Submit Writing in Online Magazines

Submitting to magazines offers a mire of new information.

I have about thirty finished flash fiction pieces with photographs, and seventy poems. I thought I would submit them as a book to a small publisher, but am rethinking that process. I searched a few literary magazines, and there are thousands of online.
Many charge a "reading fee" which I believe is not worth the dime. Yes someone is going to jump on me and say, "What about the work and time the editors and staff must contribute?"
 I am going to share my thoughts, brain and time for free all in the name of art.

So looking for input on who is right for my work. I have had four say yes. I assume my batting average is good?

In no order here are reviews, magazines, online free sites to submit flash fiction, poetry and short stories. My (previous) as I call him agent said,
"C. G. don't waste time on shorts, there is no money in it."
Well he may be right but there is fun.


No answer back yet from:
WordRiot  Monkeybicycle  PANK  Sycamore  Scapegoat  Conclave   American Literary Review  34th Parallel  10000 Tons of Black Ink  20 X 20 Storyglossia
Slush Pile  Foundling  Hobart  3:A.M   Blackbird  Antioch  Los Angeles

Some sites are down, does that mean closed for business? - riddlefene

There are a couple services which will submit for you. They charge money. I don't see the advantage in paying for that either. Perhaps using heypublisher just helps one organize the submissions?  The process is simple enough. The important fact one must determine is: who or what is a match for me.

If  I had just a little time I would put up a website that is a match.com for writers. Writers put up profiles and tasty samples then we tumble them through the questionaire process all for say $ 39.99 a month? I have to pitch that idea to someone.

INPUT ? who else


P. S. Buy my book

Caroline Gerardo Reading "Granny Magic"

Poets To Put to Memory: Ruth Fainlight

Ruth Fainlight poetry takes time to read. She reworks the words sometimes for years. Her writing is lyrical and longing.

           

" On my right hand since then

 I’ve always worn the ring

my father and I chose

as my twenty-first birthday present.

On my left hand, these months

since her death. my mother’s ring:

the engagement ring he bought her

half a century ago,

and gave to me, after the funeral.

...

I spread my hands on the desk.

Prominent tendons and veins

on the back, like hers;

red worn skin of the palm

that chaps and breaks

so easily, inherited

from my father. Even without

the rings, the flesh of my hands

is their memorial.

No need for anything

more formal. Not gold

 nor platinum and precious stones

can serve as well

as these two orphaned hands."

Ruth Fainlight

The hands which do not bear her parent's wedding bands, they are the genetic following of her beloved Mother and Father. Ruth gets to the center of grief, loss and carrying on.

In our fast paced world of u-tube and noise, take some time to memorize a few lines. I can feel the sound of the words when I recite Ruth's work to memory as I walk.

Luke Romyn Go Save the World

Luke Romyn's novel  The Dark Path just released. It is set in villianous New York City. The lead man, need I call him a hunk, is a military assasin /bad boy. Vain is assigned to protect and save a young boy.
 I'm not done with it yet, will let you know how it ends. O.K. maybe I don't spill the beans.

Not welcome Renaissance Marriott when you are doing your book tour

 I am travelling to promote my book tour. I recently stayed in the Renaissance (marriot chain) Newark - really Elizabeth, on Spring Street, New Jersey.
The cost of the room was more than three hundred dollars.
They are undergoing remodeling and the lobby, hallways, and exercise facilities were a train wreck. There was carpeting torn up everywhere. The pool posted a sign that it was closed to sanitize it. No humans have been in that pool in a while.
A few things tips for the Marriott chain. I have stayed in 900 Marriotts and your staff needs to be fired. The front desk woman was rude. The security is terrible. A local chinese food restaurant and a local pizza joint both seperately wandered upstairs with flyers which they slid under everyone's doors late at night.
This is a hotel you stay with only to fly out early the next morning.
I expect clean sheets. One of the double beds had long black hairs between the top and bottom. Messy.

The room has a nice mirrror and was large.

The elevator got stopped/ stuck.

Dry wall cut outs and plaster on the hall carpeting at night. No workers in sight.

Don't use the pool.

Out front the landscaping was ripped up.

Hallways with no baseboards and no carpeting

Out front two plastic chairs with summer colors which were cheery - but it was freezing cold and the heater in front is broken.

Wade Alan Steele

Wade Alan Steele's short stories have dark patches of nature and mystic sunlight. I found him accidentaly, as is the best writing discovery.

