Louie Crew Clay

Isolated in rural South Carolina in 1971, I fumbled around the cheese table as we celebrated poet Patricia Henley’s new chapbook of poems. She came over. We had not met; we were both new to Claflin College in Orangeburg, SC, which had just hired her husband and me to teach English. Most of the guests were old-timers on the faculty.

“I’m Louie, a poet too,” I sloshed tentatively, through a mouthful of chianti and cheddar.

“Good,” Pat said. “What have you published?”

“Oh, only two poems back in graduate school. Mainly I write just for myself,” I spoke more soberly.

“Louie, would you call yourself a chef if you cooked only for yourself?”

Praise all Goddesses for psychic Draino®.

When smart had turned to smart, I visited her. She lived in the large rickety old house at the head of the lot. I lived in a small servants’ house in the pecan orchard that was her backyard. Her husband and I were renters.

Pat showed me how she posted manuscripts; introduced me to a new bible, the International Directory of Little Magazines and Small Press Books, then in its 4th or 5th edition; taught me about crisp stationery, SSAEs…; and braced me to expect rejection as routine.

Pat and I soon moved to distant parts. I have not seen her in 45 years, but we reconnected through Facebook two years ago. She is still writing and publishing, now more fiction than poetry. I love her work, especially her novel In the River Sweet. I am enormously grateful to her for the prompt to get serious, to clean out the dresser drawer where I used to stash literary dabbles, and more important, write, write, write, write….

On Valentine’s Day, 2017, my computer reported: “Editors have published 2,691 of Louie Clay’s manuscripts. The last 4,798 editors took an average of 38 days to decide. The last 1,883 editors who have accepted his work have averaged of 15.5 months from acceptance to publication.” Pat, see what you prompted!

I taught the computer to track circulations so that I had more time to ‘get a life.’ In the 1980’s I wrote a computer program. My Agent, and shared it with hundreds of others to free up time for them, and from 1996-2016 I maintained a website to list “Poetry Publishers Willing to Receive Submissions Electronically.” Only a few publishers were willing to be listed at the beginning, but 20 years later, over 1,000 seized the opportunity. Writers and publishers alike continue to thank me for connecting them, but the real pleasure was mine. We can strengthen the vitality of writers’ community by simple acts of hospitality.

Shoals of Change

When Bell invented the telephone,

someone asked him what he might do with it.

“Call ahead to say ‘Your telegram is on the way.'”

Twain used one of the earliest “computers”

but hid the fact lest some think

the typewriter did his thinking for him.

In 1983, I sold great-grandmother’s

calendar clock, with the snuff box

always on it to buy my first computer

a portable, 24 pounds, encased

like a sewing machine.

I sneaked it into China,

Customs baulked:

“It’s a spy machine!”

“No, it’s a Hollywood typewriter.”

B.C. (before the Computer),

whenever someone showed up

at the door asking for me,

my husband would say, “Just a minute.

He’s working in the study.”

After the computer, he said, “Just a minute.

He’s in the study playing with the computer.”

What magic to transform work into play.

I have plenty of old books

in which to press flowers,

and I love them,

as I love Mother’s Victorian dining room set.

After my first computer, I kept an IBM Selectrix

for several years only to address envelopes.

When I chaired Rutgers University senate,

a dean complained that he had not received

a copy of the document we were discussing.

“But we sent it to you by email.”

“I don’t read email,” he huffed.

“Rutgers has spent thousands of dollars

so that we can communicate electronically.

If you prefer to ride to work on your horse,

that is entirely your right,

but do not expect Rutgers to provide

either a groom or a hitching post.

You might ask your secretary to read your email.”

He did.

Writers and publishers did not invent these changes, and I had no illusions that I invented them either. In addition to the time computers save, and the many ways computers make it easier to create, revise, and share manuscripts, computers save money.

Economics nudged reluctant writers and publishers to move from typewriter to computer.

I sometimes feel guilty for knowing more about the business part of writing than is seemly. I work hard at writing, and I work hard at placing my manuscripts to reach audiences. These skills are separate and distinct, and I choose to keep them that way. When I am in the throes of writing, I don’t go near my data regarding circulations and publications. There is fallow time aplenty for that important work. When I am in fallow period, I am more efficient at organizing the busy work.

