Starving Art was published in The Spotlong Review. You can read it here.

As most writers know, the journey from idea to publication is often a long one with many boulders littering a trail of stubbed toes and hurt feelings. Rejection rates from literary journals are high (many only have a 1% acceptance rate, several less). Editors (and readers) must choose between thousands of submissions. Beyond talent, it is somewhat of a numbers game.

Such is the reality of the literary journal publishing world, that we writers attempt to translate rejections, we have wiki sites dedicated to decoding our rejections (“positive” or “standard”?) and can even join a Rejection Competition (I did). I set my goal to 100 rejections for 2026, with the hope of at least a few acceptances, too.

Given these dire stats, receiving an acceptance while I was away at my self-imposed one-week writing retreat on the isle of Spetses—a time I devoted to writing—was perfect timing. I felt validated for taking myself and my work seriously.

Read the other authors in Issue XIII

As with most submissions, there were many rejections for Starving Art. I’ll share my publication’s vitals below the post.

An excerpt:

This piece began after a friend K— from Seattle texted me the news about the Denmark pig exhibit. At the same time, the icon art controversy erupted here in Greece. Over drinks in Exarchia, I had a conversation with my friend D— about both exhibits. That night, I composed the original piece in a flurry (a fast hurry).

This short piece went through several edits, but I tried to keep it as tight and sparse as possible. The form also needed to starve, I felt.

The artist shouldn’t speak. (I aspire to this, but will blather on upon the subtlest hints of request.) For anyone interested in further reading, you can check out Toronto Pig Save and Regan Russell.

And now, the stats. 🔢

Stats for Starving Art 🤓

Unlike a few other pieces that I’ve been working on (and off) for several years, I began the first draft of Starving Art only a year ago. It also went through several revisions and titles including Starving is Not a Game and Starving a Game).

Here was its journey:

• Began draft in March 2025

• Submitted to 34 publications

• Rejected by 21 publications

• Received positive (“tiered”) rejections from 4 publications

• Withdrew (upon acceptance) from 11 publications

Some of the rejections were of previous iterations. I reworked the piece several times before it was accepted.

In contrast, a recent piece (Understanding Birdsong) I submitted to five publications. It was rejected once then accepted. But I had been working (sporadically) on the piece for years.

Big thanks to my writing friend Marisa for her critique that helped me improve the piece, and of course my friends K— and D—. Thank you so much for reading and hearting this post (if you liked it!).

Read Starving Art.

📹 Bonus: 28 second trailer for Starving Art complete with bouzouki and church bells.

Have you had similar publication journeys? How do you manage rejections? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

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Below, I’ll share what this entailed, should you be interested in creating your own. (Or just scroll on for some nice photos of the Greek island of Spetses.)

Preparations

Mental: It feels indulgent to do a “retreat” in the midst of suffering. I encourage you to read my following justifications while rolling your eyes. Has life ever been free of suffering? Does staying home help suffering? Could it be that a refresh can help facilitate connection, and reduce suffering? Please return your eyes to their middle locations.

Timing: I decided one week was sufficient. After completing the retreat, I agree with past me.

Location: I booked a simple room on the island of Spetses with a desk and sea view, close enough to town to grab groceries or eat at a restaurant, but far enough away to encourage walking. Spetses is a two-hour fast ferry ride from the nearby port of Piraeus.

Outcome hopes: On the ferry ride over, I wrote my hopes for the retreat. These included clarity (on writing well, direction, habits), curiosity about how it feels to be off news & socials, the joy of being away in a new environment and by myself, a refresh, progressing on short stories, and finishing draft #4 of my novel, The Universe is Silent (so we make noise). Check and check! (The bike ride did not happen. Shop was closed.)

Program: Ooh, my fun nerd place. I created a “Spetses” spreadsheet before going with an hourly schedule (image of my schedule further below).

Daily retreat activities

I opened my day with 10-minute standing yoga and writing a new short story. The hotel served breakfast (oatmeal, soy yogurt, coffee, fruit, bread & marmalade). I read while eating alone.

I headed to a coffee shop for two hours to work on my novel after breakfast, powered by an oat cappuccino (no soy available, but oat’s nice too).