Awakening

photograph Caroline Gerardo Copyright 2011

MISSING

Caroline Gerardo Copyright March 2011

Pain exists on my lips. I do not feel it. The upper is not cracked or bleeding, the scar tissue is from the grief. I cut my finger with new Fiscar gardening shears. I see bones. I stitched it myself.

How long must I pull thorns from my mouth? Is there a measurement when I will no longer miss you?

Did my father die yesterday or in the Devonian Period? In dreams, he is a young man telling me penance things.

I awaken. I write down the words on a yellow stained notepad next to my bed. After little rest, in the morning I cannot read the language. The words are in ancient Panjabi, not Farsi. The handwriting is poor from not wearing glasses. I drink clouded moonlight. What did he say?

Tasbeeh phiree par dil ni phiriya Kee lena tasbeeh phair kay Hu- Throw the rosary beads away if your prayers remain unanswered. When the cross on my necklace meets the clasp I recite the whole rosary. This happens several times a day. It is beginning to suck up my waking hours.

I started sleeping with the blinds wide open. This allows peeking reflections off the swimming pool. A snow goose hit the mirrored surface. No, it was an owl. He has a pearly wingspan. A soothsayer who purposely hides the truth from those he loves.

I left the door open to the surf. I wake up at two and three and four. I look over on your pillow. You are not there with your hands on your chest. I believe I prefer the earlier trick of just going back to dream and seeing you in my head wound.

Awakening: A Sufi Experience

Some Girls Like it Hot, some like something else

It is controversial,  mostly for women I know. I bought it with a twinge of guilt, but read it as fast as a thriller. The Prince part is, well - a little dull to me; however her motivations were the nut inside the shell I wanted to understand. I am left a little without an answer.  Perhaps she does not know? It was not the presents. There certainly is an allure of glamour. The repression and community that exist were missed.  
An interview in person, yes some time in my lifetime is ahead.

Narrative Magazine's Friday Feature: Skip Horack's 'Borderlands'

Read Skip Horack's story
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Wonder What They Feel Like The Day After?

 

Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

I love the gentleman on the right as he views the teenagers on St Patty’s Day. Do New York High Schools give them the day off?

Back to the Routine from New York

Toxic Assets (Bank)


I am back from New York.  Sticking to my military orders, up at five and because of the time difference it is easy to be up with the waning moon.
For a break I'm sharing a couple photographs. I do not have them all organized.
That is a weekend job.
I need to take photos of the sweet peas taking over and spilling into the pool. I have not stopped to garden. I think the flowers do no mind.

"Don't be fooled by the men out front of the Empire State Building- they do not speed up the line and the movie is boring." my children posing for picture number one million and two. See how happy they appear.

This one is better we are up top.

Hand cranked elevator...

The view

Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

keep writing every day you have 2000 more words to create wonderful sentences today kid. I would love to live in New York. Get back to work.

Queen’s English Verses Mine?

 

I have sent the rough draft to my editor. He is so funny. He has decided to use all British accent edits. The main ones I am familiar with after living there  some many years ago. The ones I don’t care for are how they handle quotation marks. I think it is confusing. My novel has much dialogue, as did the last one. I also have dialogue broken within a sentence.

 

I will post some examples later.

He told me that he also fell in love with my psycho character. Then I tortured my fictional guy until the end. Editor is not half way yet and continues sending me text messages.

Example: “ why is s. baby head near dying?”  “

“Dude there is no baby dead head”

I have reverted to calling my editor, a young and dashing version of s Prince with good teeth, Dude just to push him on.

“Carry on old boy.”

I am a terrible at text messaging. Ask my children how many typos I will make in a sentence. Forgive me, I can’t see the screen – or I was driving.

Saint Patrick’s Cathedral Sending A Message

photograph Copyright Caroline Gerardo March 2011
see the lower left corner candle holder that popped and the fuzzy color image above, I swear it was focused by a leprechaun fixed it.

Saint Patrick’s cathedral on the walk to MOMA. We walked in to say a prayer for his holiday tomorrow. The church looks lovely. Men were buslting about with flower arrangements. Carson and Blair wandered from me and I found myself in front of St. Pat’s painting and a tiny relic of him in a Waterford cross. I am pretty tiny, but a lady half my size and wearing a beret stood close smiling.


“He’s looking wonderful today. I think he’s smiling at you.”

