Holly Walrath's Blog, page 18

Forming a Critique Group 101

I'm starting a new series on Medium for new writers. My first article is on finding a critique group . ​It can be frustrating to find a critique group if you’re a new writer. Groups often don’t take new members or don’t advertise when they do. That’s why it’s usually easier to just start your own group. I recommend getting out in the community and meeting other writers, then finding those that truly get your voice and what you’re doing with your writing. 

Read the full article here . . . 

The Ones Who Walk Away

I have an essay up at Medium today, on the anniversary of Ursula K. Le Guin's death, about her famous short story, "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas." If you haven't read this powerful story, I suggest you get thee to a bookstore and pick up her short story collection, The Unreal and the Real. It will make you rethink your worldview.  

Read the essay here...

New Post at Curious Fictions: Defining ARt

I posted a reprint essay over at Curious Fictions for my subscribers -- "Defining Art." 

I wrote this essay several years back when I first started writing. It's about what Art is and how we make our legacies as creative people. As a writer, I often wonder what lasting effect my work will have when I am no longer here. I'm fascinated by artists who only became popular after their deaths. 

If you want to read more essays and stories by me, you can subscribe over at Curious Fictions to receive exclusive content! Curious Fictions is a website similar to Patreon but with a science fiction/fantasy focus. Discover cool stories from new writers and help support my writing by joining! Subscribe at Curious Fictions

Working with a Freelance Editor to Boost Your Writing Career

I've got a new article over at Medium.com on working with a freelance editor. Over my four years of editing, I've come to learn that many writers don't understand what it means to work with a freelance editor. Working with an editor can be a big boost to your writing career, especially if you want to publish your work. I'm glad to share my experience, and if you have questions, please feel free to email me or leave them in the comments!

Five Writing Tips I’m Carrying into 2019

Over at Medium, I'm sharing five writing tips that I'm carrying into 2019. It's a bit of a "Here's what I learned" mixed with "Here's what I still need." 

Y'all, writing is hard. It's constant work. It's a balancing act. You're never really done. I wanted to recap some things that I'm keeping with me for 2019, but I know I'm still learning. 

​What did you learn about your writing last year?

New Poem in Kaleidotrope: All the Glory of Her Earthly Shell

I have a new poem up today at Kaleidotrope - "All the Glory of Her Earthly Shell." Big thanks to Fred for publishing this one. It's very personal to me, so I'm glad it found a home at Kaleidotrope. 

What I Wrote in 2018

Here's to You, 2018!

2018 was one wild ride of a year for me. I published my first chapbook. I took many workshops, attended many conferences, and met many new friends. I wrote a lot of things and learned a great deal while writing. 

I've been thinking about how the new year is an arbitrary date. We tell ourselves that it's time to rethink what we've done and to plan for the future. But the truth is that writing is always there. It's a well of creativity that you constantly have to refill, rethink, and renegotiate. As arbitrary as it might be, I love the new year. I love the idea that I might be able to make a difference in my future just by the power of positive thinking. 

In the words of Ursula K. Le Guin, we need to "see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope.”

I hope your new year is fantastic and full of all the things you love and enjoy. I hope we make it to next year feeling a bit less angry about the world. 

Here's what I wrote in 2018: 

Books
Glimmerglass Girl, Finishing Line Press  ​ Poetry
I published several speculative poems eligible for the Rhysling Award: Star*Line 41.4 (October 2018) - "A Terrible Meat Eating God"Liminality Issue #17 (Autumn 2018) - "Dead-Eye Girl" Nice Cage (Issue 006, Climate Change And/Or Die, Summer/Spring 2018) - "Boll Heart," "And Farther Death Goes," "A Deep Enough Abyss" Really System(Issue 19: Stymy a Seller, Summer 2018)- "Orbital Debris" Undead: A Poetry Anthology of Ghouls, Ghosts, and More (Apex Book Company, July 17, 2018) - "Sea Fog" I also published a few realist poems this year: Texas Poetry Calendar 2019 (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2018) - "Dear Childhood"Terse Journal (Oct. 3, 2018) - "What it Feels Like to Play Video Games as a Woman" "Erasure" (after Ralph Waldo Emerson) - in ARTHouston Magazine Issue#7 (September 2018) Storyscape (Issue 20, July 2018) - "A Woman" (erasure of William Faulkner)and "She was a Nice Little Nothing" (erasure of Jack Kerouac) ​Isacoustic, April 14, 2018 -  "espejitos"​ Short Stories
​ I'm particularly proud to have published several stories in pro-paying publications this year. The following stories are awards eligible:Daily Science Fiction (August 13, 2018) - After the First Comes the LastRobots & Artificial Intelligence Short Stories (Flame Tree Publishing, September 2018) - StardustFireside Magazine (February 2018) - knick knack, knick knack​ Nonfiction
Here are the essays and reviews I published this year: ​Cotton Xenomorph (9/17/18) - ​YUM-DERDOME: Oh My Sweet Pickle Babies
Up the Staircase (8/1/18) Review: Dear Judas by Melissa Jennings
Trish Hopkinson's Blog (7/29/18) 6 Resources for Submitting Your Work
Cotton Xenomorph (6/21/18) Manifestos: Six Principles of Flash Fiction
​Entropy Magazine (6/15/18) Review: Consolation Prize by Tyler Robert Sheldon  That's it! Whew! As per usual, I am supremely grateful to the editors who continue to support my work and think it's worthwhile enough to grace the pages, or cyberspaces, of their publications. 

