About Christmas Music

A couple of weeks ago, a sales representative in the Johnson City, TN, Books-a-Million told me that I should have asked permission before taking a shot with my camera phone of one of the displays. I was photographing a Christmas display that had gone up in the middle of October. Already, like many of the other stores in my area (I suppose around the country), the retailers are getting in another early shot at the holidays, fearful that we consumers may forget that the holidays are on the way and that they will not be able to make sales quotas yet again. I am not going to go all nostalgic about the days when people hardly mentioned Christmas until we had begun eating the Thanksgiving meals, but something shook me this morning in a way I did not expect to feel. I was in a local supermarket, and I thought I heard Christmas music playing in the background. I nearly bolted.

Some of you may not know that I was a disc jockey at a small country station in my hometown, and, since I was a part-timer, I had a lot of the impossible holiday shifts. One year, the management thought it would be a good idea to run Christmas music for the entire programming day. I had exposure to Christmas music that hardly anyone would want to hear, and I had a lot of exposure to it.

Basically, there are two main problems with Christmas music. There is not a lot of good Christmas music, and the good Christmas music there is rarely gets the performance it deserves. These problems are particularly related in the music industry, so some explanation is in order.

Remember that performers earn money on Christmas recordings in two ways. The first has to do with performance rights, in that sometimes a performer offers such a definitive recording of a song that it become the version that just about everyone wants to hear. The other way is to write a Christmas song and to earn royalties from it. The second method offers a surer way to earn money from a song, because it is, bluntly, easier to sell folks a song than to make a lot of people love a recording so much that they want to buy it and hear it a great deal (when one factors in that a fan is going to buy practically every album an act releases, then one can see how easy it can be for a Christmas album to serve as a quickly produced product--hardly any new songs need to be written, it requires less marketing, and the company has a rough assurance of how many units will sell--there's a Lynyrd Skynyrd Christmas album still available). If all one is concerned about is turning a quick profit, Christmas songs have only to contend with other Christmas songs that will make for immediate competition.

For example, one of my favorite modern Christmas songs is Mel Torme's and Robert Wells' "The Christmas Song," the one that starts with "Chesnuts roasting on an open fire." The Nat "King" Cole recording of that song has become the standard. I imagine that Torme probably earned more money from that song than anything else he ever wrote or recorded himself, and, while Nat "King" Cole likely made some money from it, I doubt that his earnings came anywhere near Torme's and Wells'. Generally, performers make more money from their live performances than from their recordings, unless they are fortunate enough to have hits with songs they have written themselves.

Now, with Christmas music, we face the situation where people want to hear the traditional songs, but there is no real money for the performers in recording songs written by someone else. For that reason, most Christmas albums will feature an original song or two, usually written by the recording artist, so that when the albums sell, the artists will derive some extra income from the songs that they have written. Sometimes, these songs can be awfully good. Patty Loveless co-wrote three of the songs, "Santa Train," "Christmas Day at My House," and "Bluegrass, White Snow" on her Bluegrass & White Snow: A Mountain Christmas, and the songs convey a genuine sweetness contemporary songs rarely achieve. I also have to mention Tim O'Brien's "Making Plans" as a heartbreakingly good song about looking forward to coming home for the holidays. At the same time, Alan Jackson's "Merry Christmas to Me," on his Honky Tonk Christmas, is about as derivative a regretful break-up song as you can expect, only with Christmas trappings. Unfortunately, many of the new songs fall into this category of profitable album filler. I have to give Jackson credit, though, because another song on that album, "The Angels Cried" by Harley Allen and Deborah Nims, offers a perspective on the Nativity story one does not always encounter, the poignancy of the angels' knowledge of what the Christ Child would have to endure. Like few other contemporary Christmas songs, such as "There's a New Kid in Town" (written by Curly Putnam, Keith Whitley, and Don Cook). Joni Mitchell's "River," and Robert Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas from the Family" (a genuine O'Connoresque short story), these songs avoid the overt attempts at novelty hits and wearying retreads of "Twelve Days of Christmas."

