An announcement, and a message

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I had the call for submissions up on my screen when my 16-year-old walked in and said excitedly, “Is that an Odyssey anthology?”

Like any standard fantasy nerd, my 16-year-old is having a Greek mythology phase. Mine started in grade school (Clash of the Titans!). My kiddo’s is based around Percy Jackson and Epic: The Musical, and this is a shout-out to the other parents who also brought their teens to the Troy Doherty concert in New York a few months back because Troy sings Hermes in Epic. There was a girl cosplaying as Circe on line behind us and handing out little pig trinkets. I love a good fandom. (But I also texted my husband, “I feel like I’m chaperoning the prom.”)

“You have to write something for this,” my kiddo said.

“I will if I come up with a good idea,” I said, and promptly started rereading The Odyssey.

Anyway, I’m excited to announce my story is one of the offerings in the anthology! “Phemius” retells the homecoming of Odysseus through the eyes of the unlucky poet who happens to be performing for Penelope’s suitors that bloody day—so yeah, basically a horror story. Odysseus from Flame Tree Press will be available in April, and I can’t wait to read everyone else’s stories.

And I scored some cool points with my kiddo.

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I was out on a freelance assignment the other day when the person I was interviewing mentioned he liked my Star of David necklace. I paused before thanking him. Usually when people notice you’re Jewish, it isn’t a good thing.

I don’t hide who I am in any setting. Mostly because I shouldn’t have to. Also because I know that hiding doesn’t work.

I attended an Orthodox synagogue as a kid, but at home we were outwardly pretty secular—wore the same clothes as everyone else, ate the same food (outside the house, anyway), attended public schools, did all the same ballet class/softball kid things. I’ve always had a not-Jewish-sounding name. I’ve been told, more than once, Oh, you don’t look Jewish! like it’s a compliment. I never wore a Star of David to school. And yet the other kids threw pennies at me anyway. Called me names. Told me I killed Jesus. Hiding didn’t matter. When you’re “different,” people know.

So I don’t hide. But being Jewish in public has gotten a lot more fraught in the past couple years.

My heart is scorched by the terrorist attack in Australia on families who just wanted to celebrate Hanukkah. By all the other attacks on Jews around the world, a whole litany of them in recent years. I am tired and furious and sad.

But I’m still wearing my star. And I’m lighting my menorah tonight.

Driving out the darkness is the point.

Happy Hanukkah.

Superpowered in Delaware

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Getting short fiction published can feel like it’s all in your head. You get an emailed acceptance, you get emailed a contract and edits. Getting your copy of the anthology or magazine (or the publication link) is proof that the acceptance was real and your name is in print. It’s building a sandcastle, hoping that someone will see it and praise it before the tide comes in.

Which was why I was so willing to drive the several hours to Delaware for an anthology launch party. How cool is it to actually meet the editors who liked your work enough to publish it? Pretty cool. Especially when the launch is for a superhero anthology, being held at a comic book store.

I’ve loved comics my whole life, from the drugstore three-packs my parents used to bring home for me when I was a kid to the Elfquest comics I was obsessed with in high school and college to the DC Vertigo and Bone books I used to grab from Midtown Comics when I worked in New York (and assorted other stores in New Jersey, when I worked closer to home). Favorite superheroes? Batman and Spider-Man when I was a kid, Ms. Marvel more recently. But I’ll read almost any comic, just like I’ll watch almost anything animated. So it was great to be in a room full of people who also love comics and superheroes.

Happy to report that the Oddity Prodigy folks are a delight—friendly, enthusiastic, clearly loving what they do—and Captain Blue Hen Comics in Newark (NewARK, not NEWark, or they’ll know you’re from Jersey) is a really nice store with plenty of space and a good all-ages selection. Turnout for the launch about filled the store, and I got to meet some of the other authors in the anthology as we signed copies.

Regret #1: I should’ve dragged out my old Marvel shirt to match attendees’ superhero dress code. But noooo, I decided to dress “professional.”

Regret #2: Completely forgetting to take photos, because “journalist” isn’t my day job or anything.

Not a regret at all: Wandering around Newark before the launch, because it’s a cute, laid-back college town and I got some writing done at a coffeehouse. Also, buying Tusk Love at the comics store and indulging my Critical Role fandom. (You’re supposed to show up at your own launch and buy other people’s books, right?)

At any rate, Where Legends Walk is available now and it’s got some great stories. Go forth and read it.

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I’ve got another anthology acceptance I’m excited to talk about, but I need to wait for the official go-ahead. Soon, I think? Plus I’ve got a short story in progress that might not go anywhere, but man is it fun to write.