Back home (a 15 minute walk) I did my “lunch & learn” (usually a one-hour video on the writing craft I had in my “watch later” queue). Most of the time I “self-catered” with either leftovers or a can of gigantes beans and dolmades.

After lunch & learn, I would take in a walk and/or cultural activity, then work on the novel again a couple hours. At the end of the day I read other writers’ short stories. Sometimes I watched a documentary, but read always. I also wrote a “diary” of highlights from each day.

Rules

No socials, no email, no news, no calls. I set an out-of-office on my Gmail and moved my social apps folder off to another screen.

It was incredible to be off news and socials. It made me reconsider how to structure something similar in my day-to-day life. Maybe a once per week check-in? It can be difficult with promotional activities (band, writing).

It was a great joy to mostly be silent.

I did call mom for her birthday. Also, Rob joined me for the weekend, but I still continued retreat activities around our hanging out and cold-plunge (more on that below).

I did not maintain my normal workout schedule (running Mon/Wed/Fri and 30 min weights/strengthening video Tues/Thur) but did find this handy setup I used a few times:

Highlights

Acceptance: Not completely retreat-related, but one of my short creative nonfiction pieces (Starving a Game) got accepted into a literary journal! I do not know when it will come out, but I felt validation for taking my writing seriously with this retreat and day-to-day.

Conflict: I’m a bit late to the party here, but I loved Ursula Le Guin’s short essay The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction. In writing stories, I have often resisted the idea that for a story to move forward it needs conflict in the form of violence or an extreme event. She uses the contrast examples of story as hunting vs gathering. Her essay brilliantly conveys the more difficult and rewarding task is in excavating human character (gathering—for which a ‘carrier bag’ is needed). The story lies within the person gathering the potatoes rather than the action-adventure mammoth-spearing.

Bonus: Her short story about class/hierarchy The Ones Who Walked Away from Omelas has also lingered in my imagination. A recommended read.

Starting: I worked on seven short stories, of which about five I had not yet started before the retreat. Each of them pulled me in and continue to beckon me to finish them, a good sign. The short 30- to 45-minute format (and fresh AM start) helped me with the hardest part: getting started.

Finishing: I finished draft #4 of my novel! In draft #4, I cut the text from 142K words to 123K. I am now ready to print it out to read it and ensure it gels and attempt to cut out another 30K words. Meanwhile, I’m researching best practices in finding a critique partner and beta readers.

Fish playing! Oh my gosh, this should not surprise me. But one day, we spotted schools of fish (tiny, medium, and bigger) all trying to seemingly eat this piece of white plastic. Each took a turn chomping at it, darted away, then repeat. Some flipped up out of the water. Even the big boy took a turn. It was then I realized they probably all knew it was not food, they were playing as one does with a ball. I mean, a fish has to fill her time, too, right? It was delightful to watch. (I confirmed evidence suggests fish play.)

Dipping: Rob and I did a cold-plunge in the sea! Whoa, was it chilly. After I stayed in for about 10 minutes, my body adjusted. I later met a retired captain/sailor from Spetses who advised we should have splashed our chests first before entering to acclimate our hearts.

Spetses island: The beauty and its beast

Spetses was beautiful. Clear sea, wonderful seaside walking, pine forests, kind people.

I enjoyed hiking up to the ancient-looking theater pictured above and sitting in nature for a bit. One man from the town cautioned me it was not possible by foot, too difficult. It was paved the entire way.

The cats are also well cared for, complete with restaurants and a hotel!

These foldaway cardboard pooper-scoopers were a new one for me:

Spetses also has an incredible history, including being the home of one of the first woman naval commanders Laskarina Bouboulina, who rallied up fighters during the Greek War of Independence in 1821, provided a ship, and stood beside her troops as they fought for independence from the Ottoman Empire.

The only cloud in Spetses’ surrounding beauty is a rather loud one, and that is the abundance of motorcycles whizzing around. Since it is a personal-car-free island, most opt for motorized transport rather than walking or bicycling (though this was available). People rode so close to me on the roads that I felt unsafe. Some alleyways were narrow and without visibility (un-mirrored) so I often ran through these corridors hoping for the best.