I also face the problem during the holidays of hearing so-so versions of legendary songs so that we wonder how anyone could have considered them good ideas. To be fair, every once in a while, someone will record a familiar song in such a way that it comes to rival a classic performance. For example, Bruce Springsteen's take of the Crystals' version of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" (John Frederick Coots and Haven Gillespie) has an expression of joy in it that trumps the preciousness of the more traditional arrangements. As derided as Bob Dylan's Christmas in the Heart has been in recent critiques, his version of "Must Be Santa" (William Fredericks and Hal Moore) makes the traditional arrangements of all the other songs on the album seem anemic by comparison. Unfortunately, given the sales imperatives of making new seasonal profit, all too often the newer versions of songs seem ill-judged at best (Stevie Nicks released a version of "Silent Night" that attempts a solemnity but manages somnolence--I am sorry, Ms. Nicks, I have followed your career since "Frozen Love," but I have to be honest), and malicious at worst (Winger's "funky" acoustic version of "Silent Night," which begins with a fine traditional approach but turns into the sonic equivalent to getting a beautifully wrapped Tupperware pasta steamer in a "dirty Santa" exchange). What promises to be "heavenly peace" does not always turn out to be so.

Honestly, I understand that there will be a wide variety of taste and experience in selecting Christmas music. Madonna's "Santa Baby" (Joan Javits and Philip Springer) is an amusing "material girl" take on Eartha Kitt's version, but I like them both because I know them both. My younger children like the novelty songs, even the one where a drunken grandmother dies by reindeer hooves. And, frankly, there are times when I could hear Sarah McLachlan sing just about anything, so when she offers variations of "What Child Is This?" I go along. Still, I find some solace in selecting recordings and playing them rather than risking whatever might show up on the radio, and I dread what I might encounter in the store public address systems.

I am still looking, though, and finding treasures. Just recently, Sting released If on a Winter's Night . . . and I found on it versions of "Gabriel's Message" and "Cherry Tree Carol" that illuminate the lyrics. When Emmylou Harris released an expanded version of Light of the Stable, I was pleased to find yet another version of "Cherry Tree Carol" there. And, a couple of years ago, I found on James Taylor's A Christmas Album "Some Children See Him" (Wihla Hutson and Alred Burt), a song I remembered from my boyhood. But it seems, at least to me, that some of these songs have been performed for the joy of recording them. No one sings "The Cherry Carol," particularly in our political/social climate, expecting a hit.

I Am Tired, and This Entry Is So Wrong

As a graduate student, I spent the majority of my semesters teaching two classes a semester. During my MA years, I taught first-year composition exclusively, and as a PhD student, I got sophomore survey assignments. I usually taught two classes a semester while taking two myself, so every evening I had class prep for my dual roles. That demanding pace helped me to develop a resilience necessary to satisfy a work ethic my conscience could tolerate.

I feel as if I have not left that pace. About three years ago, I became an associate dean of my college, and my administrative duties require a great deal of attention; I also teach two classes a semester; as I professor in my department, I also perform research and write as much as I can. As a result, even though I am more than two decades out of graduate school, I find myself working at about the same rate with even more weight piled on top.

And, here I am, writing a blog entry about my situation. I better keep an eye on myself.

How Some Literary Magazines Decide

After my last post about what it is like to receive rejection slips in the context of my having been a long-term member of a literary magazine staff, I have gotten a question from a former student about how literary magazines decide what material to keep and what material to reject. I base these comments on my own experience, but I will discuss various situations as I have seen them. Please do not take these comments as the definitive answer but rather some approaches to understanding how some literary magazines make their decisions.