And I’m working on my fantasy novel and metaphorically beating my head on the desk over the magic system. Right, this is why I don’t usually write straight fantasy. But progress is progressing.

In the meantime, I’ll be taking my kid on college visits and doing Thanksgiving prep and Hanukkah shopping and trying not to get too incensed at the news. (Trying. Ha.)

Hope you’re able to do something creative this week, and that you remember to breathe.

Writing in these times

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I check the news every day. Several times a day. Yes, I am perpetually frustrated and outraged. No, it’s not great for my mental health. (Or for the actual physical health and safety of so many other people. Worry about them, not me.) At the end of the day, at the end of the week while we’re lighting Shabbos candles, I focus inward: Everyone in this family is okay. That’s what I can control. As long as we’re okay, we’re available to help others. And so on to the next week.

So how do I keep writing? How does one stay creative when everything is on fire? For me, this one’s easy. Because I write fantasy.

The entire point of fantasy is to escape reality. It’s to imagine a place where magic exists and people can call down lightning or change shape with their bare hands. Where otherworldly creatures fly, or breathe fire, or heal injuries with a touch of their horn. Where ordinary people band together for an extraordinary purpose, and through their courage, friendship and honor, change the world.

The magic is fun, but it isn’t really the point. Because fantasy is about taking on a quest and seeing it through, no matter the cost. It’s about the best of what we can be. That’s why I grew up reading fantasy, and why I write it now. It tells me what kind of reality to strive for.

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With disappointment and regret, I’m moving on from my middle grade golem novel; after this last rejection, I’ve run out of agents to query. I was hoping for a better result, especially after the manuscript awards, but so be it.

I am happy to report that the superhero anthology I have a story in blew way past its Kickstarter goals and should be out in the next month or two. Also happy to report that the foreword was written by J.M. DeMatteis, comics legend who’s written for a ton of superhero titles. His Moonshadow is considered the first fully painted graphic novel; when I read it years ago, I thought it was offbeat, funny and a strange kind of beautiful.

I have another story acceptance that I’m hoping to announce soon. Otherwise, I have various stories boomeranging back and forth looking for homes and a fantasy novel-in-progress that’s starting to look like something interesting. So we’ll see what the next few months bring.

Keep writing, stay safe.

Things are changing

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There’s change for the bad, and for the good. And sometimes both.

The worst part of losing a pet is having to make the decision. I kept hoping Theo would die peacefully in her sleep, but even as she lost her appetite and her ability to walk, she kept hanging on until we brought her to the vet.

The last time I lost a cat, she died in the car on the way to the emergency vet. This was the first time I went through the process of putting a cat to sleep, and it’s wrenching. She was in pain, and it was time. But I still keep thinking I hear her around the house, yowling for lunch (she was the only cat I’d ever met who insisted that cats get lunch), claws scrabbling as she hops onto the kitchen island or the stove to hunt for crumbs. My office is quieter without her barging into it. No one is claiming my space on the couch. Our other cat keeps looking around, puzzled, because he has the house to himself but no one to fight with.

There’s been a lot to adjust to this summer. We officially have a child in college and an empty bedroom (where I can finally see the floor again). We’ll be cooking for three, not four, and beginning college visits all over again for our younger one. Being a parent means planning ahead for the day when they leave you and hoping you did it more or less right.

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In the meantime, I had one horror story published by On the Premises (second-place winner!) and my feminine-rage superhero story is upcoming in an anthology by Oddity Prodigy Productions—check out the Kickstarter here. This is only the second time I’ve tried to get that story published, mainly because there aren’t many markets for original superhero stories, so I’d call that a win.

I had three—or four? Now I don’t remember—other short stories shortlisted by various publications that ultimately didn’t get selected, but making the shortlist is still exciting. All stories have bounced back out to find homes. And my fantasy novel is still in progress. Unfortunately I’m still figuring out the backstory as I go, so I look forward to completely rewriting the beginning in a few months. And then revising the whole dang thing.

Change is in the air. Here’s hoping it’s for the good. Keep writing, stay safe.

Despite the storm

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We were in the Poconos recently on a family trip. Rain was threatening, and thunder rolled across the lake. My son and I sat on the balcony of our hotel room, casually chatting, while the thunder got louder and the rain poured down and lightning flashed around us. A strange crackling, crashing sound startled us; we guessed lightning had hit a tree somewhere around the lake. Sirens blared, warning people about the lightning. And we kept sitting there, talking, determined to enjoy ourselves, despite the chaos and the danger.