Another cloud was the beast-of-burden as tourist highlight: horse carriage rides. Those horses were so saddled up with gear and depressed looking (frequent stomping) it was difficult to watch (though thankfully it was off-season so I did not see them much).

My main fear—as with any non-city location in Greece—was loose dogs, but Spetses only seemed to have cats and one loud goose. Still, I kept my garlic spray handy when venturing away from the town!

Once, I stopped to ask a man working on his home for directions, and a goose in a walled yard area (not ideal habitat, I’m sure) began honking loudly. As we continued to speak, the goose increased his/her frequency of honking. Soon, I could hear almost nothing the man said. He seemed undisturbed. I asked if this was his “guard goose” and he said, “Yes, better than a dog!”

How about you—have you considered a solo writing retreat? What kind of retreat would you plan? Would you cold-plunge? Let me know in the comments!

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Hello readers!

Excited to share this short piece with you. The Case for Rescuing Cans is a satirical look at a prosecuting attorney’s comparison of rescuing two sick piglets to rescuing dented cans. I thank him for the comedy gold.

I wrote this in ‘22 in the wake of the trial against an animal advocate for rescuing said piglets from the Smithfield factory farm.

Thanks to Laughs not Slaughs for publishing my work! Be sure to check them out for more herbivorious humor.

I saw The Christmas Story as a kid and continue to enjoy the concepts it brought to life, from FRAGILE (fra-gee-lay) to never licking an ice-cube.

As I write and submit my work to literary journals and peers for critique in writing groups, it is this fruit basket story that sticks out most for me. In the movie, all the kids drop off a Christmas present for their teacher, but Ralphie wants to impress her even more so she will grade his essay favorably. Rather than just give her a piece of fruit or card like his classmates, he plops a huge fruit basket rivaling Hickory Farms onto her desk.

Whether it is submitting my writing to a literary journal or for critique, by the time I am ready to hit “send” I am feeling, overall, pretty good about my work. Like Ralphie, I have just produced a bountiful basket of fruit—not just an apple like those other fools—and placed this basket on the recipient’s desk (after careful arrangement, of course).

I stare with his eager anticipation, ready for feedback like:

Stunning.

Never have I read prose that made me reconsider all of our classics.

The case for “late bloomers” has been made with this rich new voice. A voice , I dare say, of a generation! Albeit, an older generation.

Where has she been hiding all my life?

I can go on. I love a good discovery narrative!

As the months pass (in the case of submissions to literary journals) or as the critiques roll in (in the case of writing groups) I transmogrify into Ralphie in the second photo, below.

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You can sit down, Eleni.

By now Ralphie has placed the fruit basket on his teacher’s desk and stares at her in gleeful anticipation. But when she reacts to his gift, it is not with adoration but as if he had grown an additional (pineapple) head.

Instead of accolades, I hear:

I said you can take your seat, Eleni.

To back up: Recently, a bit delayed albeit, I realized my writing could use other perspectives besides my own. I decided to find or create a writing critique group. The only problem: I currently live in Athens, Greece, and finding a critique group in English would prove tricky. Rather than re-inventing the wheel–which in this ancient setting would have been apropos–I searched online and found Zoom-based groups in English. I tried several of them and whittled my choices down to two (now one).

I submitted one of my short story for critique for the first time. Though I felt the piece was mostly finished (a stunner, really!) I felt a primordial dread rivaling the snake in the grass of our cave days. Yet, once I stopped shaking, I found most of the feedback to be extraordinarily helpful in bettering my piece, and in seeing much that I missed in its telling. In subsequent submissions of my work, I have had a similar experience.

Embracing my inner Ralphie has been extremely helpful because I am on to myself: At the end of every “finished” work of writing I will inevitably feel like I just put the best fruit basket in front of the about-to-be-stunned world. Then I will chuckle, pause, and remind myself of Ralphie:

Give it a few days, then revisit your work. You’ll be glad you did not submit this stunner quite yet. You can take your seat now.

This Ralphie approach helped me recognize that in a few days—possibly even the next day—my writing will not seem as fresh and flawless and “ready” as I had thought. Both editing myself and using heads outside my own help create the best possible work.

Ralphie tempers my expectations. His gift says: Keep editing, keep working. At least for a bit.