First of all, just about every literary magazine advises that potential submitters read back issues of the magazine to see what types of material they publish. Small magazines and journals make this recommendation because they each have a sense of their own identity as a publication. I understand that the cynical will assume this recommendation serves to boost sales, but, quite frankly, most literary pubications do not earn a lot of money, anyway. They often have the support of a university and/or sponsors/subscribers who believe in the publication's attempts to preserve the arts. I have seen some that struggle just to cover expenses from issue to issue, but the dedication of their staff make the sacrifices worthwhile. Subscribers are all nice, but school funding, sponsors, supporters, and out-of-pocket commitment make the difference between a small magazine's survival and its vanishing. When the magazines ask potential submitters to read back issues, they are signalling that they want particular types of work, as they develop and expand their notions of art and creativity.

I understand that just about every literary magazine will say that it has the aspiration to publish work of a lasting literary quality. They may not all agree how to accomplish that goal, however, because not all magazines and journals will have the same sense of what "lasting literary quality" means. Some journals will state that they have a particular political/social ideal in mind, and they seek works that present that ideal. Some journals emphasize spirituality but not necessarily matters of conventional orthodoxy. Some journals mention that they have a particular readership and that they seek submissions that target that readership, not that they are toadying to a readership but that they have a mutual interest in particular types of literature. Even if a journal's submission instructions do not mention a call for a specific type of material, reading a couple of issues gives one a sense of whether that journal prefers experimental works or more traditional forms, if it prefers nostalgic, romantic pieces or prose that tends to present a reserved tone, whether it is interested in genre pieces, fixed forms, or long narratives, or whether it requires specific types of pieces. One must pay attention to what they request and what they feature. If a journal considers itself in the vanguard of literature and tends to offer experimental pieces, then the likelihood of their accepting a traditional narrative would be pretty low, for example. Further, magazines that do not change editorial boards often will have a definite character that one must consider before submitting anything to them. That is not to say that they are stuck in a rut; those magazines affirm their values by presenting new, engaging work that illustrates those values.

I do not believe that there is any one secret or plan in successfully finding publications that will accept one's submissions. As I have noted in an earlier blog entry, good material will not necessarily find a place with a publication just because other factors, such as the sheer amount of material submitted and the acceptance of earlier pieces, will not permit the newer submission to fit in. I have had some modest success over the past few months in particular, however, so I can at least offer some suggestions that one might find helpful.

Read all the time. I know, I'm an English professor, and it just figures that I would write that comment. I confess that I do not get to read as much as I want to--I thought, as a much younger person deciding on a career path, that should I be lucky enough to become an English professor, I would be reading books all day, and I would be surrounded by others who did the same, and I did not take into account committee meetings, paperwork, and the genuine needs students have that require attention and make my wanting to hide out with a book appear absolutely selfish. Fair enough, I guess, but I steal time to read as much as I can. If you are fortunate enough to be near a library that subscribes to literary journals, spend as much time as you can in the periodicals room.

Go to readings. When an author comes to your area to present a reading, go to hear how the author presents his or her work. Listen also to how the audience responds. The reading aloud will reveal nuances of the material that you might have missed when reading the work silently. The audience's response will indicate how you might communicate to such an audience, too.

Attend writing conferences. I know that there is a cliche that successful writers are esoteric flakes, but the majority of them I have met are down-to-earth everyday people. Meeting them will remind you that you do not have to transform what you are to write; you have to devote attention and energy to writing. If you are already creating poetry, fiction, and nonfiction prose, you are writing. I'm not saying that you should stare into the mirror every morning and go through a self-affirmation routine, repeating "I am a writer" like a mantra, but reminding yourself from time to time that you are a writer is not a bad thing to do.

Share your drafts with people who respect you enough to tell you when you make mistakes. Constructive criticism is an act of kindness, best when reciprocated. Listen to what your readers in your circle say. Sometimes they will be wrong, and sometimes they will be wrong when they praise you, but as your friends they are invested in you, helping you to see what you have missed.

Look in a new volume of poetry or short stories to see where the pieces originally appeared. You will find that some of those works have appeared in journals you have never heard of, and seeing that will help you to break away from the idea that success as a writer comes only in the form of a nationally renowned publication. Also, if you have an affinity with that writer, it may be that those publications would be interested in your work, too.

Remember that writing is work, and seeking publication is work, too. Lucky people like their work a lot.

