death, disembowelment and writing

i often wonder about the level of cruelty that drives a person to write me to write.
a long time ago, in a different life that i once had, i was told that people who become shochets (jewish ritual slaughterers) and butchers are often driven to do so because they have, somewhere within, perhaps a drive towards violence, or murder, or lust for blood, or any of these bizarre things, and so this field is almost like a safe way of having those desires manifest themselves in something positive, like the killing and cutting up of animals for food. (disclaimer: i have no idea who told me this/where i read this, but i'm tempted to say that it was during a telephone discussion with someone having more jewish knowledge than i did at the time.) it seemed to make sense on some level: a person picks a profession based on their interests. of course, one could just as easily become a surgeon: blood, gore and good deed. whether or not i believe that there is any divine force that enters into this (i do not) isn't the issue. the issue is in cruelty.
i once had a student say to me "wow, this writer is really twisted to come up with such stuff." he was referring to the very last bit of steinbeck's grapes of wrath. (i'm not going to give the end away, sorry.) i've heard the same phrase used to describe stephen king's work. and that of charlotte perkins gilman. i've received comments from people saying the same thing about my own work. one of the best writing professors i've ever had, made the point that one must torture his/her characters. "whatever happens, make it worse. keep making it worse."
so i torture my characters. and sometimes, i make it worse and worse, but i don't make it better. so i torture my readers as well. sometimes i show such cruelty to my characters that i have to stop writing for a bit, just to regroup and remind myself that they're not real.
is it more cruel to be in a profession in which one regularly causes death and dismemberment and butchering and disemboweling? is that a healthy manifestation of whatever cruelty is inherent in the human psyche? is that an acceptable and normal way of acting on it? does one's profession has anything to do with one's personality? how many people in this day and age would gladly take a job clopping cattle on the head before sending them to their death? or, in jewish slaughterhouses, slash a cow's jugular (or whichever vein is being sliced open) with a specific ritually prepared knife in order to kill them?  or is it crueler to be a writer, where one routinely creates characters to torture? and where one may or may not hide bits of reality in fiction, as a way of torturing those who have wronged that writer?
do writers of psychological terror possess a higher level of cruelty than writers of ABC books for kids?
and when i torture my characters, am i more cruel than a butcher/baker/candlestick maker?
are killers of cows more cruel than killers of chickens?
if i still lived in the world of ritual slaughter, would i have been a knife wielding maniac, wearing blood-spattered hip boots and rubber coveralls, waiting anxiously for the next animal on my line?
would meatballs and spaghetti still taste as good?

10 Reasons Why a Nuclear Holocaust Wouldn't Be That Bad

I'm not really the type of person to be all gung-ho about war or nuclear holocausts, however, these are things I tend to think about. And I think about them in very unorthodox ways. Then again, most of what I think, and subsequently say,  is quite unorthodox, and I daresay that's why people keep listening. So, since it's been a while since I've posted, and since there have been a few other incidents to overshadow the horrors in Japan, thus forcing it out of the news cycle, I'd say that now is a good time to write the list I've been itching to write since the word "Fukushima" entered my vocabulary.

10 Reasons Why a Nuclear Holocaust Wouldn't Be That Bad

1. Never have a bad hair day again. Of course, it's likely that you won't be having any kind of day again, but you're guaranteed that whatever it is, it definitely won't be a bad hair day.
2. That extra arm-hand combination growing out of your abdomen ensures that you'll never again have to bend down to pick things up. Great for people with bad backs.
3. People with cancer would be cured with radiation. However, people without cancer might actually get cancer. But they'd be quickly cured. Win-win.
4. If you hate your job, don't worry. You're probably not going back.
5. No more seasonal allergies!
6. In debt up to your eyeballs? It's unlikely that your creditors will be contacting you.
7. The world becomes a squatter's paradise.
8. All of those horrible social engagements that you were tied to are now very unlikely to take place.
9. Great hallucinations without the hallucinogens.
10. No more painful visits to the in-laws!

Of course, you wouldn't be able to read Bus 174, my latest story on New Vilna Review....

in which i am rejected....

