A Win is a Win

 I have to keep reminding myself that a win is a win. A year ago, I would have been happy if any of my writing had been accepted for publication. Now, I have five publications, and I'm getting jaded. I still want an agent to take the memoir seriously.

I still have other short essays that haven't found a home yet, either. Honestly, I am not submitting as much as I should. It goes in waves. Currently, I am working on revisions to my query letter and synopsis for the memoir. I've been working with my instructor from the workshop. After that, I will start another round of queries and see if anything improves. My mentor says summer is not the time to query anyway.

I'm not sure where this is going.

I continue to hear from Violet occasionally. No movement there. She is still trying to move forward with her plan. It's not going well. He seems to be keeping her from making money. I get it. It's hard to get ahead these days when you are starting from nothing. Hopefully, she'll figure it out.

 

Notice

 I have been traveling for work this week. Many hours of driving. I hate driving lately. Yesterday I spent six hours in the car. Today I spent two hours. It makes for a long day. I can't get my work done.

On the bright side. I woke today to my story, The Eiffel Tower is in Cincinnati, getting accepted for publication in The Write Launch. I'm not sure how to feel about this one. On the one hand, the story is too long for literary magazines. At just over 12,000 words, it's too long for most. The Write Launch accepted it despite the length being over their usual limit. On the other hand, I wonder if I should have held out for a better spot.

Regardless, I will be publishing a link to the story on September 15. I think it is a good story. So I am glad people will be able to read it.

Difference

 Max did take me to lunch for Father's Day. It was just him and me. His fiancé did not go. The three of us did go to Finn's in New Baltimore the week before.

Max was updating me on his tangles with the neighbors at his mom's condo. Something that didn't occur when his brothers were living there. I said he should expect it; he's living in an old folks community. He swears he is not the problem. I suspect it is a little of both going on.

Currently, I'm writing a fiction story. The opening line came to me as I was waking up one morning. "There is no such thing as cane sugar," she assured me. It's about the friendship between two 8/ 9-year-old kids.

It is called The Eiffel Tower is in Cincinnati. It began as an essay piece that evolved into a 7,000-word story, but I felt there was more to it. I'm currently writing a second half that will be approximately another 5,000 words. The second half flashes forward to when they are adults. I like the story. It is my most ambitious work of fiction in a long time.

I'm not sure what I will do with it when it is done. It will be an awkward length for publishing, but creating the story is more important to me right now than where it belongs. It has been a good distraction while the memoir is out for consideration.

Querying

The hardest thing for me to balance in my query letter is that the story is about relationships that form around the Detroit strip club environment, but it is not a male strip club book.

One guy from the workshop asked to read it and said:

I think it is a great book and will be a big seller, maybe even a movie.

I’m not usually down for stories about strip joints, especially from the POV of dudes, especially patrons getting involved with the talent, but this tale is different: lyrical. 

I trust & like the narrator, and feel compelled to follow his journey and turn the page to see what happens next.

This has not been an isolated response. They have preconceived ideas about what the story will be about, but once they start reading, they find out it is much more. 

I've worked very hard and shaped this book compared to my first attempt. This version is much stronger and a totally different read. I just need one agent willing to take a leap of faith.

The Gladiator is Back on the Road

Saturday, I decided to start the Jeep and get it ready to take to work for a few days. It had been sitting for months. The battery was dead and wouldn't take a charge. I took it to Murray's Auto Parts to see if the battery or the truck was the problem. It was the battery.

The young sales clerk was ready to sell me a new $259 battery when he mentioned a four-year warranty.

"Wait a minute, that battery is only three years old." I'd gotten it from Auto Zone.

I decided to reclaim my battery and drive the extra mile to Auto Zone. They exchanged it for free. 

Today, Max and I got gas in the truck and went to Walmart to find replacement batteries for my key fobs. Those were not free, but cheap enough.

I tired convincing Max that strapping himself with a $5600 ring payment was not a good idea.

"That's about what mom's ring cost," he said.