Nor am I daunted by rejection. Disappointed at times, of course, but never daunted. Before I ever send out a manuscript, I identify one or more additional publishers to approach if the current one rejects it. Usually I can recirculate the material within a day, often with revisions I have already made since the last submission.

I would not dare seek validation as a writer by the decision any editor or publisher makes regarding one of my manuscripts. Nor would any editor with good sense presume to speak for all others.

I know many who write better than I do but are daunted by rejection. Some stop circulating a manuscript for months before trying again. Any day that I sit on a rejected manuscript, is another day that the manuscript is not sitting in the next editor’s queue.

Through the internet writers have excellent, up-to-date ways to inform themselves about what is expected, yet editors report that many who submit have obviously not read the publication and have no idea about its stated priorities.

The best-known publications are likely the ones most overloaded with submissions. Given their status, some of those prefer to solicit manuscripts from established writers rather than wait for them to arrive over the transom. Submit to these anyway? Why not, so long as we don’t measure our worth by their decision. As Eleanor Roosevelt famously said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

A classmate in graduate school had the opposite problem. Very early in his writing life, The New Yorker published one of his poems. To hold that reputation, from then on he submitted only to The New Yorker and a handful of others he thought prestigious enough. Quite soon the only audience he commanded were others at his favorite bars. He died a distraught alcoholic in an alley of The City That Care Forgot.

I write because I write, just as I eat and sleep because I eat and sleep. I write for any audience I can get, and when I can’t get someone, I’ve been known to get on a bus and natter to no one in particular. People listen, and some respond. A couple of times fellow travelers put up such an echo that others mutter as they leave, “Bunch of loonies taking over the world.” These too speak to nobody in particular.

Louie Crew Clay, 80, is Professor Emeritus at Rutgers University. He and Ernest Clay, his husband for 43 years, live in East Orange, NJ.

Clay has been a fellow at the Ragdale Foundation (1988) and at the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation (1963). He directed Rutgers University’s New Jersey High School Poetry Contest from 1990-1999.

See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louie_Crew#Queer_Poet_and_Writer. The University of Michigan collects Clay’s papers.

Author Photo Credit:  Louie Crew Clay. ©2016 by Cynthia L. Black. Used with her permission.

Every semester the Converse College Low-Residency MFA program brings staff changes to our journal.  We’d like to announce the staff who will be working on the Spring / Summer 2017 issue, which will be released June 15, 2017.

Returning to Staff

We would like to thank the following staff members for continuing their involvement with South 85 Journal:

● Melissa Sherrer (Managing Poetry Editor)
● Anthony Reese (Managing Prose Editor)
● Russell Jackson, Reed McFarlin, Chris Menezes, and Monica Torres (Poetry Editors)
● Gwen Holt, Joshua Springs, and Shianna Whitner (Fiction Editors)
● Aaron Dargis (continuing as a Poetry Editor and joining the Fiction Editors)
● Courtney McQueen (Artistic Director and Fiction Editor)
● Jonathan Burgess (Non-Fiction Editor)
● John Newlin (moving from the Fiction Editor position to serve as the Review Editor)
● Rick Mulkey (Contributing Editor)
● Stephen Gray (Webmaster)

Joining Our Staff

We are always excited to welcome new staff to the journal because this means new ideas and fresh perspectives.  We would like to welcome:

● Susanne Parker (Fiction Editor)
● Samantha Moe (Non-Fiction Editor)
● Katie Sherman (Blog Editor)

Leaving Staff

We’d like to wish those staff members who aren’t returning the best in their future endeavors. I am sure they will be successful in whatever they do.

● Angela Raper (Review Editor since January 2016)
● Annette Sanders and Kay Stewart (Non-Fiction Editors since January 2016)
● Kristi Hébert (Blog Editor since January 2014)

I would like to specially thank Kristi Hebert for her time as our Blog Editor. We started this journey together, and while South 85 Journal has changed quite a bit over the past three years, she’s been a loyal and consistent part of our advancement.

To the readers, I’d like to thank you for continuing to support our journal – by reading, submitting, and telling others about it.  We look forward to bringing you the next issue.  In the meantime, write like mad, and if it’s good, we want to see it!

Sincerely,
Debby DeRosa
Managing Editor
South 85 Journal

The Fall / Winter 2016 issue of South 85 Journal is now available online.