Before turning in last night, I posted on Facebook, checked my Twitter account, researched some new markets on Duotrope's, watched Deconstructing Harry (which I highly recommend, especially if you're a writer) and checked my email. In my inbox was a rejection letter from a publication that I submitted to on a fluke (as in whim, not as in fish) but it was the greatest, most incredibly amazing rejection letter a writer could ever expect to receive.
If you're not a writer, you're probably thinking something along the lines of "how can any rejection be a good rejection?" When I first started submitting work, I felt the same way. However, now, after much rejection experience, I can explain. The rejection letter I received was a personal rejection. The editor liked my story, liked the caliber of work, recognized the angst as being realistic, etc. The only problem? My story was not in line with this issue's theme. The editor went on to say that he looks forward to seeing more of my work. At this, my heart skipped a beat, like in high school when you find out that he really does like you!!!!! Okay, sorry for the girly example, but I think we can all appreciate that feeling. I was on the proverbial Cloud Nine (does anyone ever wonder about clouds 1-8????) and I am still happy. Of course, now the real work begins. I need to find one of my stories that fits the theme or write a new story. I've had to step away from writing for many hours and engage in other activities, all the while trying not to think about anything writing-related in order to focus (or not, the way I work) on channeling an idea. It's possible that I have the idea now, and all I have to do is write....
Now, here's some completely good news. I've been selected to give a theater/improv workshop for educators and child care providers this fall at major conference in the Hudson Valley. I am also working on another version of the workshop to be presented to teens at the library. I've been given a contact so I may be able to present at another conference and I'm working on selling this as a program to various community groups. Of course, it would be ideal if I get a teaching position, but this is wonderful as well and a whole lot of fun.
As for Deconstructing Harry, I mentioned before that it was great. I was trying to figure out why I could relate. Is it the angsty Jewish stuff? The writing stuff? Woody Allen? Is it because, like Woody Allen, I just don't believe in anything anymore? (Adam suggested this.) That brings up a whole other issue. But I'd like to point out, that once I cleared away all of the crap, I was able to write to an extent that I never before could. I was able to finally produce whole and meaningful pieces without caring what others would think. Writing well isn't about losing everything. It's about losing one's inhibitions and not feeling the need to answer to anyone.

making up for lost time

I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but I submitted a piece to an anthology recently. I also submitted something to The New Yorker and to an audio publishing company as well. I'm looking forward to finding out how I did, although I'm doubting that The New Yorker will accept my piece. I am not doubting that they'll find the subject compelling. But until that particular story is published somewhere, I don't think I really want to discuss any more than that. So I currently have three out.
My play is coming along slowly but (gaaah! cliche) surely. The biggest problem I've encountered is the formatting which, without the proper software, has taken me forever to fix. And then to have fixed it incorrectly, well, I'm totally making headway, but not as fast as I'd like. It didn't help last night that I had a dream that I was staging this new play that I'm anxious to write while I have my head buried in a half dozen writing projects all while looking for a teaching position for the fall. So basically, it's like this: I have theaters that I'm ready to call. I have a play that is written and edited, but needs a format fix. I'm almost done with the format fix. I have a play that is begging to be written but will have to hang on. I'm not messing up this time. I'm now researching play formatting software. I've got short stories in various stages. I've got the once every other week short story that cries to be written in one sitting and edited in the next.
I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. I'm in complete creative turbo drive and I'm thrilled. Really. Honestly. There were many years that went by where I just couldn't write anything. It wasn't because I didn't want to, but more because I was in a pretty unreceptive place and too concerned with what people would think. I'd forgotten the lessons I'd learned as a writing student, to the point where I was allowing outside influences to stifle my creativity. I am lucky to live in a place where I have the freedom to write what I want and to think freely. Of course, with freedom comes responsibility. (Insert line about not screaming "fire" in a crowded movie theater here.)
While some may disagree, I feel that the work I've been producing lately, whether humorous or serious, is very important. My goal is to empower those with no voice (I'm sure there are many with this same goal) and to give strength to the weak. It sounds pretentious in sort of a Holden Caulfield-esque way, and my ego is not huge and I certainly don't see myself as an out of control messiah figure, but I do know that the best literature is that which speaks to the reader and touches the reader in some way. I want to shed light on issues in our society which often remain hidden from view. I want to open the eyes of those who don't know, to the plight of those who do.
I don't recall all of the titles of all of the books that I've read, but I love when I read a book that spurs me to research something further. I love that curiosity, that knowledge for knowledge's sake, those moments of excitement upon learning something new. (This right here is why I love teaching.) I love learning not because I have to, but because my own teachers passed on their own love for learning. (This is the part where if I continue, I'll break down in tears telling you just how much I love teaching and cannot wait to get back into the classroom, so excuse me while I end this paragraph here.)
Anyway, I believe I was mentioning the goal of my writing. And the truth is, not everything I write about involves repression or oppression. And happily, it doesn't have to. But don't expect happy fairy stories from me. A friend of mine complained after reading "Total Immersion" (I'll let you when it's published) about how I really should stop writing things like that. You know, things that make you think, question, that don't necessarily end with everyone living happily ever after. "Who is going to want to read that?" she said. The comments on other stories (not from the same person) were about having a disclaimer, about warning the reader about the story in advance, about not writing these things. Writers write because we have something to say, because we have a story to tell and because if we don't tell our stories, who will? For a while, I'd forgotten these lessons. Now I'm catching up.