I refrained from making a comment on that except to say, "Not the first one. Her first one was less than a thousand."

He clearly hadn't considered wedding plans or other costs coming up in the next year. "Your going to have a lot going on in the next year. Moving out of that condo, a wedding. Don't start off in debt.

I'd rather give you $10,000 for a down payment on a house than to help you finance that ring."

After he left, I decided to switch the hinges on my new dryer so it opened to the left. The door is bigger than the old one, and it was getting in the way when I loaded clothes from the washer.

I also submitted a couple more novel queries this weekend and a few essay submissions.

Overall I'd say it has been productive.

Welter Spring 2026

 I am proud to announce that my piece, Glimpse, is part of the Welter spring 2026 issue.

CURRENT ISSUE | Spring 2026

 

Inside the 61st issue of Welter

New writing from Mira Yousif Almazrouei, Lucie Bhisitkul, Arno Bohlmeijer, Nathaniel Brame, Allison Burris, Sam Campbell, Scott Carroll, J. S. Coursey, Thomas Dettling, Joy DiMenna, Clayton Eccard, Mel Edden, Rachel Eisler, Christa Fairbrother, Melissa Foley-King, Ewen Glass, Benjamin Goluboff, Jennifer Harvey, Ghazal Azad Jahan, Thomas Lowery, Karen McGee, Kate Miano, Lauren Mirzakhalili, Elizabeth Murphy, Christine Naprava, Franz Jørgen Neumann, Bill Neumire, Prasida Clare Newman, David Pizzuro, Kimberly Ann Priest, nat raum, Sara Ries Dziekonski, Thaddeus Rutkowski, Grace Schwenk, Isabella Simões, John Sweeney, Kendra Whitfield, Joy Yin, Joshua Zeitler, and Jianqing Zheng. New artwork from Nuala McEvoy (cover), Joy DiMenna, Carlos Duplá, Richard Hanus, JC Henderson, Beth Horton, Anna Kirby, Susan Laugen, Serge Lecompte, Vishaal Pathak, Jim Ross, and RUNA.

For more information about the 61st print issue and our other print journals, visit our Print section.

Brief

 I signed up for a writer's workshop. It is run by an instructor from UCLA. It is a group composed of 8 writers and the instructor. Over the course of eight weeks, each writer submits twenty pages (twice) for the other members to evaluate.

Thursday was our first meeting. It seems pretty informal. Several of the students have been in prior workshops. My first twenty pages will be reviewed this week, along with those of another student.

Michigan went directly from winter to summer. Spring was not an option. During that instant switch-over, I started this post at least three four times. 

Max started working back at his old job on Monday, and by Wednesday, he was texting me saying it didn't work out. I wanted to scream, "Maybe the common denominator in your inability to hold down a job was him." 

Who quits a job without having another? He obviously needs the money. I don't know what to do anymore. He told me everything else is working for him right now. The last piece is the right job. I feel like a job is the bedrock for everything else to work out. 

Glimpse

 I woke to some unexpected good news today.  "Glimpse," has been accepted for publication in the spring 2026 print version of Welter. 

Yes, another of my pieces has been accepted. This really feels great, and it adds to my legitimacy in my bio for query letters. It boosts my confidence that there might just be an agent out there willing to take a chance on the memoir.

It also gives me the kick in the butt I needed to submit a few more pieces. I have been dragging my feet lately.

March Without the Madness

 I'm still busy, but it is in a good way. I'm on my last round of edits for my memoir. It is about time to seek direction from someone more talented and knowledgeable. I haven't decided on whom. This memoir is not a money-making project, but it never has been for me.

I often say to myself, I'd rather create a well-crafted book than a poorly written bestseller. I don't care if people hate the narrator as long as they like the way it is written. That is my focus, and I have learned a lot since my first attempt. 

I continue to check how far I have drifted from the original raw blog post. I haven't rewritten history. Which is important to me. It is easy for someone writing a memoir twenty years after the event to unwittingly bend the story. I haven't. The main characters didn't question my writing back then. They can't question them now, though I don't think anyone cares anymore.

