essays, and poetry have been published in Kartika, Catapult, Meridian, Compose, and Hippocampus. She is spending her time in quarantine perfecting sourdough, biscuits, and pie crust. She has two kids and answers approximately three thousand questions a day.
Join us Saturday, November 14th at 10am for our final workshop of 2020, “How To Boost Your Literary Citizenry By Writing and Placing Book Reviews” with Melissa Chadburn. Chadburn has placed book reviews in such prestigious publications as The LA Times, Los Angeles Review of Books, New York Times Book Review, and the New York Review of Books. Help in our mission for gender parity in publishing by learning how to write and place book reviews and bring visibility to historically marginalized voices.
Women Who Submit is a supportive community for women and non-binary writers submitting work for publication. To become a member, you can register and participate in this month’s new member orientation. EDIT: NEW MEMBER REGISTRATION IS NOW CLOSED DUE TO BEING OVER CAPACITY. * There is no fee to join.
The Schedule for the Day:
10am-11am – “How To Boost Your Literary Citizenry By Writing and Placing Book Reviews” with Melissa Chadburn and hosted by Lauren Eggert-Crowe
11am-12pm – New Member Orientation with Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo
11am-12pm – Returning Members Checkin with TBD
12pm-1pm – WWS Submission Party
This workshop is over Zoom. Those admitted to the orientation will receive the Zoom link through email a week before. To participate, you’ll need a laptop or desktop computer, personal research on magazines, journals, and open calls, and crafted poems/essay/short story ready to submit.
* Orientation is limited to 20 participants and preference will be given to LA writers, BIPOC writers, LGBTQ writers, and writers who’ve tried to attend a previous orientation.
WWS is a grass-roots, volunteer organization. Though online workshops have made us more accessible to writers outside of Los Angeles, we do not have the funding or support to serve people beyond the LA area.
But don’t worry! We have chapters all across the country including three chapters in the greater Los Angeles area in Long Beach, West Los Angeles, and Pasadena. If you do not make it into our November orientation, you can connect with a chapter lead near you. And if you don’t have a chapter in your area, we can help you get one started!
Connect with chapters here.
About our workshop facilitator:
Melissa Chadburn’s work has appeared in The LA Times, NYT Book Review, NYRB, Longreads, and dozens other places. Her essay on food insecurity was selected for Best American Food Writing 2019. She is the recipient of the Mildred Fox Hanson Award for Women in Creative Writing. She is an Atul Gawande mentee with the Solutions Journalism Network. Her debut novel, A Tiny Upward Shove, is forthcoming with Farrar, Straus, & Giroux. She is a PhD candidate at USC’s Creative Writing Program. She loves your whole outfit right now.
by Lisbeth Coiman
Writing Alone Together is a community of writers who share the need of time dedicated exclusively to their craft. We are writers needing accountability in the long hours of a pandemic, when days melt into each other like a plastic spoon left unattended sticking to the metal edges of a hot grill.
By the end of March 2020, I couldn’t tell night from day anymore, the constant rain in those early days of the lockdown, and the grey sky, thick like a sun-blocking curtain, added despair to the two weeks of silence and solitude inside my apartment in Inglewood.
As usual, I reached for structure, the backbone of my sanity, blocking time for exercise, nourishment, chores, and work. But the lack of accountability to meet my writing goals put in jeopardy my ambitious plan to complete a bilingual collection of poetry before summer. Without the pressure of a concrete deadline, or the constraints of time spent on traffic and work, I ran the risk of retreating into my mind and surrendering to the overwhelming weight of the pandemic anxiety.
As a desperate selfish act of reconnecting with people who share my interests, I threw the idea of meeting daily for three hours in the morning in the abstraction of Zoom meetings to write in silence with fellow women writers. And just like that a community was born: Writing Alone Together (WAT). Initially four women joined me. WAT has now 40 members, and keeps growing slowly, with several small independent groups stemming from the idea.
A simple concept, WAT offers a safe cyberspace, structure, and a maximum of 15 minutes to chat before we silence our mics and write our souls out.
WAT is dependent of Women Who Submit, and accepts only WWS members who are committed to write. We meet now twice daily from 10 to 12 pm and from 4 to 6 p.m. That’s four hours of uninterrupted writing for women who are used to steal time from domestic and professional duties. We have already learned from the constrains of life outside cyberspace to optimize time, and therefore, have become incredibly productive with these extra hours of work. Regular attendees have shared their success stories and make us all proud of what we can collectively achieve when we join forces.
WAT is building a community of women and non-binary writers exposed to the overwhelming conditions of 2020. We support and hold space for each other. We sometimes shed tears and try to reassure those who seem to be given in to the weight of our current common circumstances. And we write, silently in 2 hour segments, daily from Monday to Friday.
The unprecedented circumstances of the pandemic with its potential of killing so many of us, together with racial tensions stemming for the contemporary lynching of people of color, protests, the threat of our country turning to totalitarianism, the effects of global warming destroying our landscape, homelessness, unemployment, all post a high risk to our physical and mental health, to democracy and way of life. But 2020 has also been a year of relearning life, learning to live, study, teach, communicate, and perform in cyberspace. Thus, we survive.
This is not the time to judge ourselves for selfish attempts of survival. Not all selfish acts are altruistic, but true altruism is in itself a selfish act, especially when in doing so, we reach for the nearest hand to survive with us. Selfishness knows no moral. It only turns bad if it causes the destruction of others. It turns good when a selfish act benefits those around us. Today, I am proud of the community created from my desperate attempt to survive writing during the COVID19 pandemic of 2020.
Thank you to those who co-host when I cannot open the room: Colette Sartor, Cybele Garcia Cohel, Thea Pueschel, Deborah Elder Brown, Sakae Manning, and of course to the 40 other female writers who have come regularly or occasionally to join us in our adventure. Thank you to all who continue to hold each other in this cyber space.
Lisbeth Coiman is an emerging, bilingual writer wandering the immigration path from Venezuela to Canada to the US. She has performed any available job from maid to college administrator, and adult teacher. Her work has been published in Hip Mama, the Literary Kitchen, YAY LA, Nailed Magazine, Entropy, and RabidOak. She was also featured in the Listen to Your Mother Show in 2015. In her self-published memoir, I Asked the Blue Heron (Nov 2017), Coiman celebrates female friendship while exploring issues of child abuse, mental disorder, and her own journey as an immigrant. She currently lives in Los Angeles, where she teaches ESL and dances salsa.
