#open letter

An Open Letter to Alice Munro

Dear Alice,

It seems impossible that you don’t know me. What I mean is that I know your work so well—intimate, is the only way I can describe my relationship to your stories—that I feel like I know you. I consider you a kindred spirit and a teacher. I’ve reread your stories so many times that I know I’ve learned more from them than I have in any writing class. I once spent an entire day deconstructing “Friend of My Youth,” diagramming its structure, its story within a story within a story, to try to understand how you pulled it off. When you won the Nobel Prize, I actually cried with joy. And all day, after the Nobel committee made the announcement, friends emailed and called and texted: “You must be so happy that Alice Munro won!” My adoration of you is so well documented that people were congratulating me on your win, as if you were a member of my family.

But I suppose what I’m saying is that you are a member of my family. My literary family. You are my literary mother. You’re the writer I’ve turned to when I needed the solace that only great literature can provide. (When my actual mother was dying, of cancer, it was your stories I read beside her bed. My mother loved your work, too, and near the end, I often read your stories aloud to her.) You’re the writer who taught me how to move around in time in stories—flashing forward and back. You’re the writer who showed me how much can fit into one short story; how a whole life can be compressed and still feel expansive and lived in on the page. You’re the writer who showed me how complex the architecture of a story can be, and how the motif of storytelling can recur again and again and still feel new. How women and their relationships—to their own desires, and with men, with other women, with friends, lovers, and mothers—can be infinitely compelling. How stories set in small town Ontario (and sometimes in Vancouver) can feel universal. You make it look so easy, with your mastery of suspense, your wry humor, your psychological precision, your brilliant endings. And your stories are full of letters, so it seems fitting that I am writing to you. You’ve said that you think of stories as houses, with various rooms. I’ve entered those rooms and come out dazed. I always go back in. Your stories stick with me; they resonate as if they were actual memories. I know that a minister never slid a hand down my underwear on a train, but I’ve lived inside “Wild Swans” so many times that I feel like it happened to me.

Oh, Alice. If we met, I feel certain we would be friends. That sounds silly, I know. Last summer, when Charles McGrath profiled you in the New York Times, the article included a slideshow of your house in Ontario. I studied the picture of your humble writing desk. It was not unlike what I had imagined. And yet, I felt strange looking at it. Part of me didn’t want to know where you work—I just want the stories to speak for themselves; part of me was devastated to know that you’re retiring, that you won’t be sitting in that chair to write any new stories.

You and I were in the same room once. Deborah Triesman interviewed you on stage at the New Yorker festival a few years ago. I was in the audience at the Directors’ Guild on 57^th Street, and I even got up the nerve to ask a question during the Q&A. I asked about your titles; I wondered at what stage in your process you come up with them. We made eye contact. You looked at me as you answered my question. To be honest, I don’t remember what you said. I was too excited and nervous in your presence.

I have copies of all your books. Actually, I have multiple copies of most of them. Sometimes, while traveling, I have an urge to reread a particular story of yours and will go and buy the collection that contains it, even though I already have the same book at home. I always travel with at least one of your books because you are the writer I most like to reread. Your stories have kept me company in places all over the world. The collections I’ve returned to most are Friend of My Youth; Open Secrets; The Love of a Good Woman; Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage; andRunaway.

I’m not in the habit of gushing. Friends rely on me for my critical eye, my cool intellect, not for my unbridled enthusiasm. I’m a reluctant user of exclamation points. But for years I’ve wanted to write to you, to say thank you. Thank you! Your stories, Alice, have meant so much to me. Cynthia Ozick once described you as “our Chekhov.” (I love Chekhov—I return to his work again and again, too.) When Ozick said “our,” I suppose she meant our era, our time. But I understand her impulse to use the possessive pronoun. Those of us who love your work do feel possessive of it. Your stories provide deeply private pleasures. You are ourwriter, part of our family. Now that you’ve won the Nobel, even more people have joined our ranks. And I’m glad to know that your work is finding new fans. But I also want you to know that some of us have loved you for a long time. Some of us are writing stories because of you.

