Editor's Notebook Archives - Waterwheel Review

December 1, 2022 By Claire Guyton

Editor’s Notebook: All hail the Sloth-beast!

December 2022

orange and grey swirl with little bubbles like dishwater grease

We’re BACK with another essay in our series, 7 Sins of the Writing Life: Sloth.

“I’m appalled that Sloth is not simply having a lazy day,” writes Cheryl. I’m appalled, too! Wait… what??

By ignoring our writing we cut ourselves off from the rewards that stem from this deep thinking and creativity, and we fail a community that needs the respite of a compelling story after a long, hard day, an essay that helps them feel less alone, or a poem that provides courage during a tough time.

I’m not sure anyone needs my writing but me, and, because he has to live with me, my husband. I have proved many times that if I don’t maintain a regular writing practice, I begin to disintegrate. Specifically, I get over-sensitive, spacey, and irritable. I get twitchy. Writing keeps me sane and Sloth is my enemy.

To rescue myself from a protracted period of Sloth this summer, I started doing weekly Zoom meetings with one of the most talented writers I know, my friend Annaliese. We’re both tackling an unfamiliar genre and neither of us is used to feeling uncertain about how to manage a project. Our meetings allow us to get past hesitance, confusing material, and rabbit holes.

We take turns reading aloud whatever we wrote in the preceding week, reflect on what we heard, process questions and plans about what’s next, and then sign off with good wishes for the writing week ahead. I can’t say the Sloth-beast doesn’t rear up between these meetings but she damn well knows to take a seat in the back when the deadline is coming on hard. Six months into this particular Zoom habit, I’m deep into my project, and the only things twitching are my eager fingers, desperate for the keyboard.

Cheryl, who talks about how to train the Sloth-beast in her essay, approves.

I asked Annaliese what she thinks of the deadly sin of Sloth with regard to writing and writing practice. Like Cheryl, she quickly found her way to the beast:

[S]loth always means to me a dragging, a sluggishness, reluctance to stick with things. It’s tied up in the whole thing of work bringing one closer to some kind of enlightenment. Clearly a judgment word.

But in truth I think of sloth the animal (not a concept but a living, breathing being) as, yes, slow-moving, but not in a willful, negative, destructive way. It’s the sloth’s way and it’s consistent and tenacious, and that pace presents challenges and dangers and yet they keep on keeping on. They show up—no matter how hard that may be. Of course, that’s the human perspective. The sloth is not slow to him/herself. And “slow” is not a negative thing. We live in such a fast-paced society/world/orbit these days, we have forgotten the value of showing up, of being, of breath and love and joy and generosity.

We have to show up, no matter how hard that may be.

If you’re feeling a little bit of Sloth—what writer isn’t?—and you’re fortunate enough to have an Annaliese in your life, give her a call. But of course there are so many ways to train the Sloth-beast to help you show up. Let Cheryl tell you how she did it.

May you indulge and enjoy all writing sins forevermore. And may you write well today.

—Claire Guyton

November 1, 2022 By Claire Guyton

Editor’s Notebook: Happy Anniversary, Sinners!

November 2022

abstract painting that resembles a scary face with long nose, big hoolow eye, and snarling teeth in orange and teal colors

Cheryl, Suzanne, and I first came together as a team in 2012, when we co-created the essay series “7 Deadly Sins of the Writing Life” at Hunger Mountain, the literary journal published by the low-residency MFA program we all attended at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Cheryl and Suzanne wanted to explore the ways in which we writers are beset by SIN as we make a writing life. What writer doesn’t struggle with Envy and Sloth? In the context of the writing life, what is Lust, Gluttony, Wrath, Greed? Does Pride inevitably lead to shallow work? I was an editor at Hunger Mountain, looking for creative nonfiction about the writing life, so they pitched their idea for the series, and we got to work. Long, detailed work. Work enriched by email threads that digressed into countless personal anecdotes about the trials and tribulations of our individual writing lives. We responded to each other’s personal stories with empathy, shared our own parallel or contrasting experiences, and offered advice. All the while hammering out thoughtful, creative essays about how to play with the notion of writing-life sin as a way to develop better, more fulfilling writing habits.

At the end of that intense collaboration, we were a bonded writing community of three. That earned faith in each other has sustained our writing lives ever since, and gave birth to this magazine in 2020.

