June 24th, 2012

Two nice things happened

I’ve spent the bulk of the past few days having mild food poisoning, so it wasn’t the best weekend of my life. But a few nice things did happen. Let me share, in case you too have food poisoning or other things you need to be cheered up about.

1) I was on the top floor of the Bay, headed for the down escalator, which was blocked by a woman trying to carry a heavy, awkward foldup stroller and lead her toddler daughter by the hand onto the escalator. Toddler was having none of it, and the standoff blocked my path. At first, they were just going to move aside, but then the woman asked if I could help her. I said sure, and waited for her to hand me the stroller. Instead, she hefted it onto the top step and said, “please take my daughter down the escalator. She is scared.”

Well, me too–for one thing, I know I am not a psycho but it’s not printed on the outside of me and what if this woman does this on a regular basis until she finds someone who is. But secondly and more pressingly, the little girl has started to cry. I took her hand, which soothed her somewhat, and when I stepped on she looked *really* worried but then followed me one stair later. But the second escalator (we were on the fourth floor to start) she balked. The mother was already half a flight down and the girl began to sob (I would put her at barely 2, I think). I gestured frantically at the mom. “Should I pick her up?” The mom, growing ever smaller in the distance, shrugged.

I scooped up the tiny thing, pressed her cheek to mine, and said what I say to the cat when he freaks out, “You’re fine, nothing to worry about here, totally fine.”

AND SHE STOPPED CRYING. This is what superheroes feel like. We went peacefully down the escalator after that. Her mother did not seem aware of the amazing feat that had been accomplished, but still thanked me profusely when I handed back the little one.

2) My beloved and I have been going to the same falafal/schwarma place once a week for about a year, always being served by the same very nice fellow who remembers our orders and tries hard to make small talk despite the fact that he clearly has a hard time with English words that are not falafal/schwarma toppings.

On Saturday, I went to pick up dinner alone (finally over the poisoning and excited to eat solid foods again). He asked after Mark and for whatever reason I told him we’re getting married, which he was pleased for and said is a good idea. I said, “Are you married?” and he said, “Of course!” I guess they don’t let you wear rings when you work with food?

Anyway, from this he went on to ask me where I’m from. I get this a lot, and hate it, but I do like this guy and I knew why he asked. We look a lot alike, him and me, as Semitic peoples often do, but we’re not all the same and occasionally that can be an issue. But after rebuffing my attempt at “from Hamilton,” he seemed relatively calm about the “Jewish” answer.

He turned out to be from Morocco, which I hadn’t been expecting. I asked him if he spoke French and he said yes. So very tentatively, I said, “Moi aussi. Un peu. Seulement lentement.”

Honestly, if you’ve ever heard me speak it, you know my French is basically crap–weirdly accented (I learned a lot of it from a woman whose first language was Chinese) and ungrammatical (I took a class on Quebecois slang, which imprinted itself rather deeper than it should’ve). I have a mid-size vocabulary and can generally make myself understood, but it’s a sad struggle. And of course, now I’ve lived in Ontario for a decade, much worse.

I have *never* had anyone praise my French more, or react with more genuine delight at my mangled conjugations. In the course of our brief chat en francais, it emerged that English is his *third* language, French his second (after Arabic) and he is much more comfortable in it. Indeed, he spoken very beautifully, without even a scary accent to throw me off (I have a hard time with accents even in English, actually).

I think he was just dying to have a somewhat normal, comfortable conversation in a language he can relax in, in the midst of what must be a long trying day in a language he can’t relax in. It was really nice to feel a bit of a connection there, across the counter.

***

Little things, but both really made my days. How was your weekend?

June 21st, 2012

Best under 35 (just barely) in the Windsor Review

Next spring, when I am of the approximate age 34 and eleven-twelths, of story of mine called “First Afternoon” will be included in an issue of the *Windsor Review* cataloguing some of the best writers under 35 according to them. I’m honoured to be included, though feeling a little self-conscious of my squeaker age status. Nevertheless, twill be neat to be in such good company. Who is the company? Glad you asked–so many awesomes. This video trailer for the issue, the first that I’ve ever seen for a journal issue, explains it all. Note me, looking strangely gaunt and bug-eyed, in the second half (in split screen!)