Yours sincerely, 

Elliott Holt 

Elliott Holt’s short fiction and essays have appeared in the New York Times, Virginia Quarterly Review, Kenyon Review online, Bellevue Literary Review, The Millions, and in the 2011 Pushcart Prize anthology. Her first novel, You Are One of Them (Penguin Press, 2013), was aNew York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice, longlisted for the Flaherty-Dunnan First Novel Prize from the Center for Fiction, and a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle’s inaugural John Leonard Award for a first book.

Dear Winter,

     You’ve always been my toughest season, and as I write this, I am struggling not to struggle. I went to bed last night, and I was cold. I woke up this morning, and I was cold. I stepped outside, and temperatures below freezing greeted me. From my window, I’m watching snowflakes fall, just barely visible, and even though it’s not even 3pm yet, I can tell that the sun is nearing the end of its daily journey to below the horizon.

Dear Winter,

     I didn’t always dislike you, and I’m not sure I do even now. I know last year I said I was no longer afraid of you, but when I sense you near my heart still sinks. It might have to do with the worry and hurt I’ve seen in the eyes of my friends around this time of year. It might be the gray that you’ve put in my father’s beard, from hours spent pushing snow around parking lots, instead of sleeping in and building snow forts and dragon sculptures. It might be because you just make me want to sleep; I lost so many hours on the Hilltop because I wasn’t ready to get out of bed, and the thought of a nap was all that got me through classes I wish now I had enjoyed. It’s hard to enjoy anything when there’s a snowdrift heavy in your brain.

Dear Winter,

     I know you’re only just beginning to peek around the corner, but I’ve known you were on your way since I first felt you in August. I know you just want to play, but you’ve hurt me without meaning to. I’m trying to forgive you even though it’s not your fault.

Dear Winter,

     I want to love you, you must understand; I think someday I will.

~A.G. 11/8/19

No Filmy Friday, but SO many Updates! #ChannaMereya #MSDhoni #MukeshChhabra #Islamaphobia

Hey everyone! Its been quite some time since I’ve had the chance to spill out my world of emotions and updates to you.

These days it seems I am wrapped in the world media and truly forget about my own little blog here. There have been recent days where I think about closing this blog down because I simply am unable to keep up…give me your thoughts whether I should or not!

Unfortunately I have to…

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If you were the girl who was hated by the parents of every person you ever dated in school, you probably grew up into the girl who’s now hated by all your friends’ significant others.

I see you. I know you never did anything wrong. It’s not your fault. You’ll find your people.

An Open Letter to Kerrang! Magazine

(A disclaimer – No, I am not hating upon any band or any person. I am merely saying that every past member now be treated as their own individual solo artist).

Having been a fan of Kerrang! Magazine from age eight (up until recent years), I always supported the content they put out. They gave that link from artist to reader that I so desperately yearned for – I wanted to feel closer to and know what said artist was up to. Despite the countless issues that still reside in a drawer somewhere in my house, I’ve completely lost my love and affection towards this magazine, and mainly for one particular reason; my support for Frank Iero.

I’ll delve in a little deeper, starting with the release of stomachaches. Two years ago, almost to the day (at the point of writing this) it was released and I remember avidly waiting for reviews and to see this album being welcomed with open arms by many. By this point I had drifted from said magazine, but their review of this album in particular is what really began my questioning. Half the beginning of the review discussed what members of Iero’s previous band had been up to, even including lines about one not even being on the music radar. A strange start, perhaps it will improve? Apparently not. The majority of the review discussed Iero’s past and his role in another band. The very little I found for the album tracks themselves were brief, forgettable, something I find this album to be the complete opposite of. Fine, fine, with the recent breakup I was expecting “previous MCR member” as context, but not this drabble of the band’s history and members personal lives. The unrelated information I did receive in regards to different artists was regurgitated, even in the same magazine. A disappointment to begin many.