To celebrate our 10^th anniversary of that life-changing project, we’re re-publishing the essays in the final 7 months of our third season of Waterwheel Review, each on the first day of the month to coincide with a new issue, from November 2022, through May 2023. I’ll tease them here each month, and you’ll find the essays at our new site, 7sinswriting.com.

Today we’re publishing the introductory essay to the series, and the first SINFUL essay, “Envy.”

Here’s my favorite part from the introduction:

Traditionally, stories about the deadly sins were meant to teach sinners how to travel through a long trial and back to virtue after a fall from grace. So too does a fall from grace exist in the writing life. The difference I see, is that the path back is not one toward virtue, but toward the work of writing.

And here’s my favorite part of “Envy”:

Despite its potential for damage, Envy carries a perk. The sunny side of Envy is that it shines on what we most want, which can be a valuable time-and-sanity-saving device in a writing world so bloated with opportunity to submit, subscribe, post, apply, and enroll. Most of the time I click “like” on Facebook, there’s nothing more to it than that. I like it. But if Envy bites while I click, I want it.

If you’re reading this post, you’re almost certainly a writer. If you’ve ever felt an envious pang at a writer friend’s accomplishment… you’re like every single writer who has ever existed. Likewise every other selfish, sinful impulse that falls under the 7 Deadly umbrella of dark thoughts and deeds. Welcome.

May you indulge and enjoy all writing sins forevermore. And may you write well today.

—Claire Guyton

August 31, 2022 By Claire Guyton

Editor’s Notebook: The Power of “I”

September 2022

Rakotz bridge (Rakotzbrucke, Devil's Bridge) in Kromlau, Saxony, Germany. Colorful autumn, reflection of the bridge in the water create a full circle

I like to use this feature either to peek behind the editorial curtain, as when I put together a piece on our favorite issue quotes last May; or to revisit and celebrate a previously published piece (as I did here). I look forward to doing both of these things in the coming months, but as September 2022 arrives, opening the door to the glory of our third season of Waterwheel Review—I almost can’t believe I just wrote “third” but here we are, our baby is still bouncing and beautiful, and I’m more in love with her than ever—I want to step more deeply into our process. I want to offer a peek behind the authorial curtain.

We three editors are writers, first. Our friendship community was forged by and for writing, and that’s still our primary focus. Through our decade together, we’ve used many tools to keep each other in tune with our writing lives. In the last year or so we settled on a very simple one to focus our writing energy: I-words.

We each chose an I-word to meditate on, hold in our mind’s eye, float before us every time we sat down to write. The word served as a reminder of what we wanted to accomplish with our writing and in our writing lives. Why an I-word rather than some other letter? I can’t remember but as I write this post, I’m thinking Suzanne, who I’m sure suggested this exercise, was clever to choose the one letter that also happens, in English, to constitute a word that stands for personhood. No surprise she’s the nonfiction writer among us. She thinks deeply about the “I” every time she writes.

We chose Ignite, Integrate, Intend.

Did it work? Like any tool, yes and no. I’ll just speak for myself and admit that I have until recently done very little writing throughout the pandemic, and the smallness of my efforts was beginning to take a very serious toll. More and more this year I was feeling the way I always feel when I go too long without writing anything of substance—fractured, unfocused, uninterested. But I pulled out my I-word here and there, opened a Word file … and, eventually, what do you know. Ignition. I am now fully immersed in a writing project conceived while meditating on my I-word, and, as always before, my almost daily writing practice is my salvation.

And now here we are; the Maine sky has begun to take on that saturated blue of September, and there’s a hint of chill in the morning air. I do relish opening the door to this third season. We’re back! And we need new words.

We are writers, first, and by necessity. Our drive to discover and spotlight fine, moving, unique work is born entirely of our reverence for every aspect of writing as makers. This project of crafting art with words … we just can’t get enough of it. But it’s clear to all of us that the wheel has to keep turning. If all the water flows in one direction only, under and through the wheel, from us and into the magazine—none lifted by the turning blades, none coming back to us—then there is no replenishing and the source runs dry.

In renewed understanding of how important it is that we nourish ourselves and each other as writers so that we can step up with enthusiasm and energy as editors, I suggested we select new I-words for our new season: Our 20^th or so season as writers, our 10^th or so season in writing community, and our 3^rd season as co-editors. All—writing, community, editing—linked and replenished by the waterwheel.

Our new words: Invent. Invest. Intensify.