The wisdom of the fruit basket. Thank you, Ralphie. Your gift has borne more fruit than you realize.

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This article was adapted from its original on You Big Talker.

After Greek independence from the Ottoman Empire, there was a movement to clean up the language from its newer Byzantine influences and bring it back more in line with ancient Greek language(s). The compromise—a mix of the ancient and modern Demotic—was called Katharevousa (“purifying language”).

Unsurprisingly, this make-Greek-great-again call was favored by conservatives, including the Greek dictatorship.

Though it was abolished in 1982, Katharevousa still made its mark on the current language.

This forcing of language, or embalming of culture, interests me greatly as a writer. There are always new ways of understanding words and the addition of new words or slang. Some of these changes take us by surprise, some of these we resist.

Notably, the Greek church still uses the Katharevousa language in official documents.

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No matter how hard we might resist change, though, our very natures demand it. Of course, every change is a step toward death, so to speak, in the sense of newness replacing the old; which may feed our reticence.

What is dead? Something stagnant and unmoving.

Like the centerpiece for Thanksgiving. And yet, many undoubtedly feel comforted by the dead bird at the center of the table. Those who have taken in and accepted more information about this animal are discomforted. And so, change.

Holidays and traditions are like language: Ever changing, ever evolving, fluid, undead. There are certain unchanging ideals that thread throughout holidays—gratitude as part of Thanksgiving, for instance—but the centerpiece, and the way this gratitude is expressed, can and should change with lives and experience.

Many feel ambivalent about the holiday perhaps because of unpleasant familial associations or due to its roots in colonialism and the subsequent oppression and massacre of indigenous people. For many Native individuals it is a day of mourning.

As we gather this Thanksgiving, we wish the hearts of all people, Native and non-Native, are filled with hope and healing. Together, let’s pledge to dismantle the physical, economic, educational, psychological, and spiritual barriers that divide and oppress us. —NativeHope.org

Even the above group calls for a continuing recognition of the day with these caveats in mind.

Today’s traditional Thanksgiving meal deviates from the 1621 original, which was only documented from two sources (note how much English had changed since this time in the linked document). Though there was “fowle,” the THREE DAY celebration reportedly also included hunted deer, beans, fish, pigeon, and in short anything available during the season:

“…we are so farre from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plentie.” —Edward Windslow, courtesy Pilgrim Hall Museum

Translation: We gotta ton of grub. Come grab some.

So perhaps the following creation should be considered a deer substitute instead of turkey?

Enter the infamous Jack Daniels Vegan Roast, pictured above—my first baby. Is it weird to call him/it a baby? Possibly. But each one has been different, and I love them all equally. For over fifteen years, I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving in a variety of ways. All involved some kind of plant-based version of the turkey centerpiece. Before I continue, let me get this out of the way.

FAQ

(Frequently asked & answered question)

Reader1: Why do you like to recreate/eat “meat” analogs when you are veg/vegan?

Me: Do you like meat?

Reader1: Yes!

Me: Me too!

/ FAQ

The first, and probably my favorite version of the holiday, began in North Carolina in 2007, when I hosted my first vegan Thanksgiving record party. Guests brought their favorite records to spin and plant-based foods to eat. In time, we would welcome up to fifty guests for one memorable night.

No danger of being discovered as the next Forty-under-forty supermodel

The 2010 version of this record party was even covered by the local alt-weekly at the time, which coincided with my “I’m not even going to try to look presentable” phase as evidenced by the photo below. In fact, it had just rained, and I walked in said rain, then proceeded to sit for the interview without so much as a good brushing or toweling.

The article: Eleni Vlachos’ vegan Thanksgiving sidesteps politics for community

The article includes a recipe for my veggie pot pie, but since that time I’ve moved on to this vegan Chicken Pot Pie.

I’m not thankful for…

In another version of the holiday, our HVAC decided to freeze over the day of the party. We lit our small wood-burning stove and asked guests to write what they were NOT thankful for on a piece of paper. One of our more extroverted friends read out the entries, and summarily threw each into the fire amid cheers. At some point we hosts took over as evidenced by this photo.

In yet another version, we invited local artist friends to display their artwork as sort of an art-gallery show.