June 17th, 2012

Not a real review of Jennifer Egan’s *A Visit from the Goon Squad*

I didn’t read Jennifer Egan’s *A Visit from the Goon Squad* when it first came out, even though I heard it was very good and won a lot of prizes. There’s just too many books that’s true of, and I didn’t know who Jennifer Egan was anyway.

Then I heard a rumour: even though *Goon Squad* had “a novel” on the front cover, that was a marketing move. The rumour had it that it was a short-story collection in disguise. But unlike short-story collections that sales considerations force into the guise of a novel, apparently this one didn’t semi-suck–everyone seemed to love it. I was intrigued.

As soon as I started reading, I realized I did in fact know who Jennifer Egan is–I had read three of the first four stories previously, when they were published in the *New Yorker*. And they were very very good stories, which had impressed me at the time and did even more so in the book. I blame the fact that I never noticed they were all by the same person is that the voices are so various.

The reason for the “even more” love in the book context is because the stories illuminate each other–there’s layers of facts, character and context from one that make the next make sense in different ways than it did standing alone. And as I say, they were pretty darn strong standing alone.

By the time I was four stories into the book, I had realized that *Goon Squad* wasn’t a book of stories, and it wasn’t a novel–it was genuinely and truly both, which is pretty much the equivalent of a plate made of spoons. Nothing the world necessarily needs, or so it thinks, but when you see it done well, it makes your eyes pop open, makes you think about at how you’ve always defined both the plate and the spoon and if both couldn’t do quite a bit more than those limited definitions.

If they’re Jennifer Egan’s plate and spoon, they can.

This book is fucking amazing. It is the best thing I’ve read in years, so good I stopped thinking about how it was working and had to go back and read bits again for the technical lessons I knew were hiding in there. So good I loved and hated the characters and actually teared up for Sasha at one point (I never do that) and always wanted Benny to do better and genuinely love these people.

This book is *bigger* than most novels–its reach is larger, extending from the late 70s to the mid 2020s (and with that future tilt, the tiniest touch of science fiction). But not just temporal reach–there are at least 15 fully fleshed, vivid, active characters–as opposed to the 2 or 3 you get in so many novels, surrounded by a cast of “secondaries” that too-obviously know their place. The real joy of this book is that no one is secondary–everyone is firmly ensconced in their own lives, living as best they can through each day, through each story.

No, no, the real joy of *Goon Squad* is that it is a new kind of book, one with various focii, various voices, enormous ambition and no consideration at all of what shelf at the bookstore it will sit on. It’s stunning, and both inspiring and deeply deeply daunting to those of us trying to write in a similarly fearless way.

June 13th, 2012

The words “interview” and “review” both have the word “view” in them

Huh.

Anyway, one review to post for you, with Ange Friessen at *The Toronto Review of Books* and one review of *The Big Dream
at The Quarterly Conversation. Both are viewpoints on me and my work, I guess. I’m still working through this linguistic discovery.

In less mind-bending but no less interesting news, Michael was in need of an easy rhubarb recipe and I sent him my mom’s, which he tried and blogged about. So few people appreciate rhubarb, so this is exciting. Also, judging by the photos, delicious.

June 8th, 2012

Rose-coloured reviews *The Book of Other People*

I bought *The Book of Other People* (edited by Zadie Smith) in Blackwell’s Books in Oxford, because it is the best bookstore I’ve ever seen and I had to buy *something* but not more than one thing because I was in the midst of a long and thrifty trek around England, and anything I bought I had to haul upon my person.

I bought it partly because it seemed an apt souvenir of England–I’d heard Smith interviewed on the radio once so I know from the accent that she’s English, plus the price on the back was in pounds. But mainly, of course, I bought it because it looked like exactly the book I have been dreaming of all my life. I love character-based fiction–to me who people are is the essence of plot because it’s the essence of life–my brother once made me a t-shirt that says, “Character is destiny,” and I more or less believe it, with a few exceptions for happenstance, acts of gods, etc.

Mainly, I was right–*The Book of Other People* was a great pleasure, starting with a title second only to The Amazing Days of Abby Hayes for good titles I have known. The privilege of meeting a stranger, someone completely unknown and completely unlike me, is why I read fiction. I love other people.