Creative Work

We are pleased to present work by the following contributors:

• Artwork – Adorable Monique, Daniel de Culla, Monika Malewska,  Fabrice Poussin, Katerina Pravdivaia, Jean Marc Richel, and Gilmore Tammy
• Fiction – Jody Gerbig and J.T. Townley
• Non-Fiction – Micah McCrary, Matt Paczkowski, and Heather Gemmen Wilson
• Poetry – Clifford Browder, Ingrid Bruck, Merrill Oliver Douglas, Kym Cunningham, Allison Goldston, Brit Graham, Lynn Marie Houston, Jessica (Tyner) Mehta, and Carl Wade Thompson

Reviews

For some great reads, check out our Reviews section, featuring reviews of:

• My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout (Fiction)
• M Train by Patti Smith (Non-Fiction)
• The Spoons in the Grass are There to Dig a Moat by Amelia Martens (Poetry)

Interested in Submitting?

Our reading period is still open!  We are currently accepting submissions for the Spring / Summer 2017 issue, which we will release June 15, 2017.  We hope to hear from you!  Submit now.

About Us

South 85 Journal is published by the Converse College Low-Residency MFA program.  Thank you to our staff of volunteers who put countless hours into making this issue happen.

We hope you enjoy reading this issue as much as we enjoyed putting it together!

South 85 Journal is pleased to announce recognition for two of its stories published in 2015.  “Symbiosis” by Janet Schneider and “Fish Hook” by Justin Eisenstadt, both published in our Fall / Winter 2015 issue, have been selected to receive the 2016 Write Well Award sponsored by the Silver Pen Writers Association.

According to the Write Well Award website, “This award seeks to recognize outstanding short stories and flash fiction from both print and online journals and to give readers a way to experience stories that they might not otherwise be exposed to.”  Twenty-five different fiction pieces were chosen for the award this year.

“I’m excited my story will appear along with twenty-four other winning stories in the 2016 Write Well Anthology. Thanks to South 85 Journal, my story will enjoy a second life and receive even wider circulation,” says Janet Schneider, author of the winning story, “Symbiosis.”

Janet writes during the winter in Berkeley, CA and in Charlevoix, Michigan in the summer. Her work has appeared in Harpur Palate, Pooled Ink, Bear River Review, Traverse Magazine, Yourlifeisatrip.com, and Fishfoodmagazine.com.  She received her MFA in fiction writing from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. When she’s not writing, she’s riding her bike. You can see more of her work at www.janetschneider.com.

Justin Einsenstadt, who wrote “Fish Hook,” says, “I’m incredibly grateful to South 85 Journal for originally publishing my story and to the Silver Pen Writers Association for choosing to share it with a wider audience. ‘Fish Hook’ is a story that went through many changes before it found itself, often drastically so, and this recognition is a validation for me of the importance of revision. The process between the first draft of a story and the final draft can be a long and tedious one, but I’m glad I stuck with it. I can’t wait to read all the other wonderful stories in the 2016 Write Well Anthology.”

Originally from Baltimore, Justin currently lives in Spokane, Washington where he is attending the MFA program at Eastern Washington University. His fiction has appeared in Gulf Stream, Jet Fuel Review, The Ilanot Review, Swarm, and Connotation Press, among others. He has one wife, two guitars, and three cats.

Check out all 25 winning stories in the 2016 Write Well Anthology, which is now available on the Kindle and in paperback format through Amazon.com.

Emilee Struss

My eyelids are heavy. Natural daylight diminishes from my room with the sunset, so I turn on the one lamp in my apartment. It was a long day.  However, I need to write. I must write.

Sometimes I feel like I have a sixth sense.

I am sure other people have this, too. And, no, I do not see dead people. If you see dead people, you should seek help immediately. My sixth sense is the feeling of time. Even more so, the sense that time is slipping away. It’s moving too fast, and I can’t stop it. I can’t accomplish all the desires that lay undiscovered before me. One of those things I desire is to inspire others through writing. Passion ignites passion. Just by following my passion to write, I can inspire others to pursue their passions.

