Tag Archives: memoir

Anthologies

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Of late, I’ve received a number of questions regarding anthologies.    So today, I’m going to talk about anthologies.

First, what is an anthology?  In the simplest terms, an anthology is a collection of written works. It can be a collection of poems, plays, short stories, songs, novellas, or excerpts from longer books. These do not have to be related in any way, although often there is a theme associated with the anthology. There is not a real limit on how many – no minimum and no maximum.  The works are generally chosen by a compiler, which can be a single person or a committee.  An anthology generally contains works by several authors. However, there is nothing preventing an anthology containing various works of a single author. And, today, anthology may be used for a series of TV shows, or recordings of a single group or performer.

So, there is much room for an anthology to take various forms.  But, here are some suggestions to consider if you or your group is thinking about producing an anthology.

It is often a good idea to have a specific theme for the anthology.  For instance, an anthology of mystery short stories. Or an anthology of great opening chapters. How about an anthology of poems associated with Valentine’s day? An anthology of one-act plays.  It is best to have a defined theme, but one not so narrowly focused that few items will be submitted.

Along with a specific theme, a specific goal should be set. It should be in writing, agreed upon by those involved, and re-read at every meeting. Some examples of a goal might be to highlight the writing talent of the best in your group, or area, or whatever domain you are choosing. Or, it might be to give a chance at publication to many who have not been able to achieve that yet. It could be to reward many authors who submitted an entry to your contest, or selected people who attended your conference.  Please note, this is generally different from the theme, although it is certainly possible the two could be the same, or similar.

While we are on the subject of a goal, the organizers must decide how finances will be handled. How will the project cover expenses upfront? Decisions need to be made early whether the anthology will be sold for a profit, or given away. I recommend, for anthologies made up of works from authors without a huge following, it is agreed that royalties will not be paid. Naturally, this must be determined before the call for entries. If the project pays for the expenses of production and a surplus exists, from the beginning those submitting works should agree any profits be used either to fund the next project, or donated to help the library or some other group fostering literacy. If you have high profile authors involved, then the division of royalties should be clear before submissions are sought.

It is best if the anthology is viewed as a group project. This is particularly true in the early stages. Get the group behind it and you are halfway there. A committee can and should work on finding participants (authors), help in the selection process, and offer to proofread the document before submitting it for publication.

However, it is best to have one editor. There can be a committee to help during the selection process. But when you are getting down to the final editing, while several may read for possible mistakes, a single person should be making the final decisions. Committees can get hung up with differing opinions and the project can grind to a halt.  In the end, one person has to be in charge to complete the project.

Anthologies can be an excellent project for a writing group. It can generate a lot of enthusiasm and participation. It can serve as excellent publicity, and often results in increased membership. Anthologies often prompt people who are reluctant to write, or to try for publication, to overcome that hesitation and become an active writer.

And they can be fun.

James R. Callan

Please add your thoughts on anthologies.  We can get an anthology of thoughts on anthologies.  Click the “comments” below.

The Conclusion of “Double Faults and a Wart”

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If you didn’t read the first part of this true-life story from my past, I recommend you read it now. To get the real magic of this story, you need to read the first post — first. It should be on this site. Just scroll down past this post and there it is.

Chapter Two.

Fast forward seven months.

My mother and I were doing some Christmas shopping one day before Christmas (of course).  Here, I do not mean “one day” as the day before Christmas, but “one day” as in “a single day.” We had bought an item at the Harris store in Oak Cliff.  While we waited for the sale to be processed, I let slip a complaint about the wart on my finger. Perhaps I had served a double-fault the day before, or some other wart-induced calamity. But I did complain about my wart.

The saleswoman reached over the counter and took my hand in hers.  She was as old as my mother, so I was not unduly alarmed. I wasn’t even duly alarmed. She turned my hand over in hers, looked at the wart, and began gently to rub it with one of her fingers.  I do not remember which of her fingers she used, nor whether she rubbed in a circular motion or a linear motion. But she rubbed my left index finger, or more accurately, she rubbed the wart on my finger.

This happened rather quickly and she rubbed for no more than a few seconds. And as she rubbed the wart, she said, “I believe it will go away.”

Outside, walking to the car, my mother and I joked about the incident. It was harmless enough.  She seemed like a nice lady, and was not offended by the double-fault-provoking growth.

Being well-read, I had heard of medicine men removing a wart by rubbing it with a seven-year-old rag,  hand-woven of flax and soaked in garlic oil, and afterward burying the rag in the ground during a three-quarter moon and at such a point that the morning shadow of a cedar tree would cover the burial spot.  I found no documentation to indicate that those results lasted any better than the scissor snipping did.

A week later, the wart was gone. Vanished. No special care required. No scissors. No queasy stomach. No wart.  No double-faults.

A year later, the wart was gone. Two years later, the wart was gone. Twenty years later, the wart was still gone.

The saleswoman could have been an out-of-work witch doctor making some money by working the Christmas rush. She may have been a skilled surgeon doing some pro-bono work, or perhaps testing a new procedure on unsuspecting strangers.  I could have been the subject of some undercover testing not approved by the AMA or the NIH or the CIA.

Of course, Harris would not reveal the identity of the sales clerk. Mysteriously, personnel records for part-time Christmas workers for that year were lost, destroyed by a freak fire which burned only a tiny section of their files. (This was, as you know, long before computers captured everything and never lost a file.) Thirteen private-eyes (seven PI’s, one with only one eye) could find no trace of the mystery woman.  And I could find no trace of the wart. So, after years, I abandoned the search.  For either one.