And many of these people were fascinating folks. I truly felt for the pathos of Daniel Clowes’ pretentious film critic “Justin M. Damiano” (the characters’ names are, in most cases, the stories’ titles as well). The next story was in A. L. Kennedy’s much darker style, but her “Frank” still echoed Daniel’s pathos in an achingly sad say. I was charmed and horrified by Hari Kunzru’s “Magda Mandela”–it’s not quite so politically correct as it ought to be, certainly if this were a Canadian book, but somehow that allowed the full bawdy glory of it to be apparent. Vendala Vida, whose work I hadn’t encountered before, brought the full frustration of being 11 rushing back to me in “Soleil.”

In fact, there were actually very few pieces in this collection that I didn’t like. There was Chris Ware’s impenetrable “Jordan Wellington Lint,” but I never understand Chris Ware–I feel like we’ve sort of agreed to disagree over the years. Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Rhoda” was slight and stereotypical, with exactly one original moment–yet it was a stereotype I recognize and love, so I liked it. Miranda July’s “Roy Spivey” also struck me as pretty silly, though silliness I enjoyed, right up until the deeply heartfelt and mature ending. Who knew? Also, Nich Hornby and Posy Simmonds “J. Johnson” is surprisingly inane and, I think due to badly placed page break, incoherent.

So, yes, I enjoyed the book as I read, but after I finished a number of pieces I felt a bit ill-used. Can you guess why from what the words I’ve used above or, rather, the one I didn’t–story. The book jacket bumf doesn’t bother with that nicety–the back cover says, “A host of extraordinary characters in all-new stories by our best contemporary writers,” but “story” is certainly secondary to “character” there–the form is not made as much of as the content. In the introduction we see why–instructions were unclear. “The instruction was simple: make somebody up.” But Smith does use the word stories in her intro, seemingly as a catch-all for “piece of fiction under 20 pages.” “Magda Mandela” is a sketch not a story, albeit a brilliant one, as is Jonathan Lethem’s “Perkus Tooth.” Jonathan Safran Foer’s piece is too, without the brilliance.

Sure, those some of those pieces are great to read and might well be the gas that eventually powers a story with a tangible structure, plot, action, other characters, etc. But it seems unfair to compare them to the fully realized, complex and powerful stories like Edwidge Dandicat’s “Lele” (sorry, WordPress isn’t having the two accent aigu that word needs) or George Saunders stunning, devastating “Puppy.” If you are a fan of Saunders (I know some people can’t stand his work), this story stands up to the best he’s written. Zadie Smith herself contributes a story, though she, like many of the writers here, have no reputation in story-writing. Her “Hanwell Snr” is interesting but meandering, with the most interesting points petering out in gestures to another story not on the page. Which, though I haven’t read it, I think actually exists.

This is part of a larger tantrum I’m having over the fact even The New Yorker seems lately to think that readers can’t tell the difference between a self-contained story that provides action, insight, and a degree of resolution on one hand, and a random wad of prose of the same length on the other. If you follow that link you will get the *prologue* to Ian McEwan’s next novel, which TNY ran without any labelling as such, though clearly the excerpt is grossly unsatisfying on its own. IT MAKES ME INSANE–short stories get a bad enough rap for being enigmatic and open-ended without marketing chunks of novels as the same thing. AHHHHHH!

I digress. This is a fun book and pleasant reading, with a few genuine gems of stories (I will return to the Dandicat and the Saunders, I have not doubt). If it had just been marketed as a book of sketches and stories, or if I hadn’t overthought myself into a rage, this would be a glowing review.

*The Book of Other People* is the sixth/June book in my 2012 To Be Read Challenge.

June 4th, 2012

At the Eh-List Reading Series, S. Walter Stewart Library–Tomorrow!!

Good news–I’m on the “Eh” list and will be reading tomorrow evening to prove it, at the S. Walter Stewart Library, at 7pm. Yes, yes, it’s the east end, but trust me, it’s exactly equally as cool east of Yonge Street as it is west–maybe even cooler because we’re not so worried about it. Plus the reading is at a branch of our beloved TPL–it’s never a bad time to support our libraries. And finally, I don’t exactly know when my next public reading in Toronto might be–perhaps not for a while. So if you’ve been hoping to see me read, this might be your shot!

But, ok, if for some reason you really can’t make it…you could listen to this wonderful podcast of Laura Boudreau reading my story “How to Keep Your Day Job.” She does a wonderful job, and there’s an interview with RMSYL wizard Steve in the mix too.