Welcome to Season Three.

—Claire Guyton

May 1, 2022 By Claire Guyton

Editor’s Notebook: Our Homepage Quotes

May 2022

“View from the shore of Lake St. Clair, Tasmania” by Christian Bass via Unsplash.

Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake. —Jean Rhys

Originally, we expected to use this Jean Rhys quote from our inaugural issue (September 2020) as a permanently published inspirational “header” for each issue of Waterwheel Review. But somewhere along the way, one of us suggested we choose a new quote for every issue, and I’m pretty sure we agreed with no need for discussion.

We take turns selecting the quote, and I’m very happy to report that because I accidentally took the first turn by choosing the Rhys quote—I think I included it when I pitched (via email) the idea of this magazine to Cheryl and Suzanne, and it stayed with us as a guiding star as we developed our plans—I will always be blissfully free of the task in our final two months of the (nine-month) season. Because I DO see it as a task, rather than as a joyful opportunity, I always get a little anxious about it. I want to get it right.

What does it mean to get it right? I want the quote I select to speak to the three pieces we’re publishing that month and what we’re hearing in the news and what each of the three of us is experiencing in our lives and say something important and timeless about art and writing. About which—all of which—I always think too much. Until I get tired of thinking about it all and decide instead to think about how I feel about all of these things and reach for a line that sums up that feeling. Maybe. I’m really not sure. I just know I eventually land on something, and I’m always very thankful when Cheryl and Suzanne give me the thumbs up.

I decided not to ask my co-editors, for this post, what their quote-seeking missions are like, and whether they experience anxiety. I’d rather preserve the mystery. In each not-my-turn month, I find myself wondering, as the weeks go by, what sort of tone my co-editor’s chosen quote will have, what element of writing or art-making might be addressed. Will I feel a rush of recognition and hold it close? Or will I take a long look, sigh into it, wonder about it. Sometimes the quote speaks directly to where I am as a writer the day I see it, which feels like a small miracle.

I hope—but I don’t want to know!—that Cheryl and Suzanne don’t worry quite so much about whether they’re getting their quote… right. Anyway they always do.

Much more fun: I asked each of my co-editors to tell us which of our eighteen chosen quotes is her all-time favorite.

Cheryl’s favorite comes from Issue #3 (November 2020):

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. —J.R.R. Tolkein

I love the colloquial diction and the soft and rhythmic syntax. How it begins with the lofty, “All we have to decide,” as if decisions were easy, as if deciding what to do with one’s time, which measures into one’s life, is simple. As if everyone has such luxury. The statement ends with the more quotidian, “the time that is given us”—a call to remain present, intentional, like a prayer or meditation. This blend of high-minded with the everyday reminds me that making a life is a matter of ongoing complexity, while on the surface, life often seems like only a matter of which television show to binge-watch.

Suzanne chose four favorites, including the Jean Rhys quote—“This speaks to me as publisher of Waterwheel Review (I will listen, Jean Rhys)”—and the following three:

Above all, don’t forget. Commit everything—each blade of grass, each teary-eyed child, each unmarked grave—to memory. Then when you survive and are older, tell your story. —Andrew Lam (From Issue #5, January 2021)

As a writer without childhood memory, I commit everything—each moment when something feels off, each delightfully funny experience with my children, each surprising image that pops into my mind—to paper. Any and all of it is story.

The line of words fingers your own heart. It invades arteries, and enters the heart on a flood of breath; it presses the moving rims of thick valves; it palpates the dark muscle strong as horses, feeling for something, it knows not what. —Annie Dillard (From Issue #8, April 2021)

This is why I love to read, for WWR and in general. My heart engages.

Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. —Frances Hodgson Burnett (From Issue #17, April 2022)

Burnett’s line from The Little Prince comes closest to my idea of the spiritual.

And my favorite? One that gets it right, of course! Even more right than our inaugural Rhys quote that I will always hold dear. Always right. And it’s from one of my all-time favorite writers, who wrote one of my all-time favorite short stories, “A Hunger Artist.”

I give you the quote Suzanne selected for Issue #2 (October 2020):

Writing is a form of prayer. —Franz Kafka

My blog post, my decree: We will never do better than that.

To my dear Cheryl and Suzanne, and to our dear (54!) authors, I’m sending all the gratitude and love your way as we close out our second glorious season of Waterwheel Review. May we all keep feeding the lake.

—Claire Guyton