Haitian author and editor, Beaudelaine Peierre is visiting Drexel today. The reception will start at 3:00pm followed by a reading at 3:30 in Stein Auditorium, Nesbitt, 33rd and Market Street.

Doors part with a hydraulic hiss. Steam billows. Behold! The emerging voices of the nation have arrived… from the future.

Author Dani Shapiro, perhaps best known for the best-selling Slow Motion, her memoir of decadence and death, sits in as editor in the tenth entry in the Best New American Voices series: the 2010 edition.

How I am reading the best voices of 2010 while sitting a 2009 living room is beyond me. Perhaps the suggestion is that these time-traveling voices are the ones we ought to watch for in the new year. I was never much good at science.

At any rate, a leisurely 8-hour bus trek from Massachusetts to Philadelphia (including the obligatory breakdown at the side of the highway, but the extent of literature I could make out in the darkness were terse text messages) provided me with plenty of time to chisel my way through Shapiro’s selections, gleaned from writing programs and summer conferences such as Bread Loaf and Sewanee. So far the memorably named Boomer Pinches has underwhelmed, David James Poissant writes of broken father-son relationships with the same exterior grit and interior sentimentality of a Bruce Willis character, Claire O’Connor tackles cancer and great white sharks, and Christian Moody of the University of Cincinatti outdoes his peers with the truly original “Horusville,” a place where trees have eyes and record the lurid private lives of the town residents.

The Best New American Voices series first came on the scene in that dastardly year 2000 (remember stocking up on water and canned green beans? I know you do) and has since been edited by, in addition to the changing yearly guest editors, executive editor John Kulka and writer and critic Natalie Danford.

As a writer, there are a few tiers you may find yourself falling onto. Being a non-confrontational sort of person (oh, those Pisces — just so sensitive, you know?) I’ll refrain from ranking said tiers, but I will do the bare minimum and differentiate.

There are two types of Household Names. Strain A of Household Names are so pervasive that even a young Hellen Keller would have a hard time escaping them: Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Danielle “superfluous use of adjectives like ‘velvety’ or ‘dazzling”” Steele.

Then there is Strain B of Household Names, subtype Not-Really-Indie-Indies, the literary equivalent of films like I Heart Huckabees or Little Miss Sunshine. Hollywood? Not quite. But art house? I don’t think so. These writers are more often known by their works than their names — The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera), What is the What (Valentino Achak Deng), A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (Dave Eggers).

Then, we have those writers who are not exactly obscure, for no writer, published, in print, read by eyes not belonging to friends and family and exes who cock their heads and wonder, Is that character me? is ever really obscure. But they are not household names, not even in the homes of self-styled intellectuals who make lots of references to Camus or Colette.

Kate Braverman is one of these not-exactly-obscurities. Born in 1950 and based in L.A., I feel Braverman deserves a bit of applause for her ventures into experimental hybrids of prose and poetry. Her short story “Vanishing Acts,” featured in the Spring 2004 issue of the Mississippi Review, goes out on a limb — out on a tightrope — and dashes plot and character to the ground in favor of sheer atmosphere. How lazy, bitter aspiring writers may be tempted to think — but “Vanishing Acts” is anything but. Braverman successfully takes an abstract concept and manages to conjure up exactly what she means while never directly explaining herself.

“This is how to vanish,” her — story? poem? essay? — begins. “[Vanished women] wear boots because they prefer walking,” she writes. “It’s the only way to become intimate with a city. You must kiss each brick, each cobblestone with your feet.”

We are never allowed to know explicitly what a vanished woman is. But we feel it. The writing is heard with the bones, not the eyes.

As you, my lovely little reader of DPGOnline, may already be aware, Drexel University publishes a quarterly literary magazine. Nothing big, y’know… just a little mag that’s been around for nearly 40 years, receives submissions from all over the world, and has an odd tendency to discover literary gems that find their way into places like The Best American Poetry. It goes by Painted Bride Quarterly, in case you were wondering. (And you can order a copy here!)

But what is a literary magazine? And why do you need to know?

Most people have the wrong idea. They’re surprised to see a real, bound, book-thick “magazine.” Dump the image of some shlocky glossy number that’s stapled together and is full of the local creative writing teacher trying frantically to endorse himself. (Or herself, sorry.)  9 times out 10 — heck, 9 times out of 100 — that’s the wrong idea. While tragically (tragically!) little-known to the general non-literary public, lit mags are actually a fabulous starting point for any aspiring writer.

I don’t want to shatter your precious, harp-scored dreams of overnight success with the To Kill A Mockingbird of 2009, but chances are, in the cruel, cold world of publishing, it’s just not gonna happen. Don’t trash your manuscript, of course — but I can’t stress enough that it’s (imagine me saying this slowly and pounding my fist for emphasis) a very good practice to hone your skills and rack up credentials on smaller pieces, like short fiction and poetry, by winning the hearts of literary magazines.

Some carry more weight than others, and each one has its own editorial voice (i.e. preference) in terms of the material they publish. Some are in distribution of greater than 10,000, and some drop into obscurity at the opposite end of the spectrum.

A few great resources for lit mag beginners are NewPages, Poets & Writers, and Webdelsol. Check out lit mags like The Paris Review, Tin House, and AGNI. Poke around. Read some material from the archives, check out their links, and definitely look into submitting your own work! You can put yourself out there — you just need to know the right steps to take.

Okay, you’ve done the hardest part already: you’ve gotten over your white elephant, conquered writer’s block, and finished a manuscript!

…Now what?

