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rambles and half-essays

Tag: nonfiction

  • following up and nonfiction

    KM Brunner

    I learned a lesson last week and that was to follow up with publications if they haven’t responded to your submission in months. I had a piece accepted (“Sellout,” link on my works page) by a small digital magazine and they just…hadn’t posted it.

    That’s on them, of course, but it was nice to get an acceptance in my inbox, even if I had to remind them of the piece.

    If I’m being honest, it was a throwaway; I wrote it off a long time ago, and I’m flattered they decided to give it some attention.

    I’ve returned to nonfiction (and a bad romance novel, which has been fun) since I completed it. It’s not a reflection of my current work, but it feels like a time capsule, in a way. And so I enjoy it.

    It’s also flash, which helps. Not much to be insecure about when the piece is around 500 words.

    I feel weird about my return to nonfiction. Part of me feels bad, like I’m invalidating my years of writing fiction (during which I got nowhere), and another part of me is excited. It feels like a homecoming. I likely needed to write fiction for a while so I could see nonfiction for what it is: storytelling in community.

    If you tell a real story, it usually involves people. People-ing usually involves friends, family, coworkers, etc., and so in the act of telling a true story, you must write about an ecosystem of people rather than just your “subject.”

    My years of studying communication, philosophy, and circulation theory haunt me.

    Writing in community is thrilling. It’s frightening if your subject is still alive, but I find it easier to write about systems and stories and big questions when the narrative is tethered to reality. Does that make me a fraud? Because I’m definitely not a journalist, nor am I a memoirist.

    What I am is up for debate, but a friend recently outed me as a historian to myself. If you spend hours – weeks – researching a subject because you’re consumed by it, create spreadsheets and reach out to archives, really immerse yourself…you’re doing historian stuff.

    You’d think I would clock that but I often surprise myself.

    My immediate reaction to the news was embarrassment. I used to think of historians as people who studied war, a subject that I find upsetting. But they’re not just that; of course they aren’t. They’re doing what I like to do: tell stories about systems.

    Again, I’ve nothing to leave you with but a reminder to check in with any mags who haven’t responded to your submissions, and a little recommendations list.

    Podcast: Behind the Bastards, hosted by Robert Evans

    Things:

    • Been into drawing more lately and I like soft pencils. This is my favorite.
    • Got a new air conditioner and it’s been a revelation.
    • I’m into plants now and really want a moonshine snake plant. Here’s an example. There might be one at Home Depot and I’m planning to go liberate it on the 3rd.

  • drowning in inches

    KM Brunner

    I heard a long time ago that if the conditions are right, a person can drown in a few inches of water. I think about that fact – if it is a fact – often. Doesn’t matter how I’m feeling; I just…think about it.

    I don’t mind all that much. Death doesn’t scare me. It probably should but I’ve already done it and it’s not bad.

    I know that I think about drowning not for the death element, but for its metaphorical potential. What, besides water, do we drown in?

    Well, lots. Obviously. It’s not exactly an unexplored thread.

    There is not much point to this post. I’m not interested in writing about my circumstances or anyone else’s. But I thought about drowning in a puddle again, and I needed to exorcise that spiral.

    Recommendations:

    Music: Jason Isbell’s new album came out. Some of it is good, some of it is disappointingly bro-y. “Bury Me” is great. Very stripped down.

    1. Currently reading: Words are My Matter, Ursula K Le Guin (I love her collections, even when they’re dry.)
    2. Bought a subscription to the NY Times because if I’m going to read about sad stuff, might as well have it be written well.
    3. I’m not sure why, but using traditional pencils makes me feel nice.

  • the Church is haunting me while I’m asleep

    KM Brunner

    I said a few weeks ago that I was not going to stop at one post about spirituality, so here is the second.

    I am being haunted by Catholicism in my sleep. They aren’t bad dreams, but they’re confusing and when I wake up, they frighten me a little. I try very hard not to lean into delusion. Some days I consume weird Catholic content and so I dream about it. I have an aunt who is a nun, some priest friends, and so I dream about the clergy. Easy-peasy-resting-easy.

    That said, there are things in my life that I can’t explain. My easy fix: simply don’t think about them.

    I don’t believe in the Church. I think the institution is rather rotten and I’m not interested in the Bible as a historical document. It comes across as metaphor to me, and so I treat it that way. All the lessons still read the same – and I don’t even have to lie to myself.

    Now if everyone else got on board…

    That’s a little unfair, I know. I’m sure there are people who actually believe in the story. In the resurrection of the dead, the life of the world to come…

    What if Jesus’s resurrection in the Bible is an allegory for the resurrection of his teachings? Same takeaway, no delusion, and honestly? Better writing.