“Oh not at me, I said a prayer for the police officers outside for a peaceful day tomorrow.”

“Our beautiful Patrick.” The woman is clearly a regular parishioner.

At the same second the one of the green glass offering candles pops. Neither of us stood near the rack of candles. Pieces of green fall like music on the marble floor.

“See he sent you a spiritual message.”

“I think he heard me.”

She squeezed my hand and brushed the broken pieces under the rack. Before I could ask her name, she disappeared. I turned around to see both my teenagers holding arm and arm across the pews. The church is quiet, only the bustle of the workers with the flowers, a few viewers and a sprinkling of sleeping homeless are breathing softly protected from the rain.

It was my little miracle today. It is not green beer. I will not be me with glowing green lights on a headdress tomorrow. We may watch a little on 5th Avenue but Saint Patty he gave me a little special treat today. I hope he will bring you some too.

Saint Anthony, Saint Patrick and Alfredo Sauce

http://www.indiebound.org/indie-store-finder?ss=92651&storetype=1&radius=100&storelimit=30#ISFMap

link above to bookstores near my home

"Calming Holy Water"

photgraph copyright caroline gerardo march 2011

We have a man in our home we fondly refer to as Alfredo Sauce. He is the subject of blame and missing things. When my favorite coffee mug (the one I imported some sacred meaning and sign of peace to creativity and Major Dickerson's coffee black) was found without a handle we shamed Alfredo. When the side gate cracked ajar and Honey our Golden Retriever lets everyone out for a romp, I know where to point my finger.
If life was simple, we could pass judgment upon a fictional character among the cracks in the mortar. You would need not jolt to anger. One would never feel frustration. All I need to do is call upon Saint Anthony and he delivers.

“Saint Anthony Saint Anthony please come around. Something is lost and it must be found. If you find it please bring it to me, and oh how happy I shall be. Just keep repeating with me kids, and the car keys will be delivered so we may make it to the airport on time for our flight to JFK.”

Forgot we will be in New York on Saint Patrick’s Day.

“Will need to buy something green for each of us to sport in Greenwich Village.”

Carson pipes in, “Mom I packed my shamrock underwear from last year.”

“Thank Heaven something on you still fits twelve months later.”

Cars has grown six inches taller, a whole shoe size larger in the past three months, but his green drawers will still fit.

“Cannot wait to see the FrickCollection, to walk my legs off. I will be avoiding green beer.”

“Keep praying Mom.”

“I found the keys. Get in the car!”

Roger sends me a letter

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Roger:
Players risk their health and safety which everyone now knows can be life altering to have a brain injury. Owners make the millions because of the players. You can't just go get new players and expect America to still cheer.

Good luck.

C G







Date: Friday, March 11, 2011 8:13 PM

From: Roger Goodell



To: caroline.xxxxx@xxxxxxx



Subject: Letter from Roger Goodell



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Dear NFL Fan,



When I wrote to you last on behalf of the NFL, we promised you that we would work tirelessly to find a collectively bargained solution to our differences with the players' union. Subsequent to that letter to you, we agreed that the fastest way to a fair agreement was for everyone to work together through a mediation process. For the last three weeks I have personally attended every session of mediation, which is a process our clubs sincerely believe in.



Unfortunately, I have to tell you that earlier today the players' union walked away from mediation and collective bargaining and has initiated litigation against the clubs. In an effort to get a fair agreement now, our clubs offered a deal today that was, among other things, designed to have no adverse financial impact on veteran players in the early years, and would have met the players’ financial demands in the latter years of the agreement.



The proposal we made included an offer to narrow the player compensation gap that existed in the negotiations by splitting the difference; guarantee a reallocation of savings from first-round rookies to veterans and retirees without negatively affecting compensation for rounds 2-7; no compensation reduction for veterans; implement new year-round health and safety rules; retain the current 16-4 season format for at least two years with any subsequent changes subject to the approval of the league and union; and establish a new legacy fund for retired players ($82 million contributed by the owners over the next two years).



It was a deal that offered compromise, and would have ensured the well-being of our players and guaranteed the long-term future for the fans of the great game we all love so much. It was a deal where everyone would prosper.



We remain committed to collective bargaining and the federal mediation process until an agreement is reached, and call on the union to return to negotiations immediately. NFL players, clubs, and fans want an agreement. The only place it can be reached is at the bargaining table.