On October 17, 2009, Rosemont College (located in Rosemont, PA, at 1400 Montgomery Avenue) is hosting an all-day writer’s workshop. For a fee of $75 — okay, maybe not a drop in the bucket for the average college student, but hear me out — you gain access to a whole slew of events from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. You can find the whole schedule in detail here, but for starters, you’ll:

• get breakfast and lunch
• hear published authors speak
• take your manuscript through a round of “speed-dating” with real editors (just like during Drexel’s own Week of Writing — and if you missed it, check out my article)
• breakout sessions including topics like “Finding a Home for your Short Story,” “Polishing your Poetry,” “How to Succeed in Submissions,” “Do I Need a Publicist?” and more.

So get your baby out in the world!

Because as nifty as “aspiring writer” sounds, doesn’t “published author” roll just a tad more nicely off the tongue?

It’s up to you to make the transition. Sadly, I can’t wave a literary wand and transform your long suffering, coffee-stained manuscript into the masterwork that makes Ulysses look like child’s play. What I can do is point you in the direction of a small press with big ambitions.

(Painted Bride Quarterly, of course, is always nosing out the best of the best, so check out our guidelines and hit us with your best shot of poetry or prose.)

But why stop with PBQ? As a poetry editor at First Step Press — remember the small press with big ambitions I mentioned earlier? — I’m calling YOU, Mr. or Mrs. Up-And-Comer, to submit your original work to Stepping Stones Magazine, an electronic journal that features innovative poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and artwork.

So what are you waiting for?

What is Painted Bride Quarterly?

Our statement can put it to you in formal terms:

Painted Bride Quarterly was established in Philadelphia in 1973.  As a community-based, independent, non-profit literary magazine published quarterly online and annually in print, PBQ’s main agenda is to maintain and grow a venue for the highest quality literature that best represents the individual voice.  PBQ does not limit itself to one particular school or genre.  We publish emerging and established regional authors in the context of their peers from across the country and around the world.  The combination of PBQ’s editorial tables and the ever-changing student staff makes its published voiced unique.

Or, you can think of it this way:

PBQ is great literature. Period. And we’re always looking for more.

You don’t have to be a Pulitzer winner. You don’t have to have a five-book contract with Random House. You just have to love writing, like we do. Now show us what you’ve got.

For rules on submissions, check here.

The Examiner is a great resource for fun, informative columns on local news, music, film, fashion, food, events, science, business, fitness, and more — you name it, they’ve got it — based in cities around the country.

Of course, the Philadelphia Examiner is likely to be of particular interest to anyone reading this post.

If you’re looking for recipes, cooking tips, or general foodie info, my column is here to help!

Furthermore, while you’re at the Examiner, take a look around at their many literature- and writing-based columns. Go ahead, dig into the Philadelphia literary scene!

If you, ever the clever sleuth that you are, do a bit of delving back into the old Drexel Publishing Group archives, you will see that I’ve already equipped you with a small sampling of Philly coffeeshops to go practice skills including but not limited to: writing, moping, and voyeurism.

Now, in case you want to up the ante and look even more fabulously pretentious — I mean, scholarly — I’ve taken it upon myself to suggest to you some Philadelphia book shops. Ideally, you’ll actually read Sons and Lovers, and not just leave it on your table conspicuously in the view of that cutie tapping away on their laptop, but that’s really up to you.

Some cool places to nab reading material:

Robin’s Book Store in Center City features poetry readings, and is also billed as “Philadelphia’s Oldest Independent Bookstore.” Check it out next time you’re around 13th St. between Chestnut and Sansom.

If mystery is more your thing, head over to 19th and Chestnut and do some snooping in Whodunit Philadelphia Books.

Maybe you’re into politics, particularly of the “anarchist and radical” bent? There are books (and music!) for you too, at Wooden Shoe Books & Records on 5th and South St.

And if all else fails, there’s always Barnes & Noble, fully equipped with CDs and Starbucks to get you in that shopping mood, too. Head to 18th and Walnut just across from Rittenhouse Square.

It’s hard to believe there was a time when incredible books like Frankenstein, Ulysses, Candide, The Canterbury Tales, and Catcher in the Rye were censored, removed, and banned from libraries, schools, and bookstores across the country.

My pre-teenage years were shaped by Judy Blume; I can vividly remember reading Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret countless times, the book becoming dog-eared and destroyed from innumerable re-reads. I was Margaret; I had no idea who I was, I had mixed feelings about religion, and I was overly eager for puberty to make an appearance. To think that there was a time when Blume’s books were banned in thousands of libraries, when this ground-breaking author was ostracized and banned, astounds me. Angry parents called Blume a communist; she was sick and twisted for writing about religion, masturbation, menstruation, friendship, relationships, and she absolutely ruined Christmas when characters in Superfudge discovered that Santa was fictional. I’m so glad that Blume became an anti-censorship activist, because otherwise, I never would have been able to experience her wonderful books, books that truly helped me get through those rough middle school years.

Loads of my other favorite authors dealt with censorship at various points in their careers, as well.

It saddens me to know there was time when Faulkner, Twain, Bradbury, Shakespeare, Hemingway, Hawthorne, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, and countless others were banned from libraries and bookstores. I wonder if I still would have fallen in love with literature if I hadn’t experienced Grapes of Wrath, The Scarlet Letter, and Twelfth Night.

I just cannot imagine what critics, educators, and government officials were so afraid of. Whitman wrote about sex; so what?!  And what’s obscene about Frankenstein, a book about the relentless search for love? And one day I will make my mother very happy and finally read Gone With The Wind, but if it were still banned, I wouldn’t be able to, and my mom never would have been able to enjoy it or recommend it to her daughter.

I’m thankful that our modern society is a bit more accepting of controversial literature. But, let it be known that if Harry Potteris ever banned, this muggle might have to embark on an anti-censorship crusade. Can I join you, Judy Blume?