Other things you could do to fill the void if you really really can’t make it tomorrow night include reading this lovely review of *The Big Dream* on the Stuff I’m Reading blog and/or watching this adorable video that I made of an angry cat.

And finally, I can’t resist sharing that a story from the new-new book (ie., the one that doesn’t exist yet) has been accepted by PRISM international and I’m just thrilled. There’s editing to do before it can actually get into print, but one of these days my story “The House That Modern Art Built” will actually be in this prestigous journal and on newsstands. Which gives me hope that I might just finish the rest of the book…eventually.

June 3rd, 2012

Writing and Money, Part 3

This is the third part of my writing and money series. This post gets waaaay into the minutia of reading in public and getting paid for it/not getting paid for it. If this isn’t your life right now, or it has been for years and you’re totally used to it, this won’t be too interesting, but it might be valuable if you’re getting started with the readings and are simultaneously terrified of appearing greedy and getting taken advantage of. This is just what I’ve been able to surmise the past few years–feel free to chime in if you have more or better info than I do!

Doing a reading. The Canada Council has nice clear guidelines on what readers should be paid when the CC is funding the event. tTey fund a lot of readings, so their guidelines are often taken as standard and used even when they aren’t the funders. A solo reading (I’m the whole show–I have to make it worth it for the audience to have shown up at all) is $250; a shared reading (with one or more others sharing the load) is $125. I’ve occasionally been paid a little more or a little less than these rates, but they are typical of readings that pay.

 Many readings, however, do not pay, and are totally legit. Anything that happens in a bookstore, for instance, is sorta thought of as book-sales promotion and is thus pretty much never paid. But they sell books, which is kinda the same thing. By the same token, book and journal launches, and certain independent events put on by your publisher won’t be paid–again, it’s all promotion. In truth, you might give exactly the same reading at a “promotional” event in a bookstore that’s free and unpaid, and at an “entertainment” literary festival where the audience has paid admission and you’ve been remunerated for your work. That’s just the way it is sometimes–be grateful for both opportunities and don’t think too much about it.

 Libraries, schools, colleges and universities usually pay something for readings, and in general they really should as they have budgets for just this sort of thing. I wouldn’t name a number though–it depends on too many factors. Once, a teenager wrote to me on Facebook to say he liked my work and would I please come visit his writers’ group? Of course I was thrilled and emailed the librarian who ran the group to ask if I could stop by next week and chat with the teens. She insisted on filing the proper paperwork, which took 6 months, and paying me $300. I was fine with that! But I’m also fine with doing a reading for a teacher-friend who doesn’t have the budget to pay me for whatever reason. Reading to the young is really rewarding–they ask the best questions. Always worth keeping in mind…

 Reading series that happen in bars typically don’t pay or simply offer writers a cut of a “pay what you can” bucket, which usually at least covers your drinks. Of course, such series also occasionally have drink tickets too! And there’s a few bar series that do have funding or charge admission or have some other way of paying writers–that’s always a nice surprise, too.

 When should you do a reading for free? Whenever you want to and are comfortable with it. Unlike publications in the previous post–where you basically have one chance to get the story into print and don’t want to blow it on something lame–you can do as many readings as you have free time. However, pretty much everyone in the universe has limited free time, for reasons of work or childcare or commuting or whatever, so you’re going to want to at least try to choose reading invitations you know you will enjoy, will have an audience, will expose you to co-readers you find interesting, or whatever other vectors you desire. Do ask around to find out if a particular reading series is poorly run–you don’t want to find out when you show up that they don’t advertise or properly organize the space, etc. etc. That’s way worse than no dough. Seriously, ask other writers, ask *me* if you’re invited somewhere you’re not sure about–we all have a duty not to let fellow writers waste their time.

Be *very* careful on out-of-town readings where they don’t pay travel expenses. It’s tacky (and odd!) to nickel-and-dime on in-town gas mileage or bus fare (though if you truly can’t afford it, I guess it’s worth mentioning to the reading organizer). Beyond the city limits, though, you should be recompensed for whatever expenses it takes to get you there. Otherwise, you’re not just working for free–you’re actually paying for the privilege. With gas prices these days, think really hard before you commit.