When we moved to Philly, we continued the tradition before it was cut short by COVID then our move to Greece.

Making fun of tradition

Another themes I’m eternally interested in are our intersecting beliefs and actions with our lives. For instance, we may feel extremely grateful and thankful, and express this through words of acknowledgement, but be a bit deed-light. In Philly, I filmed a skit exploring this in a way that may condone duct tape use for people who don’t believe as you do. Poor, unfortunate Laser Beam (played by my long-suffering husband, Rob).

It’s two minutes if you want to take a look and laugh with/at us.

(No turkeys were hurt, only feelings. And oh, how I miss that May Wah drumstick!)

In Greece, the tradition continues among ex-pats, and this year, with family. Two years ago, I converted my Gritty roast into a Metaxa Roast to be culturally sensitive.

This year, I’m going to give Juicy Marbles a try—they are a mushroom-based vegan meat.

What about you? Any favorite plant-based dishes or traditions for the holiday? Or do you hate tan foods? Have you changed your approach to the holiday through the years?

Do you agree language should evolve, and holidays?

Let me know in the comments!

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The story follows Alma, a musician who grew up in a squat, a cult, and on the road in motels with her mother until she is abandoned in New Mexico at her grandmother’s. Themes in the book include the wild vs civilized, controlling bodies/borders/land, and filling an absence of answers with our own. (Chapters are split into sections according to the stages of breaking a horse. More on this next week.)

The no quotation “controversy”

I’ve made the (controversial) choice not to use quotation marks around dialogue. Here is one example from my first chapter:

Eve always needs something, Debra told Liz one day after service at Fourth Methodist. They stayed behind to plan a social event and huddled piously in the sanctuary under its domed wooden rafters after everyone but God had left. Their whispers fell into pews and tucked into Bibles.

Meanwhile, I’m involved in writing critique groups, which has helped my writing tremendously. I trust and respect the feedback from most of the group members. One of the most oft-repeated critiques I receive is some version of

I found it humorous when one person said my writing needed punctuation, which sounded to me like I had never noticed the conventional use of quotation marks and further didn’t use any punctuation.

I am late to the list of writers who forgo the golden “ ”. Authors from James Joyce to Cormac McCarthy to Faulkner to Paul Auster to the contemporary Sally Rooney, Junot Diaz, Samantha Harvey, and Ali Smith do not use the holy marks. I have read these authors—in some cases to gain an understanding of how to do no-quotes well—and loved the quietness of the lack of markings. (Admittedly, I slogged through Auster’s 4321, but that was more due to the repetitiveness, not the lack of quotation marks.)

Quotation marks feel like the interruption of dining out and being checked on every few moments

“Everything alright?”

“Still good?”

“How’s everything?”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Would you get the hell out of my restaurant?”

Admittedly I made that last sentence up. But that’s how it feels. (I’m okay with italics.)

Cormac McCarthy said, “I believe in periods, in capitals, in the occasional comma, and that’s it…if you write properly you shouldn’t have to punctuate.” (Note I used quotes, since the article did. Sorry Cormac!)

I am not completely anti-“ ”. I have used them in my short stories. And I realize I must learn, as a new fiction writer, to execute their lack well. It often works for more experienced authors due to the care they take to ensure the reader is not completely lost.

But this novel is about (in part) the silences we fill. I want it to be quiet. Meditative. Streamy. Uninterrupted. So I’ve stubbornly kept the quotes out despite the pushback. I want the silence. I love lines that run into one another but keep flowing like an unstoppable ride.

But many do not. The topic polarizes, it divides. There are many discussions on the internets including a thread on Reddit: Lack of Quotation Marks.

For many readers, the absent roadmap leads them to feel they are pulled out of their reading, kicked out. As a writer, shouldn’t I maximize readership and find ways to retain the few readers I may have?

And most importantly: Is this the quote-free punctuation hill I should perish upon?

Or should I trust my <quote> TRUE </unquote> readers to understand?

One critiquer said at first he found my excerpt difficult, but by the end he was fully immersed. So it could work, if readers are willing to invest.

But that is a huge IF.

What about you? Do you love or hate unconventional punctuation? Have you written without quotation marks? Let me know in the comments!