Today, the wart is still gone. The only thing on the pad of my left index finger is a tiny scar—the result of a pair of scissors.

And that’s the story of double faults and a wart.  I was just a couple of years out of college and it happened pretty much as I described it in these two posts. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my earlier life, and how shamans (though she did not enter a trance) or grandmothers (or perhaps even an alien) can outperform the medical industry at times.  Leave me a comment and let me know if you think this could be the centerpiece of my memoir.  And thanks for your patience.

James Callan, wart-free ex-tennis player

 

The Good Old Days

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Just got off the phone talking with a friend of mine. He had been to the doctor and was waiting for information on what kind of influenza he had.

And that set me thinking about the “good old days.”

I mean, back then, we only had one influenza.  Now we have progressed to multiple types.  Wasn’t just one influenza enough?

Of course, I realized what I had been doing for the past two weeks.  Trying to get a phone.  There are so many companies to choose from. And once you pick a company, there are dozens of plans to select from.  Remember when there was only one company?  I know.  They didn’t have cell phones then. But they might have advanced to have cell phones, right?

Life gets complicated. I was shopping yesterday and one item on the list was “apples.”  Easy.  Except, at the grocery store there were easily a dozen different types of apples. Which one should I get?  Some were better for baking, while others were just right for an apple pie. These were tart and these were sweet and those were crisp, and on and on.  I bought grapes.  Green, red or black.

No wonder we are having more people with problems.  Far too many choices.

We bought a car last year and there was a three-day discussion on the color. I remember Henry Ford who made cars available to the masses.  He said you can have any color you want – as long as it is black. Truth be told, I was glad we had more choices in the color.  I didn’t want black.  Too hot in Texas.  I picked maroon. I know. White might be cooler.  But I like maroon.

Of course, sometimes, it’s best to stay away from the “good old days.”  A few weeks ago, I was talking about those days to some of the grandkids. And I said, there was a time when you did not have to be at the airport early.  You might arrive three minutes before the flight left and you’d get on. They weren’t certain about that. Then, I went too far.  I told them that if you missed a flight, as I did occasionally, you could take your ticket to another airline that happened to be going where you wanted to go, and just get on that flight.  They questioned that. And I said, it absolutely happened. Just take the ticket from airline A, find the next flight on another airline, say airline B,  and walk up to the gate and give airline B the ticket you had bought from airline A.  Airline B happily took it and off you went.

Several of the kids were skeptical. But one just got up and left. He said that could not possibly happen and I was making up stories to confuse him and he wasn’t going to listen anymore.

So, I think I’ll just stop thinking about the “good old days.” And certainly not talk to the grandkids about that time.  Of course, for these kids, today will be the “good old days” when they get older.  They’ll tell stories about all the good choices they had.

Tell us your favorite “good old days” story.  And thanks for stopping by.

jim

 

Writing Your Family Story

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Today’s guest blogger is Donna Schlachter.  She lives in Denver with husband Patrick, her first-line editor and biggest fan. She writes historical suspense under her own name, and contemporary suspense under her alter ego of Leeann Betts. She is a … Continue reading →

The Texas Chainsaw …

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This week’s paraprosdokian —  Take my advice — I’m not using itchainsaw-1

I have to admit it. I was a city boy. I was raised in Dallas, but have over the years worked my way down until I’m no longer living in a town of any size. Here’s one of the situations that moved me away from being a city boy.

Some years ago, my wife and I moved into the middle of a forest in east Texas. We are surrounded by trees – pines, oaks, and hickories mostly. Our driveway is about three-quarters of a mile long. Our nearest neighbor is about half a mile away as the crow flies and about three miles by road.

One night some years ago, we came home from work, settling in for the night, not expecting to leave before morning. But then, Earlene said, “It’s your birthday. Let go out for a fancy dinner.”

tree-downWe traveled to Tyler, had a leisurely dinner and returned home about nine o’clock. But as we were driving in, a large tree had fallen across our driveway. It was too big for me to move by myself, but between the two of us, we were able to push it off enough to get the car by.

About five in the morning, Earlene woke me. She had severe pain in her abdomen. And it only got worse. So, I helped her into the car and raced to the operating-roomemergency room of the nearby hospital. They quickly determined she had a ruptured appendix and wheeled her into the operating room.

The next afternoon, I was sitting in her room as she slept. Suddenly, my eyes popped open wide. If we had not gone out to dinner, I would have first discovered the tree blocking the road at five in the morning. The tree was too big for me to move by myself. What would I have done?   While I had met a couple of neighbors, miles away, I did not have their phone numbers. I had a small hatchet and a machete. It might have taken me over an hour using only a hatchet to cut through the tree enough to move it .

I checked Earlene. She was sleeping soundly, heavily sedated. I told the nurses I was leaving.

I drove to the nearest farm store and bought my first chainsaw. I would not be trapped in our property without a viable means to get out.

chainsaw-2Now, years later, we have several chainsaws. We always have at least two good, heavy duty,chainsaw-3 working gasoline chainsaws. We have an electric chainsaw for light work close to the house or barn. We have a small chainsaw on a pole for trimming limbs on standing trees.

I have pushed my city boy persona out of the way, and the first shove came about five a.m. on a trip to the emergency room.

James R. Callan

Visit Callan’s author page by clicking here.

And leave us your thoughts on chainsaws. Thanks.