Pentangle 2009: Poetry, Fiction, and Creative Non-Fiction Awards
The Creative Non-Fiction Awards
Judge:
Kathleen Willis Morton holds an M.F.A. in creative writing
from the University of New Orleans. A practicing Buddhist since age 17, she
lives in Cambridge, MA with her family. She is the author of The Blue Poppy
and the Mustard Seed: A Mother's Story of Loss and Hope
"The Ninth Circle of Walgreen's" by Sean Wilkins and "An Appalachian
Birthday" by Michael Tincher were chosen “due to their authenticity
of voice and skill at crafting an engaging situation.”
The Fiction Awards
Judge:
Matthew James Babcock teaches composition, creative writing,
and literature at BYU-Idaho in Rexburg. He holds a BA in English from Utah State,
an MA in English and Creative Writing from Binghamton University (New York),
and he will complete his PhD in Literature and Criticism at Indiana University
of Pennsylvania in 2009. His novella, Impressions, was a semi-finalist in Quarterly
West’s biannual novella competition, and is available as an e-book from
Wild Child Publishing, along with his story collection, Under the Stone. His
story, “Future Perfect,” was a finalist in Glimmer Train’s
“Family Matters” competition, and his novella, Help Phone Thirteen,
was a finalist in the Middle English Literary Group’s novella contest.
His stories, poems, and essays have appeared or will appear in Alehouse; Aethlon;
The Cape Rock; Epicenter; Florida English; High Horse; Illuminations; The Pacific
Review; Poetry Motel; Pulse; Rattle; The Rejected Quarterly; The South Dakota
Review; The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review; Spillway; Starry Night Review; Stringtown;
Weber Studies; and Wild Violet.
1. “Suicide Girl” by Amanda Pachta
Clearly, this one rose to the top of a stack of about forty. After multiple
readings, I can tell this writer has established a clear, unique, strong voice.
The language isn’t complicated, pretentious, or particularly remarkable
for that matter—only to the degree that it is clear, forceful, direct,
and very effective. I couldn’t find a single instance of laziness or sloppiness.
Perhaps a few typos, but this piece has been polished, polished, polished until
it reads like a streamlined representation of the author’s voice. Some
favorite excerpts: “I craved an absolution stomach acid couldn’t
provide”; “The only survival I do is the kind I want to stop. The
true agony of my life is that I prevent it from ending after I decide to end
it. I am a second-thought junkie.” For me, no second thoughts as a reader,
though. I read these lines, and I could tell I was in the care of an author
whose imagination was free-wheeling on language and spinning gold. I liked the
unique slant on a hackneyed subject: a potential suicide victim with A. D. D.
In the pile I read, there were plenty of suicide stories, but this one sought
to go inside the mind of a the person who attempts suicide—not just to
revel in morbid fascination—but to understand the heart and psychology
of someone who just can’t go through with it, not necessarily because
of emotional reasons, but because of a psychological quirk that stops the subject
from finishing the job. This creates empathy. We like the person about to off
herself. In a recent issue of Poets and Writers (the Toni Morrison issue), Bret
Anthony Johnston—director of the creative writing program at Harvard (but
a Texas native)—says that conflict and empathy are the lifeblood of fiction.
“Suicide Girl” stirs up both: conflict (“Should I kill myself
again, for the fourth time?”), and empathy (“This person is so thoughtful,
troubled, perplexed—perhaps like me—oh, please don’t let her
go!”). Overall, “Suicide Girl” suggests that even something
as unapproachable as suicide is more complex than most people realize, filled
with hesitancies, human depth, ironies, and genuine feeling. It has a nice pace
that trips forward in time and adds detail after detail to the narrative—the
parental deaths, the older brother tragically killed off. There’s a swift
beginning—right at the moment of drowning, flashbacks, complication, conflict,
climax, and anti-resolution, leaving us hanging but not confused, betrayed,
or unsatisfied. If there is one criticism I would offer, it is that the double
homicide of the parents and the drunk-driving death involving the older brother
come off, after multiple readings, as a bit too convenient. A reader who begins
to empathize with the narrator suddenly feels troubled that we don’t get
more information about the family deaths. It’s hard to feel empathy for
someone who doesn’t show empathy for others. And I’m tempted to
say that while the author has made sure we feel empathy for the speaking narrator,
he or she hasn’t shown that same care toward secondary characters. Go
into more detail about the parent deaths, the brother’s death. I sense
a little impatience here, on the author’s part, a rush to wrap it up.
If you give us more time to understand the impact of the family deaths, it will
increase our empathy for the speaking narrator. As it stands now, the quick
elimination of the family members only serves to increase our skepticism of
the author’s motives and abilities, and it tends to undercut the emotion
and empathy we might feel toward the narrator. This could easily be fixed by
expanding those scenes. Right now, it’s pretty short, and even though
fiction journals are cutting down their word-length limits, due to economic
constraints, you still see journals publishing pieces from 5,000 to 7,000 words
and even longer. In Mysteries and Manners, Flannery O’Connor said a good
story can only expand. The author might take O’Connor’s words to
heart and expand where those plot elements are dropped off a cliff. Overall,
the author of “Suicide Girl” clearly has a future as a writer.