Fast forward through a few live reviews with the same beginning mention of MCR, despite the constant support growing for Frank with a solo title. That brings us to today with the recent release of Nothing Above, Nothing Below. By now, I, as well as many others supporting Frank, have expected the worst when it comes to Kerrang!, we don’t expect the focus on Frank as a separate being from MCR. We expect his name to be followed by countless mentions of said band, even in the most unrelated of sentences. Of course Kerrang! have covered the album by Death Spells, a duo made up of Frank Iero and James Dewees, something K! can’t seem to remember. The album review itself was pretty wonderful. We got descriptions of every song, the mention of MCR not even present I believe, something that’s important in this case. Death Spells are elements of both James and Frank’s creativity, powerful forces merging together to bring something to slap you in the face and make you think. It’s hardcore, it’s in-your-face, it strips you down and leaves you feeling both cleansed and filthy at the same time. The live shows are an unforgettable experience, but one wouldn’t get this from Kerrang!’s review.

Time and time again I’ve rolled my eyes at the same thing from you, Kerrang!. Whilst your twitter account previously posted and fed rumours of an MCR reunion, your magazine mourned what never was. This took up space on the front page, yet it took a fan run twitter account for me to know an article including Death Spells was present, (and me buying and searching through to know an interview surrounding Billy Talent’s new album was also there, but that’s for another time).

Issue No. 1633 is sat in front of me now, and it’s the reason I’ve come to write this. In said issue a review and poster surrounding Death Spells is included, but both are majorly disappointing, I could probably push that to disrespectful.

First, the review.
Ten lines in and there it is, the “MCReunion”. This takes up one of six paragraphs. The second paragraph, you ask? Mainly a comparison between the image of MCR, and the image of Death Spells; two bands that are in no way comparable or similar, bar the two members happening to be in both. The third paragraph, ending again in a “post-My Chemical Romance output” despite this not being necessary. Yes, picky of me I know, but it helps with the fact that every single paragraph included has a mention of the old group. The last missing the name and simply resorting to “Frank’s more famous band.”

Why am I upset by the constant mention of MCR? It’s simple. Being a fan of the band I obviously know people who are not, however some of those closest to me enjoy Frank’s solo or other projects. How did they know of his different style? Me, but I cannot tell everyone to listen to him, despite how much I try. This is why it’s important for you, Kerrang!, to help. How can new fans (who dislike the previous project he has been included in) possibly discover his new music and support him? By the consistent mention of said old band, possible new fans will be deterred. If an artist broke away from a band I disliked but every review and article regarding their new music started with (and continuously included) aforementioned band, I would scrap them immediately. You may call me closed minded, but how will I be aware that this artist is different and that I may become a huge fan if my first impression is riddled with a previous project I’m not fond of? Frank works hard, it’s easy to see, he deserves respect and support as his own person with his own style.

Didn’t we mention earlier that it was a duo? Oh, James Dewees. Name mentioned once in the Death Spells review, despite being the whole other half of the band. Yes, hidden away back there he may be easy to overlook, but it’s important to realise why he’s in the shadows. He is the one who brings us the beat that fuel the shows, who controls the “splatter-stained background projections” that create the Death Spells atmosphere. An inspiring and humorous man who I, as many do, find underappreciated. Kerrang! only adding evidence to this.

That leads me onto the Death Spells poster. Great photo, but there are two people in the band. The poster above has a total of ten! On one A4 sheet! Yet this poster simply includes Frank in the centre. As a Death Spells fan, I know they will not be making regular appearances in this magazine, so I want a full band photo. Its only missing one person, a very important one. A small complaint, as I know you do posters of single members, but with the other evidence this just seems wrong. James Dewees needs to be included somewhere.

In conclusion, please don’t disrespect the memory of MCR and the future of Frank Iero. You see, we don’t want to forget this band ever happened. It was bittersweet, but now it has to be closed. You’re dragging them through the mud and creating a mockery of a band that inspired many. They had their time, now please allow the members to step into a world fully their own and continue to create and inspire.

Thank you.