Twenty-three poems, stories, and essays were submitted to editors and agents at Writespace this past Saturday, March 31st, at our very first Get Published Party. Twenty-three pieces that on that day, at that hour, probably would have otherwise stayed in the dusky purgatory of ten Houston writers’ hard drives. I love that we helped this happen.

But at 4:15 p.m., fifteen minutes before the event, I still didn’t know how our first Submissions Party would go. I assisted our event leader, Hilary Ritz, who pitched the idea to me a little over two months ago, by wiping down the whiteboard and pulling out nametags from the bins in the bookcases as she set out chocolate to fuel our adventure. I greeted writers as they arrived and made their name tags. Things were revving up, but regardless of how much we plan, every time we host a new event, we take a hearty step into the unknown. Every attempt to support writers in a new way delivers a thrill of creative adventure much like the thrill of writing, and this is one of the reasons I love my job.

When ten writers were seated around the table, Hilary introduced herself and asked the group, “What will you be sending out?” The range of genres was amazing, from poems to personal essays to literary fiction stories to fantasy novels. Hilary’s helper, Marcia Dao, asked, “What kind of music do you all want to listen to?” We landed on the “Nightmares on Wax” Pandora station, which provided the perfect chill atmosphere for what might have otherwise, had we been alone at our desks at home, been tense moments, in that here we were taking the culmination of dozens or hundreds of hours of hard work, these precious words we’ve poured our hearts into, and sending them out into the vast reaches of the publishing universe, to be read by people we do not know and may never meet, propelled by the hope that these strangers will like or even love our words well enough to publish them, so that our words can reach hundreds, thousands, or even millions of others we do not know and may never meet.

When you consider what it means to submit writing, when you contemplate the depth of courage it takes to give complete strangers the power to accept or reject that which is precious to us, that which we have stolen valuable time from our family and work lives to make, when you realize how brave we must be in order to intentionally and repeatedly make our deepest selves vulnerable to strangers, for the sake of bringing others joy or communion through our words, the act of hitting “Submit” is heroic. Writers are courageous, and this is why I love you all and why I am devoting my life to supporting you.

At the party, each time one of us submitted, we clapped and cheered, delighted that one of us had been brave again. By the end, we had submitted to twenty-three diverse places, from obscure sci-fi journals to Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction to New Republic and The Atlantic to literary agents in NYC. And we did it together, with questions and laughter and cheering and popcorn and chocolate and cupcakes keeping us going. In the moment, lulled by the soft electronica music and the sound of typing and other writers breathing and hoping right beside us, hitting the “Submit” button could almost feel easy, but it never was. We knew what we were doing, and it was big.

Learn more about Writespace Get Published Parties here.

Every now and then, I walk into Writespace and see new Poets & Writers magazines in the freebie pile or craft books in the bookcase. The first time this happened, I paused, feeling puzzled. Who put these here? I didn’t know. The items could have been contributed by a faithful writing student, a writing instructor, or a board member. They could have been donated by someone who joined a Saturday 600 Write-In. Whoever left them did not leave a note.

Once the shock passed, I felt a secret thrill of pride—not egotistical pride, but impersonal pride, like I was proud to be human and proud to get to play a part in something larger than I am. Sure, it seems like a small thing: magazines.
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But it isn’t just magazines. There’s no more amazing love than the love that humans can show toward those they haven’t even met. Through Writespace, I get to see this love every day. I even get to see it in big ways, such as through the donations that help us keep going and help us provide scholarships to writers in need. While my role as Writespace’s Executive Director is challenging and often marked by a feeling that there is ten times more work stacked up than I could ever accomplish in a day, I’m also deeply blessed to get to contribute and create opportunities for others to contribute.