It’s surprising how many novice reading-organizers don’t think of travel expenses–sometimes I think they honestly have no idea where I live when they email me, but I’m not sure why they assume it’s in the same place as they do. But nervous as I am about appearing grabby, six simple words help a lot: “Do you have a travel budget?” You convey that you are sensitive to their budgetary constraints, but also that they need to be sensitive to yours. It’s up to them to offer to give you some $$ to fund travel, arrange a carpool, whatever they need to do to get you there–or explain why you should essentially donate your time and your bus-ticket-buying cash to get there yourself.

I always assume that if I was at home, I would be feeding myself so I don’t feel alarmed if I have to buy my own dinner while on a reading-related trip. If you’re being “hosted” by a specific group or association, they may take you out (this seems to happen at universities especially–which makes for a good evening both food-choices and conversation-wise). At a very few big-deal festivals, per diems are offered to buy your meals, but that’s quite rare. More common at festivals are communal meals for the writers and volunteers and/or a “hospitality suite,” which is basically a room full of snacks, drinks, and comfy chairs. All of these things are pretty great, but shouldn’t be expected–bring some cash and some granola bars wherever you go, and hope for the best.

If you were at home, though, you wouldn’t have to rent a bed for the night, though, so expect accommodations to be covered. These may not be plush, mind you–in the literary community, there’s nothing wrong with “billeting,” which is essentially crashing on a stranger’s futon. Even there isn’t anything wrong with that, you might still not be comfortable with it–speak up if you aren’t, and try to work out a solution. Maybe there’s someone in town you’d feel more comfortable staying with because you actually know them, maybe the organization hosting you can spring for a hotel, or worst case scenario, there’s always the last train home after the reading!

*

I’ve mainly run out of topics in this area (money and writing) that I’m sufficiently knowledgeable about–I’ve thought about it and I simply don’t know enough about how people besides me fare on book advances, film options, etc., plus there are a number of things I’ve never experienced, like translations and foreign rights sales. If you or someone you know has that experience, I’d certainly welcome guest posts. Otherwise, we’ll put this series on a hiatus until I learn something new!

May 31st, 2012

Rose-coloured reviews *Little Eurekas* by Robyn Sarah

I have been trying to become a more astute reader of poetry lately. I have a very good literature degree, and can scan a poem pretty well, as well as read it with some seriousness and insight. But actually, sometimes not all that much insight. Even when I really love a poem, I often can’t articulate why. And then I lame out in that chickenish trap of feeling too stupid for poetry, like I should just give up and go watch a reality show about cakes.

I thought reading Robyn Sarah‘s collections of essays on poetry, Little Eurekas would help improve my confidence–I finished that degree a long time ago now. But I was actually so intimdated by the book–what if I’m too stupid for essays *about* poetry, too??–that it languished on my shelf for several years.

I’m really glad I got over myself and read it. Sarah is a careful and insightful reader–incredibly well-versed in the analytical language of poetry criticism, but also adamant that both poetry and criticism be accessible to all who care to read. My favourite sections were the middle three–Appreciations, Essay-Reviews, and Short Reviews. All three sections a focussed direct engagements with individual poems, suites of poems, or collections. Some are more positive than others (the Appreciations are only positive, obviously) but all explain carefully, analytically *why* Sarah feels the way she does about a poem. Also, she quotes liberally–sometimes entire poems. This is so incredibly helpful to a non-professional poetry-reader. For me, many poetry reviews are inscrutable and nigh on unreadable because the reviewer seems to assume the entire audience has read the book. What would I need a review for then? Sarah has an aura of trustworthiness, but she invites you test her judgments on your own by tossing you the poem for your very own. These essays are empowering and inspiring–you feel Sarah is sharing her intelligence with you to help you grow your own. Like sourdough. That metaphor fell apart.

I enjoyed the first and last sections less. The first chunk of the book is general essays on Canadian poetry and they’re actually fine–Sarah is far more reasonable and careful in her judgements than most of the people writing such essays these days. But general is always less interesting to me than specific, and the specific pieces in this text are so insightful–I felt smarter after reading them in a way that the intro pieces didn’t inspire. I did love the first essay, “I to my perils: How I fell for poetry”–one of the only truly personal pieces in the collection, it’s a perfect introduction. But a few of the others in this chunk had the creeping hell-in-a-handbasket-ism that smacks of the standard generational split: kids these days publish too much, too early; workshopping is a crutch and robs students of their voice, etc., etc.