I have one more thing to be grateful for. This December, I decided to finally launch a small press and magazine. Now, there's not much to share right now as the ink is not quite dry yet on this new venture, but I promise to post soon about my plans. 

Now, who's ready for 2019? Let's do this.

NaNoWriMo: The Headless Horsewoman

Here’s a bit from my #nanowrimo story #7, a retelling of the headless horseman. Poor unsuspecting Cleora! I am severely behind on my nano word count at 31,825 words today, but I’m having a lot of fun researching this story so I don’t quite mind. 

Here's the original tale, one of my favorite American folk tales: 

​THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW
by Washington Irving

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS 
OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER.

        A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
          Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
        And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
          Forever flushing round a summer sky.
                                         CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.


In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

NaNoWriMo Story #6: Willow Wife

My #6 story for #nanowrimo is after the Japanese fairytale “Willow Wife.” I’ve adapted it into a near-future story of friendship and the challenges of our worldwide climate change. 

Here is the original story: 

Willow Wife

In a certain Japanese village there grew a great willow tree. For many generations the people loved it. In the summer it was a resting place, a place where the villagers might meet after the work and heat of the day were over, and there talk till the moonlight streamed through the branches. In winter it was like a great half-opened umbrella covered with sparkling snow.
​
Heitaro, a young farmer, lived quite near this tree, and he, more than any of his companions, had entered into a deep communion with the imposing willow. It was almost the first object he saw upon waking, and upon his return from work in the fields he looked out eagerly for its familiar form. Sometimes he would burn a joss-stick beneath its branches and kneel down and pray.

One day an old man of the village came to Heitaro and explained to him that the villagers were anxious to build a bridge over the river, and that they particularly wanted the great willow tree for timber.

"For timber?" said Heitaro, hiding his face in his hands. "My dear willow tree for a bridge, one to bear the incessant patter of feet? Never, never, old man!"

When Heitaro had somewhat recovered himself, he offered to give the old man some of his own trees, if he and the villagers would accept them for timber and spare the ancient willow.

The old man readily accepted this offer, and the willow tree continued to stand in the village as it had stood for so many years.

One night while Heitaro sat under the great willow he suddenly saw a beautiful woman standing close beside him, looking at him shyly, as if wanting to speak.

"Honorable lady," said he, "I will go home. I see you wait for some one. Heitaro is not without kindness towards those who love."

"He will not come now," said the woman, smiling.

"Can he have grown cold? Oh, how terrible when a mock love comes and leaves ashes and a grave behind!"

"He has not grown cold, dear lord."

"And yet he does not come! What strange mystery is this?"

"He has come! His heart has been always here, here under this willow tree." And with a radiant smile the woman disappeared.

Night after night they met under the old willow tree. The woman's shyness had entirely disappeared, and it seemed that she could not hear too much from Heitaro's lips in praise of the willow under which they sat.

One night he said to her, "Little one, will you be my wife -- you who seem to come from the very tree itself?"

"Yes," said the woman. "Call me Higo ("Willow") and ask no questions, for love of me. I have no father or mother, and someday you will understand."

Heitaro and Higo were married, and in due time they were blessed with a child, whom they called Chiyodo. Simple was their dwelling, but those it contained were the happiest people in all Japan.

While this happy couple went about their respective duties great news came to the village. The villagers were full of it, and it was not long before it reached Heitaro's ears. The ex-Emperor Toba wished to build a temple to Kwannon [goddess of mercy] in Kyoto, and those in authority sent far and wide for timber. The villagers said that they must contribute towards building the sacred edifice by presenting their great willow tree. All Heitaro's argument and persuasion and promise of other trees were ineffectual, for neither he nor anyone else could give as large and handsome a tree as the great willow.

Heitaro went home and told his wife. "Oh, wife," said he, "they are about to cut down our dear willow tree! Before I married you I could not have borne it. Having you, little one, perhaps I shall get over it someday."

That night Heitaro was aroused by hearing a piercing cry.

"Heitaro," said his wife, "it grows dark! The room is full of whispers. Are you there, Heitaro? Hark! They are cutting down the willow tree. Look how its shadow trembles in the moonlight. I am the soul of the willow tree. The villagers are killing me. Oh, how they cut and tear me to pieces! Dear Heitaro, the pain, the pain! Put your hands here, and here. Surely the blows cannot fall now!"

"My Willow Wife! My Willow Wife!" sobbed Heitaro.

"Husband," said Higo, very faintly, pressing her wet, agonized face close to his, "I am going now. Such a love as ours cannot be cut down, however fierce the blows. I shall wait for you and Chiyodo -- My hair is falling through the sky! My body is breaking!"

There was a loud crash outside. The great willow tree lay green and disheveled upon the ground.

Heitaro looked round for her he loved more than anything else in the world. Willow Wife had gone!

Riddled with Arrows Interview Spotlight

I was delighted to get to do a fun and quirky interview over at Riddled with Arrows literary journal. Riddled with Arrows publishes metafiction/ars poetica, one of my favorite genres of writing. 

When did you first meet poetry? 

HLW: I was maybe fourteen, sitting outside the crappy pizza joint across from my high school, where I often went to wait for my mom to pick me up after school. I think I was scribbling in my journal, you know, the kind of dreams and chapstick-scented hopes at that age. Maybe I was in love, or maybe just as lonely as only a teenager can be, when poetry came up to me. She had this lopsided grin on her face and she was wearing a cloak made of stars. Her face was cracked and two-toned like a faded map you might find rolled up in a scroll, hidden under the porch stairs in a dusty box buried in the dirt . . . 

Read the full interview here . . .