Sarah Gerkensmeyer to John Jodzio, one Pen Parentis Fellow to another

Today is the day of the changeover - we give a $1000 check to a new Pen Parentis Fellow at the season opener for our Salons. Ten seasons - it's astonishing. We are so thrilled and gratified at the wonderful response that we get from our audiences.  Our 2013-2014 Writing Fellow is John Jodzio, who flew in from Minnesota to read for us.  On the occasion of John's inauguration into our hall of Fellows, last year's Fellow, Sarah Gerkensmeyer, wrote him a letter. I reproduce it here for you...

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Dear John,

Congratulations on being selected as the 2013-2014 Pen Parentis Fellow!  I wish I could be there at the first salon of the season to welcome you to the family in person.  This letter will have to do.  I thought it would be most helpful for me to take a practical approach and let you know exactly how I have spent my $1,000 award.  While I hope the following budget breakdown is helpful for you, I also apologize because this is a selfish act on my part—as these notes will help me think through some of the things I am so good at avoiding (e.g. keeping close track of expenditures for tax purposes).

$457.98………………………travel to promote my new book, attend residencies, etc. (including  

                                                 airfare, lodging, food)

$50.27……………………….several pats-on-the-back of confidence and motivation

$29.34……………………….an astounding sense of community

$49.58………………………..a few late-night delirious moments of: “I am not a strange alien.  I  

                                                 am not completely in this on my own.”

$138.92………………………my first REAL pair of leather boots, for giving readings and talks,

                                                 feeling author-y, etc.

$34.26………………………..the reassurance that this talk of balancing parenting and writing is

                                                 not taboo or strange or petty or inconsequential;  

$99.99………………………..access to a built-in audience of folks who love literature (and

                                                 swanky hangout spots)

$60.88……………………….about two dozen doses of good humor, perspective, and humility

$56.74……………………….networking—I MET KELLY LINK

$22.05……………………….an entire year of stellar publicity for my work

$priceless……………………the amazing, invigorating, bold, inventive, spectacular,

                                                 kind, and imaginative work that Pen Parentis does to support the

 literary arts, and to invite someone like little old me into this wild,   

 wonderful world

I hope all of that adds up correctly, John.  But I’m a fiction writer, not a mathematician.  And even if the figures are slightly off, I hope this budget is enough to show you how amazing the honor of being a Pen Parentis Fellow truly is.  You are in for one beautiful year (and beyond).  So sharpen those pencils and wipe the smudges off the computer screen and get ready to spend big.

Best, Sarah Gerkensmeyer

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You can buy Sarah's book on Amazon through this link: 

Mental Space for Rent

Ever since you first picked up Dorothy Parker or Jack Kerouac and fell in love with the writer’s life, you’ve had an image in your head of what it means to be “a writer.” Probably that image includes some vice (sex, alcohol, caffeine, nicotine, luxury yachts) that you deserve because of all the time you spend writing. Because almost without fail, the image that comes to mind when you think “writer” is someone all alone in a room somewhere. A quiet room. With only writerly stuff in it and a means of composition. Books. A nostalgic typewriter. Possibly a window, but if so, a window that opens onto a peaceful scene.

When was the last time a parent was alone in any room devoid of kid detritus?

You do not think of a writer as a person who has to make non-peanut snacks for fifteen kids and then a doctor’s appointment which will entail at least one shot before sitting down with her manuscript. You don’t think of a National Book Award winner setting an alarm to ensure he/she picks up Coraline or Jeremy from soccer camp no later than 3:25pm. Definitely not the image that comes to mind. But that’s what we do. Every damn day.

How the hell do we accomplish this?

Let’s just say there’s often a hero spouse in the picture. Let’s say someone is willing for YOUR career to do all that daily stuff, at least on occasion so a few sentences can be strung together and called a paragraph. Let’s say that’s true for about 40% of parent authors. (could be more/less depending on divorces, remarriages, business trips, and spousal reluctance) … it could also be a mom or paid nanny/sitter/day care that takes over the parenting for a while—

There is still the issue of mental space.

After all, writing a cohesive short story (not to mention a whole novel!) requires a certain amount of focus, wouldn’t you say? Focus that is not razor sharp when Coraline and Jeremy are fighting with the caregiver in the next room over whose turn it actually is to choose the TV show. Focus that can be ripped from you even with a stray thought; oh crap, tomorrow is Coraline’s share day at school and I promised to ask Joe to loan out his old fireman’s helmet and I totally forgot. Focus that is utterly destroyed when your cellphone buzzes and the caller ID says “Jeremy’s School.”

“We’re so sorry,” says an administrator when you pick up. “Jeremy threw up in the lunchroom today. He seems fine now, but our policy is to have the parents keep him home for 24 hours after an incident like this.”  Say goodbye to the next 24 hours, since your spouse has already told you she’s got a meeting at ten tomorrow with the CEO of her firm.

So that’s our lives. We know it. Why am I bothering to blog about it?

Because there are plenty of writers who have managed to put out amazing novels despite having kids at home. People who nonetheless pick up their kids from soccer and who sit with them when they have fevers.  People like Jennifer Egan, who, oh I dunno, wrote novels that were good enough to win Pulitzer Prizes.

When she wrote A Visit From the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan was helping to put food on the table and pay for soccer classes for two boys. That prize came to her because the quality of her work was fantastic—not the other way around. We often laud writers’ work after they win prizes: but every last one of them was not a Pulitzer Prize winning author before they won that prize. (members of Pen Parentis can log onto the website and hear a podcast of her discussing the book BEFORE she won the prize... it's astonishing.)

It is vital to remember that the prize-winning authors that we so admire had to carve out time to slave over their writing, same as you. 

In the next blog, I’ll talk about some specific ways that published novelists who are also parents have carved out enough mental space to get some real writing done.

Want help? Give it. Part 1.

Authors in grad school often make pacts like the ones in dweeby marriage movies “whichever of us gets published first will pull the other up by our coattails” (okay marriage movies have them swearing they’ll marry each other, but just go with the bloggish half-metaphor….) – point is, once one of the pair gets their long suffering manuscript to print, the other is usually left hanging. Wondering: Why isn’t he taking me to lunch with his agent?  does he hate me? -- and friends, I’m here to tell you what he’s actually doing is spending precious writing time staring at his guilty face in the mirror.

Because it doesn’t work that way.

You have an agent, your relationship is that of the young blonde to the dying billionaire – (yeah, I need to coin a phrase for really bad metaphors invented by people who blog) – as a writer with a new agent, you know you are the flavor of the moment but if you don’t put out and put out good, your agent is definitely moving on. So unless your friend is blonde and looks exactly like you  i.e. has an attractive list of followers and writes what you write (oh crud, I am hating this metaphor more and more) you can’t just make introductions.

“My agent only takes on nonfiction” is sadly, in most cases, true.  It’s hard to do anything beyond asking “Are you taking on new literary writers? I know a great…” before your agent’s eyes gloss over. Not that you shouldn’t try. Just like trying to set up that friend who is dying “at last” to get married.

God help me with these metaphors. (Bletaphors? Blogophores? Blechophores?) I’m going to stop while I’m ahead. Next week, I promise, I’ll give you an actual list of WAYS you can help each other out: whether you are the friend who is already published or the friend who is still looking for the agent. I have three ways you can –and should – actually help each other.

For now: write well!