If you go here, you’ll find my essay, “Battle of Hoth,” the seed of which I wrote as a writing sample to get into Ashland University’s MFA program nearly five years ago.
It’s crazy to think how one weird moment serves as the impetus to set you on a path you dreamt about as a kid but never expected to find yourself walking down. Let’s answer some imaginary FAQs:
Now that you’ve been published by an online journal, what will you do?
Knowing there’s at least one person who likes my work encourages me to produce more of it and continue to submit for publication.
Why publish at a place called Burlesque Press? Doesn’t that have something to do with adult entertainment?
I published there because they asked me to, and any opportunity I have to get my work out to be seen, I’ll take. The website shares similarities with a burlesque show in name only. The word is synonymous with ‘parody’ or ‘travesty’ which means they publish work that’s not what one expects, elevating the mundane and subverting the exalted.
Now that you’re rich and famous, can I borrow 20 bucks?
Though some publications pay for original work, Burlesque Press does not. I’m super-stoked just because they picked my piece. Actually, if you want to borrow 20 bucks, talk to someone else. I parked in front of somebody’s driveway last night and almost had my car impounded, so between the cost of the ticket and the fee for the tow truck, I’m not flush with cash.
If it takes five years of work to get published without even getting paid for it, why do it?
This I’ve asked myself many times. I do it because I love it, and because of my pursuit of writing, I now get to teach English to 8th graders, which is pretty special.
Will you ever get published again?
How would I know that? Actually, Burlesque Press accepted two of my pieces, so I’ll be published again on Tuesday.
What are you writing now?
Aside from this blog post, nothing. I can’t write two things at once.
Alright, smart-aleck, answer the question.
I have many writing projects, all in various states of disrepair. There’s the collection of essays I want to convert into Programming the Robotic Soul: A Nerd’s Memoir. There’s the story of how my maternal grandfather abandoned his family in the early ’60s to lead the Undergrounders, a cult that built a church, houses, and bomb shelters out in Benson, Arizona, believing nuclear war was imminent and they’d be the only ones to survive. I’m also writing a sci-fi piece about a genetically-modified creature who becomes self-aware to see where it goes.
What’s it feel like to create something and have someone who also creates that same sort of thing deem it worthy of sharing with the world?
It feels like the time I defended my thesis and realized the English professors saw me as a writer. It feels like affirmation.