    So I don’t think I can call myself a Catholic. I also don’t consider the Bible my end-all-be-all of spiritual texts. I’m interested in the Tao, I’m interested in meditation, the Bhagavad Vita, etc. They are all in conversation with one another anyway, and who am I to ignore that? Who am I to dismiss all that tradition? Ridiculous.

    But then there are the dreams, you see. That is why they’re frightening. When I’m awake, Christianity is just a pretty story. While I sleep, I’m…

    In the last one I was a nun. I was happy, too. Happy and cloistered and spiritually fulfilled. I was smiling at my sisters and wearing a habit and the abbey was warm in the morning sun. I woke up upset.

    ‘Cause that’s completely out of my reach. If I were to pursue being a nun, I would hate it. I would 100% despise it. I wouldn’t be able to stay true to my spiritual vows. I think the frustration would get to me, and eventually I’d say something about it. Something like:

    “Why can’t I be a priest?”

    I think about that a lot. Some women are priests. I’m not like that, though. I’m nowhere near positive enough to try to forge a path for women in the Church. Those people are strong in a way that I find intimidating. I’d envy them if their road didn’t seem so fraught.

    I suppose my big problem is that I don’t want to be a priest unless I get the weight of tradition along with it. But I don’t want to be a man and don’t think I could fake it well enough to get through seminary.

    And so I learn about Catholicism and I think about the saints and I worry about spiritual psychosis and the young people who were victimized because of it. I go to classes and fantasize about being one of the original monks who just…walked into the desert.

    I sometimes go to church. When I do, I feel that secret-sacred tether that reminds me that there’s more to those dreams than just the jumbled remnants of my day. Then I leave and try to convince myself that feeling is just the product of a beautiful service.

    I am trying my best.

    I don’t like the idea of being religious and I’m not. I’m curious and stubborn and desperate to prove to myself that I can dismiss those moments as chemical. Something tangible.

    ///

    Though it feels inappropriate, I’m still going to include recommendations!

    Music: Misere mei, Deus – Tenebrae (on theme!)

    Actual fun stuff:

    Comic: Beneath the Trees Where Nobody Sees is complete! The whole series was wild but it ended in a nice place.

    • Finally getting back to writing. I write on a Remarkable tablet. They’re like a Kindle with a word processing function. I can’t do the computer all the time so it’s fabulous.
    • I love this podcast about CNF (the podcast is hosted by the guy whose website this is): https://brendanomeara.com/

  • change, distraction, and worry

    KM Brunner

    I have a problem. It’s not a big problem, but it is one that’s taking up a lot of space in my brain:

    I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be writing.

    I worry, probably several times a day, that there’s something missing from the novel I’m working on. I think, unhelpfully, that I should be pursuing one of my other projects. I think maybe, just maybe, I should be writing nonfiction. I used to write nonfiction. I was rather good at it.

    It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as fiction, but it was something I felt comfortable with.

    Then I step back and think: that was the problem with nonfiction in the first place. I wasn’t challenging myself.

    And so I go back to the book and the short stories but then, there, I have the same problem:

    I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be writing.

    It’s a fun thing, to have lots of ideas. It’s an enviable position, but I need to focus – and if I’m going to use the ideas, I need to whittle. I am trying to concentrate on the novel, but I want to submit a story once a month, so I always have a short piece I’m working on alongside the book. Sometimes that piece is fun. Sometimes I think it might be better than the novel.

    How can I know that, though? I can’t! I absolutely can’t. I’m a few chapters into a first draft and those are notoriously bad! Regardless, I’m hitting a pretty significant rough patch. Things are working, mostly, but I’m concerned about a few characters, I worry I’ve made the story too big, that the plot is too niche to be relatable – and worst of all, sometimes I think it might be boring.

    Is this what impostor syndrome is? I’m not worried about being a writer – I feel paralyzed because I am one.

    It’s enough to make me want to scream but I can’t give up writing. I know I’ll work through it. I’ll show up, every day, at my stupid little keyboard. Writing is an awful, sometimes parasitic, thing. It compels. It’s worse than music, and that’s saying something.

    Anyway.

    Here are some things I’ve liked over last month:

    • Song: Good Luck, Babe! – Chappell Roan. She’s blowing up, and she deserves it. Vocal chops like nobody’s business and actual musical, catchy, pop. They use real instruments and the mixing isn’t all flat like most pop these days. It’s just…good music.
    • I don’t drink, but when I’m craving a beer, I reach for an Athletic. I’m into the Hazy IPA lately.
    • I got a noir piece published. It’s called Apartment 11A.
    • I found my writing workshop group on Meetup. I’d recommend it!
    • St. John’s Seminary, the seminary attached to Boston College, is full of nice people and very, very interesting classes. I’m going to take Moral Theology next semester. I never thought I’d be taking a course with Catholic undertones but here I am. I’m just interested.