If that doesn’t feel like a metaphor for this entire year—and maybe the past few years—I don’t know what does.

Awful things keep happening, in the country and in the world, but so do high school graduations and family trips. Life just keeps going. You acknowledge the danger, you try and keep your loved ones safe. But you also enjoy the lakeside view, if you’re lucky enough to have one. Even in the rain.

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My group’s first-ever Pride event in town was a success, I’m happy to report, and we’re already planning next year’s event.

After a whole string of stories getting shortlisted but then ultimately rejected, I have two short stories set to be published soon! I’ll post the links as soon as they’re up. One I wrote years ago, pulled out and revised recently, then sent off to see what would happen, and I’m so glad to find it a home.

In the meantime, I’m working on this fantasy novel (including in the car, to and from the Poconos). I’m still figuring out how the different elements fit together and how the main characters feel about each other, but I’ll have a better sense of all that by the end. And then the real work begins.

Hoping for hopeful things this summer. Stay safe, keep creating.

Starting over, again

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One of the hardest parts about baking—bread, biscuits, cookies, whatever—is trying not to overmix the dough. Knowing when the ingredients have more or less come together and that you haven’t whisked, mixed or kneaded them into stiffness, because otherwise the dough won’t hold its shape properly and might crack in the oven. Then you’re stuck with a final result that doesn’t represent your best work.

Is this a metaphor for writing? Please, everything is a metaphor for writing.

I’ve been wrestling with this dybbuk novel for a while. I switched the protagonist and started over. I lightened the tone. I changed up the plot. And working on it has become a series of aggravations. What did I want from this story in the first place? Why isn’t it there now?

In the meantime, I started playing with this idea for a fantasy story, as though my brain needed a break from horror. (And because of all the “Legends of Vox Machina” I’ve been watching? Maybe.) I rarely write straight-up fantasy, not because I don’t love it but because I loved it too much to write it badly. But every so often a fantasy story sneaks through. So I started writing. And kept writing, and have kept at it for weeks. Figuring out what comes next has been fun and a pleasant diversion from *gestures to all of this, closes news app in disgust*.

It’s a bad habit to leave stories unfinished to chase after the shiny new idea. But sometimes you have to leave a story alone for a while until you know how to write it properly. In that situation, writing something else is better than not writing anything.

So I’ll see where this story takes me, and when I’m ready, I’ll go back to the other story. I don’t want to overmix it, and if the original idea is good enough, it’ll be worth the wait.

Getting neurodiversity wrong

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I put our Passover Seder together in a hurry last weekend* because we were on a college campus for most of it, attending an accepted students’ weekend for our son.

Our autistic son.

I don’t talk about my kids much online, because they’re entitled to their privacy. But certain newspapers and public figures recently seem intent on suggesting (again) that ADHD is overdiagnosed and overmedicated and (again) that autism is a horrible thing and autistic people are somehow a burden on the rest of society.

That would be news to my older kid (autism/ADHD), the Eagle Scout who got into both of the colleges he applied to, and my younger kid (ADHD), the artist/writer/drummer who’s more creatively accomplished than I was at his age.

And me (ADHD). Fun fact: Parents can and do realize their own diagnoses after their kids are diagnosed. Neurodiversity is genetic and frequently runs in families.

So here are some rebuttals.

ADHD was never just something that affected kids. ADHD medication should not be prescribed to improve kids’ grades but instead to help calm the chaos in their heads. The people who think the point of treating someone with ADHD is to “fix” them must not have much experience with ADHD. And if parents of neurodivergent kids—or older adults—are still, now, discovering their diagnoses, then maybe it isn’t being overdiagnosed.

Autistic kids have every right to be themselves, whether that means they don’t talk at all or they talk your ear off about video games (like, say, my kid). They are not an object of pity. They are people. They can live, work, and write poetry just like anyone else. My observation: The rigidity that goes along with autism can translate into deep honesty and a rock-solid moral code, which frankly I prefer to the situational ethics of other people.

My kids and I like to play the “neurodivergent-coded” game with a lot of the shows we watch. Luz from “The Owl House”? ADHD. Percy Jackson? ADHD (though that’s not coded—he says so in the books). Entrapta from the “She-Ra” reboot? Autistic. Same with Tech from “The Bad Batch” and (probably) Laios from “Delicious in Dungeon,” and yes we do watch a lot of animated series, why do you ask.