While we are disappointed with the union's actions, we remain steadfastly committed to reaching an agreement that serves the best interest of NFL players, clubs and fans, and thank you for your continued support of our League. First and foremost it is your passion for the game that drives us all, and we will not lose sight of this as we continue to work for a deal that works for everyone.







Yours,

Roger Goodell









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The Cove, Collective Horror

"You are either an activist or an in-activist".

I could not help but cry watching The Cove.
Richard I absolve you of your sins.

Sharing this story with the world creates change.
Thank you also to the wonderful filmmaker, Louise Psihoyos.
When the plot and scenes are this thrilling, I know you care.
Suspense is caring in the writing. ( Yes I wrote that correctly though it sounds awkward)

The ocean water running red with their blood as they sing in suffering, and the fishermen killing an infant is perhaps the most vile thing I have ever seen.
Then the Japanese bribe children to eat mercury poisoned mammals.

http://www.seacoastonline.com/articles/20100218-ENTERTAIN-2180308

Fridays Wear Read and Blue

photo copyright Caroline Gerardo 2/ 2011

My third infantry Division ACU patch came in the mail yesterday. It took so long to arrive. It has been a month since I sat next to the movie star handsome Ryan in his MG. I have the Velcro piece that I am going to put on my desk.

Third Infantry Spartans, at Fort Stewart - is home of many medal of honor awards. The patch is my reminder of all those brave men women and their children. Some wear red on Friday, some wear blue, I will wear both and pray for you.

I have kept Ryan in my good night moon prayers. He slept next to me on a plane ride. He was home from the war for the weekend to visit his wife and baby. His face glowed.

I asked him about his son and he told me this story:

“I have been away on duty for ten months. I wondered how my son would react to seeing me.”

“Oh I am sure he and your wife were excited to see you.”

“Yes it was a relief. I expected him to be shy or perhaps not remember me but he ran and tackled me at the airport.”

“That must have felt wonderful.”

“It was the greatest.”

“Loyalty, duty, respect, service, honor, integrity and courage.” I recite.

“Yes he is all that.”

He has risen.

Soup, my true sign of spring.

We celebrate our 25th anniversary this year.

Buy us a silver ring.

A three good legged desert tortoise awakens from hibernation.

Forsythia peeks from the snow forcing blooms, a golden bell.

He muddled in his burgundy milk crate.

Morse code tapping signs to be free from the garage hell.

Under the rose bushes he waits. Little buddy, there are no petals yet.

Herbs grow in the knot garden.

My man with sleep bugs in your eyes.

Sunbathe in the open, go crazy under the waxing moon.

You do not need to hunt for flies.

To protect you from the pool, I built a fence four feet deep by three tall.

Three weeks of construction, you crash it soon.

Our dogs kiss your feet, “slow playmate come on please.”

Your leathery tongue plows along in my sweet peas.

Forget hunky Hades and Persepone, they do not control the season.

It is Soup who knows every secret of spring with grand reason.

This little bird whistle is amazing. My grandmother gave me one for Easter long ago and I am ordering a bunch for friends. I can be writing in the back yard and take a break to lure the mockingbirds down to chat with me.

Free Entry to Contest Like my Facebook Page

Morning Glories taking over the chairs out back Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

Worked last night organizing the Chapter heads of my new novel, Seth. I am still thinking about changing his name. What can I call my evil child who has ADHD, burns the house, kills the wrong girl he thought he was in love with and becomes the CEO of a public company?


Other projects on the burner: make the cover into a cartoon image. I am going to have cartoon images and put them in the “Rastobator” which is this wonderful program that creates larger graphics from small simple images. I am thinking Banksy, giant posters. Do I drop my name off the graphic for fear of city fines? Also working on convincing gela-skins to use my image as an ipad screen saver or rear cover as a universal sized plastic protector to give away at signings. If only I had unlimited budget for my creative guerrilla marketing ideas.

The office has been very slow. The more work I have in a day, correlates directly with how much I accomplish. If I am super busy, my writing is at the highest level of creativity. Why would boredom slow down the whole works?

So what ideas are you mulling around to get your work read? Do I drop my prices to allow more readers? Do I run a Facebook ad? Please go look at my Facebook book page: Toxic Assets and like me. This month’s contest is as follows:

Enter to win. “Like” my Facebook page and you will receive:

1. Opportunity to name a character in my next book after yourself or a loved, or perhaps hated one?

2. Dinner at my home in Laguna under the stars, bring your bathing suit.