Some evenings I sit in my cheap apartment, with thin walls, aware of it all. Aware of the students around me. All of them searching for their passion and purpose in life. Various styles of music entertain them through headphones while working on essays and projects. Outside, I hear screechy breaks from a Budweiser truck pulling up beside the liquor store. A tow truck drives by and removes a vehicle from its all too convenient parking spot. Someone knocks on my front door. Time passes in this way for each of us, unnoticed. It slips by while we deal with the oddities of life. For so many, passion gets lost in the business and busyness of life. In my apartment, a young man comes through to check the vents, and smiles at me sweetly. He is probably a student himself. Back in my room, a microwave hum tells me that one of my roommates is home. I think about unfinished homework, the fact that I have work early tomorrow morning and my heavy eyelids. I wrestle with the idea of staying up later to write.

I realize that if I fall asleep, that will be another day wasted. Sure, I attended class, went to work, and accomplished small tasks around the house. But what did I do in regards to pursuing my passion for writing? I think about all the statistics. Those living out their last breaths on earth commonly regret one thing: not pursuing their passion. I look out the window of my apartment and watch the snow drift at an angle. I am aware of it all, raw to the reality that this fire inside me to write could waste away. It could get drown out by time. By life.

Back in my apartment room, a single lamp lights a circle on my desk. The Budweiser truck has left. The tow truck took his victim and vanished. The guy checking the vents has gone. I hear my roommate’s door shut. The sun has gone down and the snow continues to sway through the air. My eyes are still heavy. The cursor on my computer blinks at me. I realize the importance of seeking out this fire within me to tell of something. To reach out and ignite the flame within others. Even with the sixth sense of time slipping away, and words unwritten, I have to write. It is my passion. It is to be pursued.

Emilee Struss recently graduated with a degree in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University, Mankato. Currently, she lives in Bellevue, Idaho, and follows several passions including rock climbing, trail running and of course… writing.

Francis DiClemente

When I read poetry I eschew formalists who pack their poems with words I need to look up in an online dictionary. I avoid books filled with single poems that run multiple pages and prefer compact works imbued with concrete details and spoken with an honest voice. I like to feel the writer behind the words, and an example of my taste is Samuel Menashe.

I recently read The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens, and while I admire Stevens’ intellect, his use of imagery and technical construction, I struggled to slice through the book and skipped over the last fifty or so pages. I couldn’t wait to reach the end.

I am not smart enough to interpret much of his symbolism, and I didn’t want to work that hard anyway. I believe reading should be a pleasure, like it was when I was a kid and would snag the evening sports page from my father while he sat at the kitchen table after dinner. At the same time poetry, like classical music, can produce a sublime experience for its audience. It has the power to examine life, making observations that resonate with readers and inspire further thought.

And three “poets of the street”—my go-to trifecta for verse—deliver in this regard. I admire Langston Hughes, Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski for the rich details they offer and a palpable authenticity that leaps across the page; you get the sense they not only wrote these poems but lived them as well.

For brevity, we turn to “Suicide’s Note,” where Hughes uses just twelve words to tell a dramatic story:

The calm,

Cool face of the river

Asked me for a kiss.

The story has a satisfying conclusion while also giving readers numerous options for interpretation.

I prefer short, narrative poems with clean resolutions. That’s because I often find these poems online and read them during my lunch hour. I will peruse the site PoemHunter.com and read through a few poems in between bites of my daily turkey or tuna sandwich.

One of my favorite poems is “Hell is a Lonely Place” by Charles Bukowski, which I came across on PoemHunter and also read in Bukowski’s book Septuagenarian Stew: Stories & Poems.

In the poem, Bukowski describes an aging, disease-plagued couple. The man has cancer of the mouth and the woman suffers from Alzheimer’s disease. The man faces the humiliation of putting “his wife in rubber diapers like a baby.” The poem concludes with the man shooting and killing his wife in an act of mercy and then turning the gun on himself.

Bukowski writes:

the shots didn’t arouse

the neighbors.

later

the burning tv dinners

did.

The police investigate the scene, go through the couple’s belongings and discover a closed savings account and a checkbook with a balance of $1.14.

Just like Hughes with “Suicide’s Note,” Bukowski gives us a full story arc. And the poem stands out because of its honesty, clear language and emotional gravity.

