Bullet Award

"Hey, Jimmy," I said, "I won a Bullet Award."

(Pause on the line as Jimmy opens another beer and lights another cigarette)

"Well," Jimmy said, "I guess we'll read all about it on the blog."

Jimmy knows me pretty goddamn well.

*

I was informed (via Shotgun Honey editor Ron Earl Phillips and an FB post) that I'd won a Bullet Award (taking third) for the month of August and my noir flash fiction story "One Good Reason," appropriate links here:

http://thebulletawards.blogspot.com/2011/09/judges-file-tba-iii-august-2011-stories.html

http://www.shotgunhoney.net/2011/08/one-good-reason-by-joe-clifford.html

Very exciting.  Made all the better because I'd written the story specifically for Shotgun Honey and, to be  more precise, to win a Bullet Award.

As you can see Bullet Awards are given to the top crime flash stories on the web (1,000 words or less).  Don't really know who does the judging (the Bullet Award site only says "panel of top crime fiction experts").  You don't win money or anything (this is writing, silly!), but it's another way to get your name out there and noticed (you hope) by this latest wave of big noir players moving the current scene, the Stacia Deckers, Frank Bills, Seth Hardwoods, Phillipses, Keith Rawsons, Todd Robinsons, et al.  It's not that big a world, this crime/lowlife fiction, and since deciding to put my memoir writing on the back burner and focus more on what I went to school for, namely to write mysteries/thrillers, old (and new) school noir, whatever you want to call it, I've been inching my way up its broken-runged ladder. Awards like this one only help my cause.  On the one hand, it's just a list of a few writers who've written a few stories, posted on a blog.  But, for what I/we are trying to do as writers of this genre, it's much bigger that.  All these writers who get published by Shotgun Honey or Crimefactory (whose stories aren't eligible for BAs, because they are longer than 1,000 words) are already being judged by the best names in crime fiction; they get published by them, read by them, acknowledged by them.  And a lot of them have book deals or are on the brink.  When I first read "Fucking Cold" by Todd Robinson (on SH) , it was because of the Bullet Awards (and a congratulatory message from agent S. Decker up at Donald Mass).  I'm a big fan of Todd's, and quickly became an equally big fan of Shotgun Honey; I read a slew of stories on their site and the terrific authors they host.  And I wrote "One Good Reason" to be included among them.

If you've been following this topic (and let's face it, I have about four revolving topics on this blog: my kid, writing, mental illness, and fucking hating hippies), you know this idea of actually reading the magazines I'm trying to get into was treated like selling out (at least at first).  Strange, I know.  Not even sure why I viewed such an obvious strategy as somehow kowtowing.  Of course you should be reading them!  But there's this weird, unspoken edict among most writers not to tailor your pieces in this way.  Local writer (and friend) Sean Craven had this to say on the topic, or you can read the quote I am about to drop in its complete context at http://seancraven.blogspot.com/2011/08/passing-it-on-blogs-i-read.html:

Let's start out with Candy and Cigarettes by Joe Clifford. Yep, he's the guy who runs Lip Service West, where I've read twice and have another piece in the hopper. Nepotism rocks. His blog covers his experiences as a new father, his memories of the good/bad old days, and most importantly, his efforts to push forward as a writer. 

Honestly, the man has a direct, workmanlike approach to the situation that's provided me with a lot of good ideas already. He decided to target specific markets and write to them directly. This is the kind of thing that raises my artistic hackles, but you know what? 

His work improved dramatically, he placed all his stories... 

It's true.  It's worked.  I've placed everything I write by targeting a specific magazine.  By actually reading them.  But at what cost?  I raised a man's hackles.

Actually, the cost is nothing, and it's self-evident, and no artistic integrity has been spared.  I don't know where this aversion to compromise comes from, if that's even what it is.  Personally I'd call it common sense, even if I was guilty of violating its tenets before.  I think it's inbreed, a collective artistic unconscious, or maybe it's simply bad advice that gets passed down unchecked, part of the "live your dreams" and "you can be anything you want to be" and "never stop believing" crap shoved down our throats. These mandates are nice.  In theory.  But to keep trying to be a pitcher for the Yankees when you are pushing 40 and can barely crack 80 mph, is pretty stupid. Like we said yesterday:

Then again how do you explain Freddy Garcia?