2. “Underneath” by Charlene Shultz
I chose “Underneath” for second place because of its authentic situation,
original plot line, and unique subject. Overall, there are some nice lines.
Berlin’s “toothless fan club” with whom she works, for example.
And what line describes her situation better than this: “Together the
three of us could ward off evil, smoke a joint when necessary, and comfort each
other when life kicked us in the gut”? Though the details were thin, I
got a glimpse of this “tripod” of half-lives, and the “nineteen-year
old single mother with nomadic tendencies.” That sounds like a great title
for a story collection: Nomadic Tendencies. I also like Berlin’s description
of her being on “the outskirts of the circus”—as she calls
it, when she returns home, and the line “refugee to refugee” that
describes her reunion in the street with the homeless man, Bernie. Still, there
were numerous lapses into the sentimental, clichés, pathetic fallacies,
inaccurate usages, and multiple typos and misspellings: the mirror that “sadly
stared”; Berlin “tossing and turning” at night, her palms
“dripping with sweat,” etc. Examine this sentence: “The dog
was barking as she crashed and banged her body, helmet, and bags of food through
the screen door.” At first, I couldn’t understand why the dog was
wearing a helmet and carrying groceries—was this some kind of advanced
breed that could be trained to do household chores? No, it’s loose pronoun
usage. The “she” actually refers to Randy, in a previous sentence,
but nevertheless, confusion is the result for the reader. In terms of meaning,
I liked the complexity of the events, the hint toward reconciliation between
Berlin and her family, but I wasn’t prepared for Berlin’s father’s
unprovoked—and in some ways, unexplained—generosity. His actions
seem a little pie-in-the-sky, and without more information, the reader is left
feeling as if this resolution is unearned, and therefore, teeters toward the
sentimental. Still, philosophically, there’s a kind of balance informing
the narrative, particularly in the way Berlin returns to her new “home”
and new “family” and recycles the wealth among them. I loved the
Froot Loop eating scene. I think this piece could be revised, and it needs to
be revised heavily. I think we need to give Berlin’s father and Berlin’s
family more of a chance to act and establish credibility. As it stands now,
the author seems to be at a loss as to what to let them do—in fact, it
feels as if the author is afraid to let Berlin’s family do much, or say
much. There are times where the prose could give way easily to actual dialogue,
and I would say that much of this story could be revised into actual dialogue.
Let Berlin’s family talk, speak for themselves. As it stands now, they
seem to be treated like scenery or robots that are programmed to stand up and
serve as backdrops. Let the unexpected intercede. Have Randy call Berlin at
home during the funeral. Let Berlin’s mother discover photos of Layla
in Bernie’s lap near a dumpster in the alley behind the adult shop. Let
Berlin’s father get the $5,000 not from his own wallet but from a relative—who
gave it to him to pay for funeral expenses. Let the story get out of control.
At present, the author appears to be exerting an unnecessary amount of control
over her characters’ lives. There is a beginning story, here, however—and
an engaging one—and a few more attempts could bring it to fruition.
3. “Frank” by Ben Sims
“Frank” had some great lines, but there were times when I felt the
author’s exuberance ran away with him/her. Example: “If he was honest
with himself, he got [these] things by lying”; “his stomach a gravel
pit of toxic spent pleasure”; and “he felt like a raving transplant
from some American sitcom, a far cry from his usually lustful, lascivious ponderings
on the pneumatic possibilities of women.” Here is a great sentence to
illustrate. I have typed it correctly, while cleaning up the typos, first of
all. “Pneumatic possibilities of women” is fabulous, but “far
cry” is cliché, and “lustful, lascivious” is redundant.
Generally, this piece had some flashes of uniqueness but an overwhelming presence
of clichés, confounding tense switches, confusing phrases, and logorrhea.
Point blank, the setting in England sounds arbitrary and contrived, and I’m
not sure why the British setting is so important. And there were times when,
as I began to get interested, the author would undercut my interest by telling
too much. Case in point: “However, in his other life, Frank maintained
his structured fallacies. Josephine had become an outlet but not a revolution
(nice!)” But oh, no—“Frank lived in two worlds and was two
different people. And, although his arrogance assumed otherwise, they would
one day meet.” This is something I’m already assuming will happen,
and up to this point, the author has already established that Frank lives in
two worlds. These “telling” rather than “showing” passages
tend to elbow their way into the reader’s view, like an annoying person
in front of you in the cinema who won’t sit down—you just want to
see the story yourself at this point. Down in front! you scream at the author.
Another example: “However, deep in the Wiltshire countryside, Josephine
was sewing [sowing!] seeds of potential disaster; she had decided , on a whim,
to tell her father about Frank.” The only thing that kills drama in a
story is telling your readers that something really dramatic is on the horizon.