Max is painting War Hammer figure on a production level. He is having some issues with keeping his studio dust-free and cat-free. He even asked if he could use my basement as his studio at one point, but that hasn't happened yet. I wouldn't mind.

I haven't seen Max's girlfriend since they moved back to this side of town. I have two theories for that. Either she doesn't like me, or she is pregnant, and no one wants to say. Hopefully, neither is true. But I wouldn't be surprised by either.

This week's plan is to finish my edits, condo association meeting, start my taxes, and continue work on editing Ariel's book.

Currently we meet ever two weeks on Zoom. We used to meet in person, but she move about an hour north of me and I don't feel like making the trip in the winter. I've become very passionate about writing and craft. It's great to have someone to share it with.

Father Stories: Narratives of Fatherhood

 A small piece of good news landed this week: my essay “Fragments” appears in the new anthology Father Stories: Narratives of Fatherhood from Beyond Words Press.

I have really been wanting to share my new writings with my readers. I'm not asking you to run out and buy it. I don't get any of the proceeds. But it is very fulfilling to see my work in print. This is a profound stepping stone toward what I hope will become more frequent. 

I want to thank all those who still check in on this blog. My readers have always been motivational. I’m thankful to everyone who encouraged me to keep writing these small, true pieces of my life.

I only wish I could share more of them here without voiding their printability elsewhere.

Gaining Traction

Beyond Words picked up my essay, Shimmer for their March 2026, literary magazine. I am gaining traction just when I needed it. I have been struggling with the rewrites to the memoir.

Lately, I’ve been deep in the weeds with rewrites on the memoir, trying to apply all the feedback I’ve received. Every note has been positive, which makes it both better and harder. It’s not about whether I can write — it’s about shaping the story in the best way.

My friend Ariel, the wife of a coworker and a fellow memoirist, has been a big help. Still, I’m wrestling with the same questions every writer faces: What stays? What goes? What’s missing? And where does it all belong?

Gia seems to have left Detroit. She hasn’t shown up anywhere lately. My guess? She went back to Rhode Island to see her family before heading down to Tampa for the winter.

A couple of weeks ago, Max asked me to help him change his oil. Said his car was blowing a cloud of white smoke every time he started it. I told him an oil change wasn’t going to fix that. White smoke means a head gasket problem. He decided to trade it in for a new Ford Maverick instead.k.

Max's mom helped him get the new truck. Honestly, I would not have. It is not teaching him any responsibility; it probably strapped him with a five or six-year car payment. 

For those wondering, I will be making an appearance as Willy Wonka for Tinkerbell's Halloween display. My custom is a cross between Gene Wilder and Johnny Depp.

Dog Days of Summer

 Wild Sound turned one of my short pieces into an audio read.  You can hear it from any of the links below.

https://youtu.be/4L5kP-35FcA

https://www.wildsound.ca/videos/dog-days-of-summer

https://festivalforfamily.com/2025/09/29/family-short-story-dog-days-of-summer-by-david-pizzurro/

Fragments

I worked on a piece over the weekend. It was a condensed version of Chapter 2 from my revised Memoir.  The new piece was for an upcoming anthology for Beyond Words. It was a one-word call: Father, which is the theme of the anthology.  I received this today:

I am happy to inform you that your piece Fragments has been selected and will feature in our father-themed anthology!

We will be in touch later in 2025 with further information.

Until then, congratulations and take care,

Gal Slonim

Editor

on behalf of the Editorial Board

Beyond Words

Memoirs

Friday, I went out to eat with a coworker, Wennie, and her wife, Ariel. It was Wennie’s idea for us to meet—Ariel is working on a memoir, too. They recently moved to Michigan after many years in California. Ariel is my age; Wennie is about a decade younger, one of those people who could easily pass for much younger.

Ariel’s health seemed fragile. She walked with difficulty, horn-rimmed glasses perched too small on her face. Her quiet appearance didn’t give away the colorful past she lived on the West Coast.