The last section of the book I didn’t really enjoy, though through no fault of the author–it consists of dialogues (in letters, mainly) between Sarah and other poets. As dialogue between professionals usually does, these conversations use highly elevated vocabulary, and often spin around and around on abstract topics that I couldn’t really grasp. I imagine someone who is a poet or critic him/herself would enjoy this section more. But I was very disappointed not to be able to follow the conversation between Sarah and Dennis Lee about polyphony in poetry–literary polyphony is one of my obsessions, so you really think I’d’ve gotten something out of that piece. But no. Alas.

What I probably shouldn’t have done is read this collection cover to cover in a week–it’s not that sort of book. But because it isn’t indexed and the pieces aren’t dated, it would be hard to use as a reference book, either. To be honest, I think the text is probably intended for teachers of poetry, who will be able to read with more insight than I, and then pick and choose pieces to assign in the classroom. Which is darn good luck for the students–*Little Eurekas* is a powerful education.

This is my fifth/May book for the Off the Shelf challenge.

May 30th, 2012

My new YouTube channel

Ever since Amy Jones explained to me that my still camera has a video feature on it (Amy is a genius, peeps) I have been making videos. Lots and lots of videos that I don’t know how to edit so I just have to take them over and over until I get it right in one take, or else get bored, which is why a lot of my videos are weird, end abruptly, or have the subject hide under the bed in the middle.

Oh, that’s the other thing–all my videos are about Cats I Know. I like to immortalize these cats so that I can watch the videos when I can’t go visit them (cats never write, never call…) Also cats make good video subjects if you can corner them–so photogenic!!

And now I have a YouTube channel where you can watch these videos, too: ta da!

Isn’t it great? I have more videos I haven’t uploaded yet (my computer started to get hot and make a grindy noise) so stay tuned.

In case you weren’t convinced by my pitch to follow the link, I will embed the first video in the series, the one of my own cat, Evan:

May 25th, 2012

Writing and Money, Part 2

Here’s the second installment of my writing and money post. Here, I’ll try to get into details about what’s realistic for writers to earn on journal publications (in Canada only–who knows what they do in other countries). I’m not the be-all of knowledge on this stuff, and I’m not going to be able to comment on some things (poetry) so please chime in if you know more than I do! It turns out I have so much to say on the topic of finances that I’ll have to keep extending the series. Tune in next time for reading fees and travel expenses–yay!!

Publishing a short story. Among established journals with some grant money, a longish story often earns around $200-250. Younger journals and/or those with less steady funding often pay less, while some of the big-deal journals pay more. I’ve been paid everything from $50 to (only a couple times, and I’m not holding my breath for the next one) more than $500.

When is it ok to publish a story for free? Often–I do it regularly, if one ore more of the following conditions are met: (1) it gives you a chance to work with an editor your respect and who you think can help you improve; (2) it gives you a chance to expose your work to a section of the reading world you haven’t previously had access to, and you think they would like it; (3) a friend has asked you to do it as a favour and you want to do this for your friend. All of these are rewarding in their own various ways, often much more than a cheque you won’t even remember spending.

When is it not ok to publish a story for free? (1) If it’s a print journal or anthology that does not offer contributors copies. EVERY print journal/anthology should give EVERY contributor at least one free copy for their personal archives, even if no other payment is offered. A second copy (aka, the parents’ copy) is a nice touch, but not necessary. There is no reason you should publish and have no evidence that it even happened. Some of these are scams–they publish as many folks as possible and then sell mainly to them. Some are just woefully ignorant of what’s acceptable–they’ll learn, and you can submit to them later. Of course, none of this applies to online journals, as the internet is free for us all.

When else is it a bad idea to publish for nothing? When you don’t know the editors, the readership, or anything else about the journal and are just doing it “for the credit”–don’t do that. A list–long or short–of unknown literary publications after your name is just not impressive enough to warrant parting with your precious work when you have no other reason to do so. Money, while not in itself ALL that important, is often a sign that a journal is established, organized, and respectful of its writers. You shouldn’t necessarily take payment as a sign that the payer is legit, but…it’s promising, anyway. Many great literary enterprises are just some guy and his friends in the basement, but it’s hard to discern those from the fly-by-nighters if you have no other info.

This article is somewhat lame because I don’t know much about the markets for poetry, literary non-fiction, etc. Any thoughts?