I don’t have a television or watch the news, because news stations tend to focus on bad news that kills hope, rather than on good news that builds hope, and I believe in building, rather than killing. But when I’m in a restaurant that has a TV blaring the freshest news of disaster over my delicious hickory hamburger or tofu pho soup or tuna sashimi, I see a world being depicted in which important things are not given, but taken away—whether it’s dignity and respect, automobiles, life savings, or even lives. Always, always, there is nothing I can easily do to help. I can, though, go back to work and help in the way that’s available to me. I can let go of thoughts of theft and death and return to a good place I have created, one in which things are given rather than taken. Given freely, without anything requested in return.

And, of course, it’s not just Writespace. Literary endeavors are often characterized by generosity because ultimately we are all creating stories that are meant to be gifts to those we don’t even know. A spirit of giving imbues most literary endeavors. Thank you for participating in whatever ways you do.

A year or two ago, these mugs appeared in front of our "Free Mags" sign:

I want to take a moment to tell you about a volunteer I love dearly. Her name is Leslie Archibald. She serves as Writespace’s volunteer coordinator; her picture is below. Leslie has been volunteering with Writespace for two and a half years, or for more than half of Writespace’s existence (in May, Writespace turns four). 

When she first came to Writespace, writing was a mere dream for Leslie. But throughout her time volunteering with us and attending our events, her writing practice has blossomed. In 2017 she won Spider Road Press' Spider's Web Flash Fiction Prize. Furthermore, she's now midway through the draft of her first novel. Furthermore, she’s now midway through the draft of her first novel. We are proud of all that Leslie has accomplished on the writing front, and at the same time, not surprised, because we have seen the same level of commitment in her work as Writespace’s volunteer coordinator.

Some of you may have seen Leslie at workshops. Seen her, but perhaps not heard her, because Leslie tends to quietly observe, rather than dance in the limelight. Behind the calm, quiet exterior, though, Leslie is a total powerhouse. After big events, such as Writefest, our staff and volunteers tend to feel as dead as the squished squirrel your tires roll past on the street. We have been working nonstop for weeks to make things happen. We’ve missed sleep, tender moments with family, and gobs of reading and writing time to be able to pull off the event. Regardless of these generous sacrifices, when we’ve all surpassed the point of exhaustion and most of our wonderful volunteers have listened to the voice of reason and headed home to sanity, Leslie will be the one to stick around in the dead zone and help me carry out the trash, break down boxes for recycling, and sweep the floors.

Leslie is quietly and powerfully always here at Writespace, smiling and ready to do whatever we need, no matter how dull or dirty the task. She is a warrior for the good and utterly fearless in her ability to say yes to tasks, even those she might not otherwise choose to do, such as picking up pizza for our volunteers when she’s trying to make healthier eating choices; emailing a volunteer who didn’t show up to help, as promised; or leading a volunteer team meeting that challenges her natural shyness. What is most remarkable about Leslie's dedication is the grace, kindness, and humility which which she performs these tasks. She is all smiles and totally willing, without even a shadow of resentment. I don’t know what makes Leslie so sweet, so good, so full of love for writers and Writespace’s mission, but to me, she embodies the very essence of what our endeavor is about. 

Thank you, Leslie, for all that you do. When I feel tired, you remind me of the good.

Starting today,  I am initiating a short column I’m calling “Writespace Speaks.” Here I will celebrate the beauty of books and the practice of writing, as well as share Writespace news, my personal reflections on our events, and my desires for our community.

​I have always tried to shy away from the spotlight at Writespace, because I’ve known that Writespace belongs to the community, not to me. I’ve carefully avoided turning Writespace into my “platform” from which to boost my own writing career and my preferred genres, beliefs, and opinions. I’ve tried my best to pay attention to what our community has needed and wanted, in hopes that our community would rise up and “own” Writespace. I feel like now, after three and a half years, based on the tremendous engagement of our volunteers, members, and workshop participants, that day has come and my desire for the community to “own” Writespace is on the verge of coming true. So I now feel safe enough to come out from behind the scenes and let myself be known.

​And so, as we grow, you will be hearing from me—and, perhaps from others. Thank you for being a part of the writing community’s rising up to own Writespace. Stay tuned, you will be hearing more from me soon!