This is Richard. I’m the nonfiction editor at Sundog. I hope your day’s going well.
I’m not very good at maintaining an internet presence. I’m an inconsistent writer-of-blogs. I’ve never Twittered. I have a Facebook, but I only write on it when I think of a joke to tell, and that’s not more than once or twice a month. And the jokes really aren’t that good. I’m not exploring the full potential of my Facebook account.
I don’t know why this is. Usually, I’ll be on the cusp of a Facebook post or whatever, and I’ll think to myself– does anyone really want to read this? And then my answer is always, Oh, man, I dunno. And then I don’t post anything. Justin Daugherty, our founder/managing editor, is waaaay better at this stuff than I am.
BUT: the nonfiction queue at Sundog is becoming depleted. We’re not getting very many submissions. So maybe if I write in this blog once a week or so it will remind you that Sundog has a nonfiction section? And this reminder will inspire you to write and submit to us your creative nonfiction? Because we’d really like to read your creative nonfiction.
I can’t write a lot right now—I’m sitting in a food court in a shopping mall in Milwaukee, and I’m about to leave to meet some friends. I’m visiting Milwaukee for the day, and I entered this shopping mall to utilize its public restrooms. Though, TRAVEL ADVISORY: the public restrooms at this shopping mall in Milwaukee do not measure up. No paper towels, and the floors and walls are coated in urine. TWO STARS (of a possible six).
But send us your nonfiction—Justin has written a lot about the sorts of things we look for. And I wrote a blog-post about it once. But I’ll say this—I’m drawn to essays that speak to their readers in direct and energetic ways. I like it when the voice of an essay is so distinct that I feel as though the author is sitting across from me at a table and trying to convince me of something. Which is a vague, new-agey thing to say, but you know what I mean, maybe: you finish these essays and feel less alone, and as though the world around you is stranger, and larger, and more beautiful than you’d been giving it credit for. Nonfiction is good for this. Send us things like that.
Especially now. It’s March. It’s cloudy. I keep stepping into puddles. I can’t find my scarf. I’m longing for sun and dry sidewalks and weather so temperate that I forget I even own a scarf. Send us essays that make me forget how much America’s Upper Great Lakes Region sucks this time of year.
Lastly, I’ll encourage all of you to synchronize your mobile devices with this page: this way, when I post something new, your smartphones and pagers will buzz in your pockets and alert you to my activity. Readers who often find themselves “on the go” may find this tip especially helpful.
Just kidding. I don’t know if any of that’s possible.
Send us your nonfiction. We’d like to read it.