This is the good.  The bad would be what Jimmy pointed out, my need to make sure everyone knows I won a Bullet Award.  The ugly would be when I run into old friends named Sam in the Whole Foods that I need to make sure she knows I now have a big house in the hills, because she knew me (God forgive me for using this expression) "back in the day" when I was a little worm.  But it's all the same.  I need everyone to know I rose from the swarth and squalor, that I'm not the same skinny kid eating pizza crusts from trash cans, ripping off dealers, begging for a cotton; I don't hang out with ex-cons and pushers and killers.  Now I just write about them.

And it's getting me noticed.  I think.  I hope.  I fucking need.

Diesel

I finally got around to starting my new short story, Nix Verrida.  (In case you missed it, you can read about the impetus here: http://tinyurl.com/, title slightly changed).  Should be a good one.  I am hoping to crack the upper tier with it.  


There isn't a whole lot of reward with short stories.  You don't get paid.  You rarely get a book deal out of it (although a couple ex-classmates of mine have). And in many ways they are actually harder than writing a novel.  So in short, you've got a lot of work, for next to no reward.  Kind of like the writing profession itself, only suckier.  But there is some payback.  Just comes in spurts and fits.  The biggest reward, you are told as you start out, must be the work itself.  And in a way that's true.  As an artist of any kind, you have to take great solace in a job well done. But on the other hand, it's sorta a load of shit. Because, yeah, you feel good turning a clever phrase, delivering that knock-out final line, but writers, for the most part, have big, black empty holes inside themselves that need to be filled with validation and acceptance, which creates an interesting juxtaposition: individuals in more dire need of a hug than any other faction of society in a field dominated by degrees of rejection.  But don't let me speak for you.  You might be one of those confident, self-assured writers who doesn't need the acceptance of strangers to make you feel worthwhile, and if that's the case, seriously, God bless you.  Keep at it, best of luck, and I hope to see your work in the bookstores someday.  But me, I'm a goddamn vacuous ball of need.  But validation does come and it will keep you going.  Think of it like fuel for the writing engine.  And yesterday, brother, I was running low, the gears sputtering (like when Justine ran out of gas a couple weeks ago, late at night, in East Oakland, a scary scene).  I was limping, didn't see a filling station in sight, and we'll stop there with this marginally entertaining conceit.  


Then I found this:  
http://www.spinetinglermag.com/2011/04/22/conversations-with-the-bookless-todd-robinson/


Todd Robinson is the editor of Thuglit, whose praises I've sung often.  The magazine is currently on hiatus, but I was published in it three times, in fact with three of my favorite stories I've ever written.  You can find everything Thuglit at http://www.thuglit.com/.  And I hope they come back soon. Because I fucking love that magazine.  But this isn't another post about my love of Thuglit.  Well, maybe it is, but in a different way.  


That above link is for an interview Todd gave with Spinetingler back in April. I'd been putting off starting Nix Verrida, because starting a first draft sucks balls, and was checking what my favorite writers are up to these days. There's a whole glut of new noir writers (guys like Todd, Matthew Funk, Mckay Williams, Frank Bill, Keith Rawson, and if I've omitted your name here, it's just an oversight, because there are at least half a dozen more of these guys who are writing kick-ass, cold-cocked crime/noir fiction, with work peppering the best noir ezines (Shotgun Honey, Dirty Noir, Needle, Crimefactory, etc.)  


Anyway, the interview.  So I'm reading it and you should do the same, because it's pretty fucking insightful, but if you're pressed for time, or just lazy, toward the bottom, they ask Todd this: 

Who is the best short story writer that people haven’t gotten hip to yet?