Bukowski drew me in with the details about the man’s decaying jaw, the rubber diapers, the empty bank account and the burning TV dinners. I felt a deep empathy for the man and woman; I sensed the story could have been true and I mourned the couple’s loss.

And that’s the strength of story-based poems. They have the ability to make us sympathize with others and reflect on our existence. It’s just my opinion, but formalist poetry with reserved language and obscure references cannot measure up. The words do not endure because they fail to reach the heart. These works dance in the realm of intellect and never risk the courage to throw a punch to the gut. And I believe poetry should aim to elevate our consciousness and create an emotional response in the reader.

Francis DiClemente is a video producer and freelance writer who lives in Syracuse, New York. He is the author of three poetry chapbooks and his blog can be found at francisdiclemente.wordpress.com.

Author’s Photo Credit: Susan Kahn

References:

Bukowski, Charles. Septuagenarian Stew: Stories & Poems. Santa Rosa: Black Sparrow Press, 1990.

Hughes Langston. Selected Poems of Langston Hughes. New York: Vintage Classics, 1990.

Stevens, Wallace. The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. New York: Vintage Books, A Division of Random House, 1982.

Noelle Sterne

After too many years, I was painfully getting back to writing. For four years, I’d faithfully scribbled my “morning pages” (per Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way), the only writing I could manage. As I struggled through countless tear-soaked journaling sessions, my fragile new hope told me it was time.

For weeks, in the local newspaper I’d studied the Sunday magazine feature called “Great Neighborhood Secrets” on terrific but little-known places and events in the area. Only 100 words—I could creep into that. But what to write?

One day, crossing Broadway from the market, I walked in front of the firehouse to get to the library. And between the two buildings, there it was! A small pond, almost completely hidden by tall rushes and overhanging trees, pristine, intact. I’d never noticed it before.  If I hadn’t, probably others hadn’t either.

Lily pads floated on the water’s surface, insects hummed and buzzed, and small birds flitted overhead. The pond was an anomaly, an oasis, and a comfort that all of nature hadn’t succumbed to concrete and strip malls. Like the bubbles from a small fish in the pond, my title emerged: “Hidden Jewel.”

I tapped out a too-long first draft. After weeks of editing, cutting, and polishing, on a crisp November morning I sent the piece out to the newspaper.

Winter dragged on. No reply. Spring emerged and grew warmer. Nothing. As I gained writing strength, I became preoccupied with other pieces. But my annoyance grew the more I checked my log. The paper could have at least replied with a form email.

Then, in late May, the phone rang. Seeing the newspaper’s name on the caller ID, I assumed it was another computer-generated, randomly dialed, automatic message subscription solicitation. I answered half-heartedly, with No already in my voice.

To my shock, the editor identified himself. “I apologize for the late response. We’d like to publish your piece—two months from now.”

I tried to form words but could only groan with paralyzed ecstasy.

“Oh,” he continued, taking my strange sound for assent, “where shall we send the $50 check?”

When I hung up and regained my power of speech, I ran screaming into my husband’s study. He was on a European conference call closing a big deal, but this was more important. He graciously put the CEO and CFO on hold and rejoiced with me.

The piece came out on a bright Sunday in July. We bought all 12 copies at the local newsstand and sent several to friends. One even sent it to the mayor.

Since then, I’ve published and sold many pieces and have written many more. The morning pages have delivered what Cameron promised. I write almost daily now, and the ideas and projects keep flowing. But “Hidden Jewel” was especially meaningful.

Maybe, you could say, I should have found the impetus to continue writing without creating this piece. Maybe, you also could say, I shouldn’t have needed the validation of the sale. But after the long dark days and nights of wrestling with the self-depreciation demons, I freely admit that first sale thrilled me, and more. It gave me the hope, inspiration, and impetus to keep writing.

© 2016 Noelle Sterne

Noelle Sterne (Ph.D.) publishes in many venues, including Author Magazine, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Children’s Book Insider, Graduate Schools Magazine, Inspire Me Today, and Writer’s Digest. Her Trust Your Life: Forgive Yourself and Go After Your Dreams (Unity Books) helps readers reach lifelong yearnings. Her handbook based on her academic coaching practice assists doctoral students: Challenges in Writing Your Dissertation: Coping With the Emotional, Interpersonal, and Spiritual Struggles (Rowman & Littlefield Education).  www.trustyourlifenow