At times, the author’s best friend is the “delete” key. Delete
this! Just skip to the meeting between Frank and Josephine. Let us figure out
that she has spoken to her father, just by her words and her behavior. At the
end, I half-liked the O. Henry type twist, except I wasn’t quite sure
what the twist implied. Overall, there were times where the hyperbolic prose
masked the facts of the action. I liked the fact that my expectations of disaster
for Frank were diverted by a scheming Josephine, but I still have no idea why
she’s okay with Frank’s pretentious aspirations toward upper-class
culture, when he himself, is a lower life form. Why does she want him to lie
to her father? What does she see in him? Is it all about power? Years back,
William Empson discoursed ad nauseum on ambiguity in his Seven Types of Ambiguity
(seven!), but in my world there are only two types: good and bad. Good ambiguity
leaves readers hungering for more details and turning pages. Bad ambiguity frustrates
readers, puts them off, and leaves them feeling ripped off. Here, I think I
need to know more about Josephine’s motives. What’s her story? It
might be fun to play with some extended endings here. Have Josephine expose
her second life, her secrets, and lies. Add a scene in which Frank talks to
her father, and her father confesses that he’s built his whole professional
career on lies—including Josephine, who is actually his second wife! Whoa,
Frank, disaster averted! Overall, the story here seems half-formed, though it
does gesture at coming full circle. Nice touch of setting and scenery, though,
with the birds swooping down to eat the bread. I think there are some additional
threads that could be developed. Great first draft, though. I can really sense
that this writer is taking some risks verbally and imaginatively.
4. honorable mention “Lucy” by Shanna Blake
This made me laugh, and there were some very descriptive passages. I liked the
satire, the surrealism, the fairy-tale razor blade the author was wielding.
Lucy’s “eyelashes extending forever into the night”! Fabulous!
In addition to some cliché language, repetitive word use, and other marks
of sloppiness, I thought the author sometimes hit us over the head with too
much editorializing. Still, it kept me reading, all the way to the end, which
is the most important aspect of any piece of fiction. The end came too suddenly,
and too arbitrarily, to me, and I wasn’t sure if the reporter, Jessica
Pinehurst, was really Lucy, and that Lucy was Jessica’s secret inner demon,
the psycho vampire-murderer. This kind of confusion leaves readers unsatisfied,
as do abrupt endings and sudden twists that take not only our breath away but
also our sense of belief in a piece. Still, the voice and description were lively,
unique, incisive, original. Keep it up.
The Poetry Awards
Judge:
Nicholas Samaras is the author of Survivors of the Moving Earth
(University of Salzburg Press, 1998), Hands of the Saddlemaker (Yale University
Press, 1992) and has published in the American Scholar, Kenyon Review, New Criterion,
Paris Review, Poetry, and The New Yorker. He currently lives in West Nyack,
NY.
As is normally the case with poetry competitions, it was relatively easy to
winnow down the bulk of the poems. But, also as usual, it was the most difficult
of tasks to discern between the top four to five poems; it was like a "sweet
agony."
Very generally speaking, it was interesting to see how most of the poems displayed
an exuberant overabundance of poeticisms. It was as if everyone was trying WAY
too hard to sound overly "poetic." What was sacrificed in that overtendency
was a sense of more-easily understood meaning of the poems. Overall, there could
have been a much better balance between meaning (and the conveyance of that
meaning) and poeticisms. The poeticisms were, overall, too far-reaching at the
sacrifice of meaning.
So, onward. I spent consecutive nights pouring over the total entries several
times over, just to keep my frame of mind with all of them. I was able to winnow
the poems down to the top four. And here are those four in order:
(1) The winner, on my humble opinion, is PORTRAIT by Jodi Hunt. This poem has
"everything." The voice was immediately BELIEVABLE, with a voice that
remained steady, realistic, on its feet. This poem maintained the delicate balance
between realism and poeticism, keeping it real and lofty at the same time. This
poem also worked its craft well, keeping a beautiful level of poetic details
that kept the level of both beauty and believability. Everything about this
poem was couched in reality. It made the poem more poignant and increased its
power.
(2) Second place, for me, is the poem WHAT WE LOVE by Makenzie Ladd. It had
a number of the qualities of the first-pace poem. I also felt this poem succeeded
well with the difficult sestina form (the most successful of all the sestina
poems submitted). The poem's voice was also well regulated, modulated. It didn't
attain t he level of success of the first-place poem, but it was highly respectable.
(3) Third-place, for me, is the poem DRAGON'S DREAMING by Roddy Fosburg. The
poem held its control, used an interesting, evocative theme. The ending of this
poem was especially masterful.
(4) So, those above-mentioned poems are the first, second, and third places.
I would like to add one honourable-mention: the poem SCIENCE FICTION by David
Meiers. This poem worked valiantly to deal with some images dealt with before
innumerable times, yet did it in a fairly successful, charming way.
Spring 2009 Staff
Tiffany Brown
Mia Popaja
Sarah Molinatto
Nichole Guglielmo
Leslie Bergeron
Allyssa Bordley
Aubrey Heim
Brittany Penny
Gretta Saunders
Katie Magann
Advisors
Courtney Ruffner
Jeff Grieneisen