Writers assign hierarchies to the rejections of fiction and non-fiction from literary journals and call “good” rejections “tiered.”

Our chosen occupation leads us to so many closed doors that we can find joy in the tiniest crack of the basement cellar opening. In fact, there is a wiki devoted to chronicling these rejections, Rejections Wiki. I have consulted it on numerous occasions to determine my rejection level, often crestfallen to learn mine was just a “standard” rejection being polite. Leading me on.

I’ve perused the tiered rejections to dream of my own one day. That tiny bit of validation from others in the field, where no means no but sometimes let’s be friends. Finally, it has happened.

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In what other industry do we celebrate rejections?

I have trained well for a barrage of No’s having played in an unknown indie-pop band for 20+ years, where rather than tiered rejections we receive radio silences.

For anyone unfamiliar, submitting writing to literary journals involves more “No” than “Yes” responses. Writers must become comfortable with rejections just by virtue of the sheer volume of them. Journals themselves often receive thousands of submissions per month, and many of them are run by volunteer slush readers with limited budgets and time.

To illustrate the rates of rejections, I will share a tale of perseverance matching Robert Pirsig’s when he submitted his classic Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to 121 publishers before acceptance (and his book is still on shelves):

Last month, I really enjoyed a story in one of the “The Best American Short Stories” collections and read the writer’s statement in the back. His story, he shared, was rejected 100 times. On the 101st time, he sent it to one of the same journals who rejected him, but who by then had a new editor (because that’s how long it takes, folks!). They accepted.

His story was good enough to be in a competitive anthology, but was still rejected 100 times.

The author had to put aside any feelings of doubt about himself or his story and keep submitting. For me, this is a difficult task. Even a few No’s can start to deflate esteem.

Submitting to literary journals is more competitive than Harvard

I am committing the false equivalence fallacy here, equating admission to Harvard (3.5%) to a story landing in, say, The Iowa Review (<1.98%). Apples and oranges. (But still, a story in The Iowa Review? Impossible and therefore incredible. I might have better chances at Harvard.)

The acceptance rates for journals vary from less than 1% for more esteemed publications to 50%-ish for lesser-known or newer journals. Some, including the two I received tiered rejections from, have been known to report a 0% acceptance rate. Zero!

What is a writer to do?

Here is where the math classes I ignored come in handy. In addition to honing one’s craft, strategy and numbers (#) are important to land a “yes.”

I try to set aside time to submit as much as possible. Most accept simultaneous submissions, and if they do not, I do not consider them. Ten outstanding journals at once. One rejects me, I submit another.

Some authors start submitting to well-known journals first, then, once rejected, submit to the next level of journal. I find the site Chill Subs extremely helpful in navigating submissions due to their filtering capability. Their second-highest-tiered journals are playfully classified as “Not Paris Review, but ok.”

Once the writer submits, the wait begins.

A complicating factor is time: Often writers must now wait six months or more to hear back after submitting their work. So when writers do hear anything, it’s like Lassie has just returned home, traversing thousands of miles to find us.

Where were you, Lassie?

Happy rejections: Respected-rejected

Many rejection emails assure you it’s not you, it’s them—a default response in the dating world since we crawled out of the sea. Your writing is fine (and so are you!), the journal simply did not have room or it did not fit the theme. Most rejections are boiler plate sorry, it just did not work for us (not to be interpreted as I hate you unless you’re having a bad day).

So when complimentary rejections do arrive, these tiered missives feel extra special. They add a skip to one’s step. When I received my first I felt I truly became a writer. Keep in mind my writing was still rejected but with nice words around it.

Good writing! Swoon!

Since the journal has a less than 1% acceptance rate and receives 12K submissions each year, I felt respected rejected.

The second tiered rejection came last week, from another esteemed journal with a .78% - 1% acceptance rate.

Oh, will I ever! And in 14 pt Times New Roman doublespace loudspeaker font.

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Doubts about tiered rejections

To the naked eye (or even the clothed eye) the above happy rejections may seem quite insignificant and possibly sad to the point where you may want to reach out and check in on me (or check me in) to make sure I am not in a deep depression. But in our industry, we celebrate these tiny words. Every tiny word counts.

