I’m going to start sounding redundant, I realize. And like a major kiss ass.

For that, I apologize. But I assure you: my recent and repetitive enshrining of Regina Barreca is entirely circumstantial. Really, it is. Have I mentioned she’s my professor this semester? This probably doesn’t make you believe me any more, now does it.

Oh, well. At the risk of sounding Barreca-obsessed (which exists as a scientifically-proven condition, just read the press), I wanted to tell you all a little bit more about what she’s written. Though this time, it’s not only because it’s knock-your-socks-off good (which it is), but because it’s oh-so-pertinent to all of us involved in the Creative Writing Program and the LRR.

These articles talk about budding writers, and the reality (or lack thereof) that surrounds the publishing world for them.

Doesn’t it sometimes all feel so romantic? Getting published? Seeing your name in print for the first time? Slaving away in an isolated cabin, perfecting your creative genius while sipping tea, turning everything that pours out of your mind into deft, flowing metaphors that will one day (depending on how much tea you sip and metaphors you craft) get you featured in the New Yorker?

It feels at times as though there is this dreamy cloud surrounding the idea of being a writer, or maybe one day a Writer. And while the cloud is nice, and comfortable, and fluffy like clouds tend to be, I think there should be a healthy balance of realism. Which is where Regina comes in.

Barreca writes honestly and with an often-neglected perspective on the publishing world. To give you a taste:

“What else do I wish my colleagues — especially the hundreds of very young colleagues — at AWP were able to discuss with more honesty? How about the fact that it would be easier to land a starring role in Cirque du Soleil — one of the ones where you leap to the ceiling from a standing position on your tiptoes, do a triple somersault, and land gracefully balanced on one elbow — than to get an unsolicited short story or poem into The New Yorker? How about accepting the fact that the odds show we’d have a better chance of making it to the finale of Dancing With the Stars than of getting even the most tender, early, lovingly penned poetry published in The Paris Review? And everyone, at a very early age, should be informed with as much kindness as possible, that while hand-making your own paper from assorted wildflowers culled from national wildlife and writing your own poetry on it in beautiful calligraphy, sewing the binding with colored silk thread, and selling copies to your family, friends, and members of your writing group is adorable, it probably will not help your chances of getting a deal with a press.”

I’m posting the links below. Do go read these, even it is from your isolated cabin, while sipping tea. Here’s to a healthy balance in expectations. And to getting published one day, of course.

Part 1, and Part 2