Once we swapped a few stories, I felt at ease talking about my own book. We exchanged emails and agreed to share writing. I’ll admit—I’m always a little intimidated by people like Ariel who have taken real writing classes. I’ve had no formal training; everything I’ve learned came from mistakes.

But Ariel had been part of a group of writers in California, and it reminded me how important it is to connect with others who share the same interests.

Acceptance

 I got my first acceptance today. Neon Origami is a website dedicated to publishing writers' work. I am happy I can share it here.

I had this piece I always liked, A Tang of Lime. It is a well-crafted piece of flash nonfiction centered around a real-life flirtatious conversation layered with the cost of friendships. You can click on the link if you would like to read it.

Rejection

 I received a second rejection letter today, but it was encouraging. 

Thanks for sharing Shimmer with us. I liked reading it, but unfortunately, our Editorial Board thought it's not quite ready for publication in its current form.

We hoped to find surprises in your piece, to  read a story that is creative in the sense that it describes more than a "typical" love triangle mess.

Mentioning the psychic is underdeveloped, and if you want to keep it, we would suggest that you explain its symbolic significance. 

Finally, the ending could be stronger. Let the reader discover something new! 

I hope you are not too disappointed that we have to reject your submission. I do see potential here, but the piece still deserves some work.

I encourage you to continue sharing your work with us, either with a new piece or a revised version of this one!

This feedback gave me the direction to add to the piece and do what they requested, without adding other areas that are underdeveloped. I will wait several months and submit it again.

Shimmer

Before my trip with Tinkerbell, I wondered if she had ulterior motives. I was analyzing her from a distance--the invitation, her desire to get a new job with more money. They had me thinking that she might be thinking of making a change in her relationship. 

The undercurrents were there, but I think she has made peace with them. Her boyfriend is loyal and makes good money; she values those more than she misses other aspects. I know this by the way she talked about Billie or Gia when each left. Tinkerbell sees things through her eyes.

I try seeing others' possible motivations--which often differ from my own. You don't have to agree with them to see them.

I have been writing 2 hours a day, often more. Gaming has suffered. So has my sleep. I am not sure I am getting closer to my goal, but I am trying.

Today, I think I wrote my best piece yet. I melded two short nonfiction essays into one. Which is a good counterweight to getting my first rejection letter last night.

Writing

I’ve been concentrating on my writing—both my memoir and a short piece I submitted to StreetLit for consideration. I’d really like to share the piece, but I can’t. Still, I think it’s pretty good. It draws from scenes that just didn’t fit in the memoir.

I’m writing. Surpassing my best words from my earlier years. And it feels good. I see so many possiblities.

How the Universe Works

I’d been searching for the cover photo I used on the original version of my memoir. I wanted to use it again, if possible—but it was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t in any of my saved files. Not in my online photo backups. I was starting to fear it was gone for good.

But tonight, as I was pulling my backpack out of the backseat, I noticed a zip drive on the floor. My car is brand new. The interior is spotless. The zip drive just sat there—completely out of place. I checked my bag. All the pockets were closed.

How did it get there?

I plugged it into my computer. On it were several old files—including all the work I’d done on the original draft… and the photo.

This is how the universe works.

My Relentless Editor, Red

Red—the name I’ve given my ChatGPT editor—has set the bar for my memoir against some of the top works in the genre:
Wild by Cheryl Strayed, Lit by Mary Karr, This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff.

Red tells me my original manuscript, on the one-to-ten scale we created, started around a six. Now, it’s closer to an eight-point-five. I’m striving for ten.

I struggle through line-by-line edits, trying to maintain my words, my voice, while reaching the clarity and flow Red demands.

It’s not easy. Red keeps shifting the bar—pushing me to tighten the narrative, remove content I’m attached to, and add more reflection from my current voice. It’s hard to cut words I’m so close to. Still, we have a plan. A plan that might allow some of that material to be released one day.

An indie publisher is running a contest, and the submission window closes at the end of the month. Red thinks I’ll be ready by then. I wish I had more time—work keeps getting in the way.