Until they do not. What I really want to know is how many people get tiered rejections from the publications. What is that rate?

Then I will truly celebrate! (Or not, if 80% or more get them.)

How about you? What are your takes on tiered rejections? Have you received a tiered rejection? Are we a twisted bunch for celebrating our failures if they are sugar-coated even if the sugar is real and satisfyingly rush-inducing?

Let me know in the comments!

I just finished reading Ocean Vuong’s The Emperor of Gladness, and once again am confronted with assigning the number of stars it deserves. As my (unstarred) Goodreads review shares, there were many things I loved about Vuong’s writing: The strength of his poetic language, his ability to step back and witness the universe in a turn of phrase, and his so-accurate-you-feel-there descriptions of both characters and place are beautiful.

And yet, I wanted the book to be over by 30% of the way in, and that feeling only grew stronger.

I found myself trying to decide how many stars I would give his book while reading the text. I fluctuated from two stars to four then doubled back to three.

But publicly striking my gavel and assigning a three-star review? The book has depth, and the story had its moments. It seemed crude, unfair. Also, distracting to my actually enjoying the book.

There is also the inconvenient business of being a writer, which technically means these authors are “co-workers” of sorts (even if my job is still in the basement of the literary world at the moment cleaning the lint traps of dryers). Should we writers deploy the 360 degree feedback model and rank away our fellow workers—who we know drip their bitter sweat onto each page—with dismissive astral numerology?

Star bombs and star confession

I will not delve too far into the troublesome review-bomb scams involving fake rankings or trashing of books, but the star system arguably makes review-bombing easier.

Full disclaimer: I use stars to quickly assess a purchase or place. (“Two point five stars? What is WRONG with this bar?” {reads more reviews out of intrigue}.)

I also used stars to write my first published short story, A Review of Hotel Poseidon.

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Case Study #1

A rant about biased stars disguised as Case Study #1

I cannot understate how valuable the platform HappyCow has been in my travels. It provides the very helpful forcing device of narrowing down too many decisions of where to dine. It adds adventure to travel stops, since I inevitably go to places I would not have otherwise and often meet fellow vegans.

However, it has one feature that annoys me to star-eyed rolling every time I want to give a five-star review to a restaurant with delicious plant-based options: It only allows up to four stars (out of 5) for non-veg establishments. Shouldn’t the site encourage the patronage of places going out of their way to add delicious plant-based options to their menus?

Beloved restaurants with some of the best vegan options appear to be four-star establishments. One cannot sneeze at four stars, but still, one can.

Star solutions: Bring back curse tablets?

I would be remiss in not proposing serious solutions of my own to the dilemma.

Solution #1: Curse tablets

The urge to rate our fellow people, places, and purchases has ancient roots in curse tablets. The practice: Write a curse on a clay shard then throw it into someone’s tomb. Not the accursed: Any grave will do; even wells work as in the case of poor Glykeria whose vagina was cursed by someone jealous of her marriage. The point was to get it to the underworld. Curses were not limited to female anatomy. Ancient Athenian tavern keepers were also cursed by their unhappy gambling patrons.

There may be plenty of potholes in your town. Why not fill one up with your reviews?

Solution #2: Booking for Books

Perhaps Goodreads could borrow a page from hotel booking platforms, where a user can rate separate related categories. For hotels, this includes wifi, location, and comfort, for example. For books: Plot, enjoyment, characters, believability, language, and The Author Seems Like a Sweetheart don’t blacklist me for not loving his book.

Are you pro-star or anti- or somewhere in-between? What ranking categories (if any) do you think are missing from sites like Goodreads?

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Still, I am fairly well-baked, probably not much changed from my wee times of writing books, interviewing people, drawing my own comic characters, and making guitars out of tissue boxes.

The description, then, of this Substack, for now:

Silent shouts from writer-me including writing tips & tragedies, the latest literary fiction enjoyed or endured, and a possible freak-show to be named Paxon’s Prose Pantomime.

Big Substack Smooches to everyone who has subscribed! I promise not to send my silent shouts too often; both to avoid annoying you but also due to my own short attention span-induced difficulty in maintaining certain communication projects.

Any guesses on what Paxon’s Prose Pantomime might involve? Outlandish answers only, please!