Capoeira Lessons

February 15, 2018

On Tuesday I had got up for an early meeting with lots of energy. The meeting –for a non-industry job — was really interesting, and set my mind to spinning –thinking of some interesting things I could write about…

But as the day wore on, my energy dwindled.

I began to feel daunted by everyday practicalities.

And then I got a letter saying that I would not be receiving a publication award I’d been on the shortlist for …

And my short film would not be screened at a festival…

And by evening I was feeling pretty depleted and defeated.

But Paul had just begun a month of Capoeira classes at a studio close to us, and was going to a class that night. On a whim, I said, “Should I go, too?” capoeira

And an hour later I was in a brightly lit studio with new people learning new movements to the rhythm of instruments with unfamiliar names.

And I felt energized and happier again.

When All That’s Left Is Love

February 10, 2019

A few days ago I went to a  memorial / celebration of life service for the husband of a friend who suffered an illness this year and died too soon. It was a beautiful service for a man who was a beautiful soul, and this is a poem that was read at his request.

I had  never heard it before and have been thinking about it, so I thought I’d share it here.

When All That’s Left Is Love

When I die
If you need to weep
Cry for someone
Walking the street beside you.
You can love me most by letting
Hands touch hands, and
Souls touch souls.
You can love me most by
Sharing your Simchas (goodness) and
Multiplying your Mitzvot (acts of kindness).
You can love me most by
Letting me live in your eyes
And not on your mind.
And when you say
Kaddish for me
Remember what our
Torah teaches,
Love doesn’t die
People do.
So when all that’s left of me is love
Give me away.

by Rabbi Allen S. Maller

I’m Shortlisted for a Chapbook Competition!

February 7, 2019

After a close-but-no-cigar a semi-finalist finish in the Black River Chapbook Competition last week (which was still lovely and encouraging). Today I received this letter from The Sonder Press.

Dear Barrington

Congratulations! Your chapbook, After The Storms: A Tryptych has been shortlisted for our 2018 competition. You will be notified by February 8th if your manuscript has won, and been selected for publication. Runners-up may also be selected for publication independent of the prize. We do ask that at this time, if your work is simultaneously submitted elsewhere, you withdraw it from any outstanding competitions/presses. Please let us know if you have any questions or concerns. We look forward to speaking again soon.

Fingers crossed for this! When I find out tomorrow I’ll update this post with the verdict!

In the meantime, you might want to check out Sonder Press / Review’s cool-looking website.

Update, February 9: They wrote to say they need a few more days to decide.

Update, February 15: I’ve waited a couple days to post so they could do their press release and site update — but here’s the verdict.

Dear Barrington Smith-Seetachitt,

After an extremely difficult deliberation, we regret to inform you that your chapbook After The Storms: A Triptych has not been selected for our 2018 prize. It has, however, been awarded an Honorable Mention as one of the top five manuscripts under consideration. Our official press release announcing the winner, runners-up, and honorable mentions will be released Thursday and our website will be updated accordingly. We were very impressed with your work and encourage you to submit again in the future, to both our press and review, we would love an opportunity to read your work again.

I’ll post a link to the winners when it goes up, with a congrats to them. I’m sure I’m in very good company!

Another “100 Rejections” Post

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January 29, 2019.

I have a new short story that I feel like has got some legs, despite it receiving its third rejection today. It’s a story with a sci-fi twist so I’m trying sci-fi mags first, but have a feeling it’s not really sci-fi enough. The sci-fi doesn’t become apparent ’til near the end, whereas all the sample story excerpts on the magazine websites seem to start out with people floating around in space-pods. I have been gratified by how fast the genre magazines turn around though. I started submitting at the beginning of January, and although none of them accept simultaneous submissions, they have all responded within a week. By comparison, in the same batch of morning emails, I also got a rejection for a different story that I submitted to a literary journal back in August, which for overwhelmed, underpaid lit journals is about standard.

I’ve just decided, after seeing a few articles on the topic of “100 rejections per year” like this one and this one, that I, too, will aim for 100 rejections this year. I generally have in mind that rejections reflect attempts, and thus it’s good to collect a few, but 100 is a nice round number, and I will need to up my  game to achieve it. The end of January is almost upon us, and I am only four rejections in. I need an average of nine per month to hit 100. Because of the afore-mentioned long turn-around times, I am disadvantaged by my low submission numbers in the last half of last year, and for the same reason, anything I submit after summer of this year might not get rejected until next year!

I also need to change up the types of things I get rejected for. Last year, I invested a lot of time in submissions for screenwriting fellowships and labs. These often have high entry fees. I wish I could say it is the last vestiges of self-respect, but it’s probably just my extreme lack of funds that require me to take those out of the mix this year. No $100 Humanitas Prize entry for me. No $45-$65 dollar lab submissions or $45-$95 screenwriting contests. (I’m glad that my contributions over the last decade have helped all the worthy programs who sponsor these opportunities, and am sure my deficit will be covered by plenty of new aspirants.) A friend recently offered to show me how to look for article work — so that might be an option for rejection collection!

I also need to set some parameters. Like if I pitch a show and they pass… can that count? I think yes, because of the preparation involved, and the fact that I can write the company names and project names on my tracking chart. But things like requests for fee-waivers do not count–even though I can chart them and they still pack some dream-denying emotional punch, they are not actually rejecting my ideas or work or presentation of self.

2019. Bring. It. On.

 

Dancing at the End of Our Plans

January 15, 2019

(This is a post I started months ago and found in my drafts folder.)

I have a friend — an acquaintance who is the spouse of a friend — who has a particularly virulent form of cancer. Last night he wrote on Facebook about the impossibility, in his current situation, of planning for the future, and about trying to live in the reality of the moment and have fun.

I woke up this morning with the kernel of anxiety that is my almost constant companion and I thought about his post, and about that state of no longer planning for the future.

This one night when I was at Cancer Camp, we had a dance. We jumped around to pop music while wearing funny hats and vests and feathery boas from a trunk in the corner and it was a true celebration. It was also surreal, because as I danced, I looked around the room and knew that some of us might be dead soon and that part of “some of us” might be me.  But because we were all in the same boat, it seemed strangely okay. 

I think often about how much our (or my) ability to enjoy life is social. So much is context. Discontent — or maybe just anxiety – comes from having your expectations exist side by side with other people’s expectations. It’s easy to eat a vegetable plate if vegetables are all that’s at the table and everybody is happy with vegetables. It’s harder if you’re surrounded by people eating pizza – especially if they want you to partake, and your veggie plate is making them feel bad. When I lived in the Outback, I happily wore the same rotation of clothes for months, but when we visited the city and everybody had shiny shoes, suddenly everything I had felt faded and dusty.  Death seems like it should be bigger and more important than all of that stuff, but what I found was that it was pretty similar. It was easy to talk about dying with other people who were ill, and harder to talk about it around healthy people. Healthy people like to have conversations about their plans and their futures and things they hope to achieve. Today I am one of those healthy people. I talk about plans. I have career decisions to make, and many worries about the future. 

But that memory of the time that I stopped planning lives inside me. It was a very specific feeling. All my concerns about success or failure dropped away. One week I was furiously working toward a deadline for a grant for a little documentary, the next week it felt completely unimportant. It was sad at first, but it was freeing. These days, when projects hit obstacles, as they seem to constantly, I remember how easily it can all feel unimportant, and it’s oddly comforting.

I also think how lucky I was to have experienced that feeling of freedom with like-minded comrades who could appreciate it with me — to have felt the kinship of dancing into the night with others who were equally uncertain of what the next day might bring.