#manning up

[kaitkingthewriter]

Just Don't

Don’t abandon your family Don’t abandon your children Don’t abandon your pets Don’t abandon your responsibilities Most of all, don’t abandon yourself… © Kait King, 2017

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[yourrelationshiparchitect]

A Different Take On "Manning Up"

[2010jean]

Manning Up!

A phrase feminists HATE!

Source: Manning Up!

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[tog03]

I feel numb.

[nevercangettoclose]

Lol so it took me 20 minutes of yelling at myself to man up. I said to her that i need to tell her something and please dont ask questions just yet. She thought i was moving out or pregnant... I was like no, but just give me a minute. Then i was, i like girls... Im gay. *silence* "i kinda suspected" she said. I was surprised. She asked if i was dating anyone and i said no but ive had sometype of relationships (crazy wierd ones that dont last) and she was like "with kristina?"(my best friend) and i was dying of laughter. I told her no we just joke how we are baes or not baes. I also told her that james and julia(sis and bro) knew and its gunna be hard telling dad. Somehow it slipped that people at work knew, and then she got a bit upset. She didnt understand why i couldnt tell her, even when i knew that she would be okay with me. I told kept reminding her to please dont take it personal, just look at it from where im at. How do you bring it up? Hey mom im gay, oh and whats for dinner btws? There were tears from me when explaining it because i was upset that she was taking it personal. She kept saying it was "ok" but i knew it wasn't and i told her that. And she was like i just dont understand... But i think she okay now that i tried explaining it to her. So yeah 3 down, the rest of the family to go

[h-ngm-n]

CHPBK Qs & As with JoAnna Novak: MANNING UP

JoAnna Novak is the author of the new H_NGM_N chapbook MANNING UP which you can read and download here. In this interview with Matthew Dube, JoAnna talks poetry vs. prose, literary polish, and her work at TAMMY journal. 

1. You asked us to characterize this manuscript as prose instead of fiction. I’m not asking for a sweeping definition of all writing, but what is it about this manuscript that to you marks it as prose and not fiction?

The emotional and psychological story in this manuscript is non-fiction. While almost everything that unfolds on the level of plot is invented, the heart of the piece is not. The term prose allows that blurriness or duality to exist—or I like to think it does!

2. At least some of the action in this novel takes place in foreign capitals, integrates foreign words, etc. I wonder if you could talk a little about your experience of the foreign, and the way that sense of what foreign means figures into your writing?

The foreign almost always enters my writing via diction. I’m an unabashed word collector, and much of that collecting has taken place via somewhat limited means: I’ve never lived or studied abroad, the evidence of my twelve years of Spanish study at suburban schools is rapidly fading, etc. That paucity of geographical experience is challenged, some, by my interests: fashion, food, books. Foreign words often stick with me for their tactility, their sheen, their sound.

In Manning Up, those words prompted me to explore setting. I think some writers work the other way—by writing about a place and then populating the language. I start with language, hoping some kind of sense will emerge.

3. The language of your manuscript is cagey about the gender of the Slut. How was it trying to explore the way English resists attempts to write about characters whose gender is ambiguous? Are you interested more broadly in teasing the limits of language in your writing?

Funny you say cagey: I wrote the first pieces about the Slut during a summer I spent walking around the St. Louis Zoo. I read placards, absorbing practically no information—it was very hot, but I noticed some things: Even if zookeepers identified which California sea lion was male or female, the placards created informative generalizations about species. The gendered individuality was removed. I was interested in that tension between objective, sterile language (“the California sea lion is an eared seal…”) and the embodied reality of individual animals, splashing in their pools, sunning on their rocks. More than gender ambiguity, I wanted to juxtapose that form (of the placard) (so, in my manuscript, the length and, at times the tone) with the sensual, the unbounded content (the Slut’s narrative).  

And, yes, I am always interested in teasing language’s limits. Writers I admire—Gary Lutz, Christine Schutt, Lydia Davis, Junot Diaz—have taught me again and again, in countless ways, that the inexpressible might be expressed with the right attack of words. Language wants to be teased; too much of our language is unprovoked these days.

4. Finally, is there a prose writer from a previous generation that you wish was more well known? If so, who and why? How did you discover this writer?

Vladimir Nabokov is supremely well-known, but I love his sentences and his vocabulary so much that I feel his renown can never be renown enough.

I’m a little surprised you’re such a fan of Nabokov. I’ve been struggling to articulate this, but for me, Nabokov’s work, as great as it is, feels so finished, like he knows from before the first word where everything is going, down to the last comma. Your work, in contrast, feels somewhat more improvised, like the writing itself is exploring the terrains of language and experience. I’m not sure how this is becoming a question, but here goes: am I misreading you or Nabokov? Does my distinction between, I don’t know, documentary versus exploratory writing resonate with you? Do you lean more towards one kind of reading than another?

Oh, I don’t think you’re misreading either of us. Probably I’m attracted to someone like Nabokov because of the polish—polish of diction, polish of emotion. I love how mannerly he is—which is something my work relates to with some discomfort. I guess I think of much of my writing—especially short prose—as having its composure disrupted by what’s mucking around under the surface, a what I’m trying to figure out—or make a mess of—as a I write.

5. Finally, you’re part of the editorial team at one of my favorite little magazines, TAMMY. TAMMY feels like it has a really unified feel, like all the editorial decisions come from a shared aesthetic. How is it working for a magazine like that? Do you ever get stuff that is accomplished but just not right for the magazine, or is the feel of the magazine informed more by what submissions come over the transom? How would you describe the aesthetic of TAMMY, and where has your thinking about that gone over the five issues you’ve seen come together?

Thank you for asking me about TAMMY. I just finished proofing the hard copy of our latest issue, and I’m so excited about it. One of the editors and I were talking, actually, just last night, about how happy we are to put such disparate writers in conversation with one another—in a way that creates a unity without conformity. Our aesthetic sensibility does seem to favor work that’s sartorially bold, and that often manifests, I think, in genre- bending. We seem to like lyricism in prose and prose in poetry.

We often get work that’s so accomplished—like, work I’m in awe of. And it’s a fascinating thing when the three of us talk about a piece like that, only to realize its—in some way—a mismatch for the issue. There’s no letter I like sending to writers more than the “this-was-really-close” letter—it’s a time when the editors and I can applaud unabashedly … and offer our humble suggestions … and strongly suggest the writer submit again. These notes, many times, start fruitful editorial relationships, and I really look forward to seeing what’s next from those “almost-but-not-quite” folks. And, actually, that, editorial input, is the aspect of TAMMY’s growth of which I’m proudest. We correspond a lot more with submitters now, and it’s my hope that that communication is valuable. I’m keenly aware of the loneliness of writing, submitting, putting one’s self in the world, and if TAMMY can offer someone a new way of seeing their work (whether in an issue, alongside someone else’s potentially very-different writing) (or through constructive notes from us editors) … that’s … yes.

[transguyteri]

Not My Normal Post

Not My Normal Post

So I talk about changing the meaning of ‘manning up’ from being this misogynistic machismo thing to a concept of men taking responsibility for their actions and their lives. I’m working on manning up myself, because I want to be the best man I can possibly be. And I’ve got some really awesome role models to help me fill those shoes. 

Turns out, I’ve got a new guy to add to that list. 

We all…

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