That is about all of my list. I discuss these issues with various people, but, frankly, I do not know how to market oneself as a writer, and this blog and my Twitter account are about all the self-promotion (if you can call it that) I have. I hope that folks may find this entry helpful, however. Having stolen this time to make some notes (the sun is just rising), I'll get back to the paperwork now.

A Pact

Some awfully good students, another professor, and I agreed that we would each send a bundle of at least three poems to three different journals/small magazines by today. They did not have to be brand new poems, and they could been sent already to other places, but we were to get them out today. I am pleased to say that I kept my part in this pact, and I am confident the others did as well.

Last Friday, though, I received a rejection slip from a publication. Having worked for a number of years for The Black Warrior Review, I understand this situation from both sides. As a staffer, I would sometimes see almost one hundred new submissions a week. This situation was complicated by the fact that most of the BWR staff was not around during the summer months, because graduate students, most of them in the MFA program, composed the staff and would need the summer to have adventures, earn money, and write. (If you are a person given to sending creative writing to literary journals, please pay attention to the reading times they post, because you may be setting yourself up for disappointment merely by mailing in submissions at the wrong time of year.) In any case, when there was a big pile of submissions (unfortunately often referred to as "the slush pile"), material had to be spectacular just to survive the first cut. Poems would have to catch attention in just the first few lines; prose had to snare a reader by the top of the second page. In a slush pile, material that did not start strong would not have a chance to finish. For the BWR, the worse times for material to show up would be during the summer right up to the fall semester and during the winter break--both of these times would result in slush piles at the beginning of a semester. It was better for a submission to arrive about a month into the sorting process, so that it could get a better reading and, with any luck, perhaps be superior to pieces already kept. I know this process sounds brutal, and it does bruise egos, but that is how it worked for us then. I see no reason for it to work any new way now.

I should also note that, usually, the longer a journal has a piece, the more likely that its editors are giving that piece consideration. Up to a few months, that poem, article, or story has captured someone's attention. If I have not heard from a publication after six months, I am concerned that perhaps the piece has been forgotten, but I do not mind the hope in the first five months. As discouraging as it can be to receive a submission back within a couple of weeks, I prefer the anticipation of a few months' wait.

The other matter one must keep in mind has to do with the fact that the sheer number of pieces these journals receive means that work of merit will not be included for publication. These journals have budgets, they have only so many pages to allot to content, and, as is often the case, they begin to build an issue around one or two notable pieces that they have decided to accept. Even if the editorial staffs have only subconsciously put a theme or a correlation together, these choices matter as they develop the entire issue. A wonderful piece of material just may not fit with what the staff has already developed. When a person receives a rejection slip that says, "Your work does not fit our current needs," that note does not automatically mean, "we think you are a talentless hack, and, if you had any soul at all, you would not inflict your demented, illiterate, cliched, sociopathic, immature, hackneyed bear spoor on anyone ever again." That note usually means precisely what it says--it does not mean that your submission will never find a place at all. In the past, I have gotten the prefab rejection note with scribbled encouragement to send something else. I do not interpret the slip as a sign to stop. I send that journal something new.

I will also send the returned material somewhere else. There are many fine journals out there, established by people who want to encourage creativity, who hope they will have the opportunity to discover a new worthy talent, who understand that in a culture of vanity presses and internet submersion that permits anybody to place any digital presentation on the web practically forever (sort of like, you know, a blog entry), we still value the confidence an editor grants when sending the acceptance note, affirming that one's accomplishment deserves the attention of like-minded others.

I kept my pact with some like-minded others, and I look forward to hearing that they have kept their pact with me.

A Pact for a Pack

I am part of a small circle who has agreed that by Monday, October 10, we each will send a bundle of at least three poems to at least three small magazines, prompting us to get material out in hopes of publication or at least some constructive criticism that might come along with a rejection slip. I have some acquaintances who regularly post their own creative compositions on their blogs, but I choose not to, perhaps because I cannot always rely on my own judgment. In any case, should those works I submit find places, I will be sure to make a note here.