Another tough one. Again, with all the guys I got to read in Thuglit…

Here’s a short list: Frank Bill, Jordan Harper, Justin Porter, Matt Funk, Jedidiah Ayres, Joe Clifford (italics mine). All guys with whom I worked with on Thuglit, all bookless but for Frank Bill (although that might be changing soon for a couple of those names). Whenever I got a submission from any of them, I’d get excited. Even if it wasn’t a story that made the cut, it was always an interesting read.

You know how cool that was?  Seeing my name like that?  I've been getting my ass handed to me on this book, and yeah, my short stories have been getting taken at a dizzying clip--but that was, like, two weeks ago.  My car don't run on fuel that's two weeks old.  Gaps in validation is spread out like dog years.  And I joke a lot on this blog about what a needy mutherfucker I am, because that's what I'm supposed to do as a writer, mine my depths, shine unflattering lights and all, and I don't think people want to read about how well-adjusted and happy I am.  But it's not like I lie in a quivering ball in my bathroom.  I bitch, and I complain, but by and large, I am like (most of) the rest of you.  Sort of.  I get through my day, and I try to be a good dad, and I do my best to keep my demons at bay, even if it isn't always pretty.  Still, getting unexpected props from a writer and editor you respect?  Fuck, man, I started cranking out Nix Verrida on the fumes alone.  

So I'd like to return the plug, although I don't think we get quite the traffic Spinetingler does.  You can click on the ST link of his name and get some stories (although Pulp Pusher, sadly, is no more).  And here is Todd's latest in Shotgun Honey (http://www.shotgunhoney.net/author/todd-robinson-2), which earned him a much-deserved Bullet Award.  And as always, I strongly encourage you to check out Thuglit or one of its various awesome anthologies (http://tinyurl.com/3celz72).  I know Todd and his agent are currently pushing his novel, The Hard Bounce, and I'm banking that will be out soon.

And I'd like to thank Todd for doing a brother a solid.  The guy has been one of my biggest advocates, publishing my stories, blurbing my novel, and putting me on par with some truly amazing and talented writers.

See?  I can be fucking gracious and positive.

Shotgun Honey

Just went up this morning--please read it.  It won't take long.  It's 700 words. 


http://www.shotgunhoney.net/2011/08/one-good-reason-by-joe-clifford.html.  
Shotgun Honey has fast become my new favorite ezine (taking the place of my dearly beloved Thuglit, which is on indefinite hiatus).  SH is a little different, though, all flash noir, 700 words or less. Which is challenging to say the least. It's run by Kent Gowran, Ron Earl Phillips, and Sabrina Ogden.  This magazine was actually the first (after the "Dancing: A Love Story in Five Parts" experiment [http://monkeybicycle.net/dancing-a-love-story-in-five-parts/]--but Monkeybicycle would be the sweet, sensitive little brother to Shotgun's abusive uncle who drinks too much and likes to shoot squirrels and shit from his trailer window) where I implemented my new strategy of actually reading these magazines before submitting, which, as you know if you follow this blog, has worked like a fucking charm.  And the real winner here was me, because Shotgun Honey is terrific, fast, in-your-face, kick-ass crime noir fiction, like a bullet to the brain, in under a minute or two.  Scroll down the right hand side (after you read my story, of course), and you'll see a who's who in the current world of noir, from Allan Guthrie (http://criminal-e.blogspot.com/), to Keith Rawson (http://www.crimefactoryzine.com/main/Home.html), to Thuglit's editor Todd "Big Daddy Thug" Robinson (http://thuglit.com/), with a lot of great noir writers in between.  So today, instead of having you read my ranting and bitching about how the world has done me wrong (in between my tender musings on my son and blissful life of redemption), I urge you to check out Shotgun Honey (http://www.shotgunhoney.net/) and these writers.  I promise you won't be disappointed.   And if you don't like a particular story, stick around.  Like an Elvis Costello song, another will be along in a few minutes. (But you'll like the stories.  Unless you are a tender li'l guy [or gal] who is easily offended and put off by blood, guns, hot chicks, and people doing very bad things.  Bit if you were, you probably wouldn't be reading this blog. You'd be Nicholas Sparks.  And you don't have to do that. I've already done that for you (http://tinyurl.com/3m49wbw).