There are Sherlock Holmes fans who would contend he has either ADHD or autism—I’m thinking more ADHD but you could make a case either way (or for both). My personal headcanon about “A Wrinkle in Time” is that Meg has ADHD and Charles Wallace is autistic, and not a single adaptation of that book is ever going to work unless their neurodiversity is addressed more effectively.

Why play this game? Because it’s incredibly validating to see characters like you be the heroes of the story. Especially when public figures think you’re not worth anything.

But hey, they’re entitled to their (wrong and deeply hurtful) opinion. I’ll be over here planning my kid’s graduation party and his Eagle Scout Court of Honor.

Happy Easter, Happy Rest-of-Passover.

* Slightly off-topic: Can people who schedule events and makers of calendars keep in mind that Jewish holidays start at sundown? For example, Passover began last Saturday night, not last Sunday, so holding an event during the day on Saturday did in fact cut into our holiday time. We made it work, but we deal with this sort of thing every year. If you wouldn’t schedule an event on Good Friday or Christmas Eve, maybe don’t schedule one the day of Passover either. Or Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur, or Sukkot, etc. Please and thank you.

Just the words

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Sometimes I think it’s the pen. My favorite for a while was a white pen that said Walt Disney Resorts on it in gold. The pen always wrote smoothly. I’d never run out of words. (It was probably just a white Bic pen in fancy clothes, but I liked to pretend otherwise.)

Sometimes I think it’s the notebook. Smaller is better for road trips. Larger is better for home. A soft cover is great; decorated leather is perfect. Notebooks that are pleasant to look at must also be easier to write in.

Sometimes it’s the time of day, or the amount of doomscrolling I’ve done, or whether I’ve slept enough. But really, I know none of that matters. Magical thinking is fun to indulge in—especially when you’re writing about magic—but it won’t get the story finished. The only thing that does is showing up, day by day, and putting words down. The writing is what matters.

I’ve been batting around this dybbuk novel, trying to figure out the balance of horror and humor, trying to figure out how to play the inevitable scene where I explain Jewish folklore for readers who might not know it. Some days I know what I’m writing next; other days I scowl at the notebook for a while. But that’s the process, and I’ll keep at it.

And frankly, it beats doomscrolling.

Hoping for good things for you this week.

Day by day

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Every day is a study in contradictions.

I take our oldest on college visits while wondering whether student loans will still exist. I ask the kids about their school day while also asking whether anyone is harassing or bullying them (not so far) and worrying whether they’re about to lose their accommodation plans. I plan our town group’s first Pride event while worrying about how many people are losing their rights.

Last weekend, I helped a fellow alumnus write a letter to our own college condemning recent antisemitic, racist, and transphobic speech on campus, and it posted the same day I learned that the youngest Israeli hostages were coming home in coffins. And meanwhile American public figures keep making what sure do look like Nazi salutes.

I don’t think hateful people and movements can win in the end, but they can hurt a lot of people in the meantime.

What’s the answer? We do what we can, day by day.

Be a decent human being, help others, don’t give in to bullies. Don’t trust anyone who tells you to hate people who are “different.”

We all have more power than we think.

Meanwhile I will keep telling stories, because that is what I’m good at. And maybe the stories will make a difference.

Stay safe out there.

The essential thing

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It was a good week to tune things out.

We had a long-scheduled vacation planned last week, so instead of doomscrolling, we were riding roller coasters and eating amazing food. Instead of allowing my queer kid to panic about the future, I was singing “Singin’ in the Rain” with him while we were dressed in matching rain ponchos. We had fun, we kept the teenage bickering to a minimum, and (aside from my checking in to see whether the hostages were being released) we didn’t watch the news.

Am I worried about the future? Definitely. But I already knew I would be. No one gets to steal our joy. Not now, not going forward.

To get Jewish on you for a second, here’s a famous, much-loved saying from 1700s Chassidic leader Rabbi Nachman of Breslov: “The whole world is a narrow bridge, and the essential thing is not to fear at all.”

(And since I’m posting on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, here’s a raising-awareness story about Holocaust survivors in New York.)

If I need to protect my kids, I will. That’s all.

In the meantime, I am writing. I’ve already gotten my first couple rejections of the year, but two short stories have been shortlisted at various publications, and I will take that positivity. I finally worked out a thorny rewrite of a different story, and maybe now it’ll find a home. And I got through most of a first draft of a story during the trip (hi, I had the reading light on to write in the middle of the darkened plane, that was me). After that’s revised and out in the world, I’ll get back to wrestling with this new novel.

Keep reading, keep writing, support actual journalists, oppose book bans, attend your local meetings, hold on to hope as stubbornly as you can. Fight for it.