Dear Identity Theory Readers (Or At Least People Who Subscribe To Our Newsletter),
I don’t know what to tell you. It’s December 15th, 2023. Another year is almost over. Iroh, the now-five-year-old corgi, is licking his left paw on the floor next to me, wondering what will happen next, wondering if it will be a treat.
The height of my cultural output this year was singing Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” to the kids after I sliced my thumb open while washing dishes last night. In fairness, I made a really deep cut.
In last week’s newsletter, I wrote a remembrance of Robert Birnbaum, who was a godfather to the early online literary community and devoted decades of his life to interviewing and promoting authors, from Martin Amis to Howard Zinn.
That newsletter had our lowest open rate ever.
A few people responded: writers whose books got attention through RB’s thoughtful columns and interviews that otherwise would have been difficult to obtain.
That might not sound like much, but it’s a big deal.
A few people whose lives you’ve impacted in a major, positive way is what you need.
You don’t need “open rates.”
In other news, Mercury Retrograde started a couple of days ago. When I lived in Asheville 10+ years ago, Mercury Retrograde was like a community festival of grief. You always knew it was Mercury Retrograde in Asheville because the neighbors attributed every slight anomaly or grievance to the planets.
Since I moved to the desert, I haven’t heard much about the planets.
But I noticed on my Adventure Dog calendar, which this month features a dapple-haired mini dachshund, that Mercury Retrograde started on Wednesday. That makes sense.
Wednesday morning, I went to pick up someone else’s prescription at Target, but when I got there, the pharmacy had not opened yet. So I opted for the ol’ Sips n’ Trips and headed to the in-Target Starbucks for a hot grande mocha. Not my normal choice, but no one’s reading this anyway, so I figured I’d throw in that detail.
I picked up a shopping basket and began to wander the aisles, full of hope that I might find a useful tool to improve my quality of life in the house I moved into this month. Maybe some sort of clever towel-hanging device. Or, like, Wirecutter’s Best Door Stop of 2023.
But then I remembered that I have fallen out of love with my deodorant, so I decided to check out the men’s deodorant section, conveniently located near the pharmacy.
Now, this was a perplexing situation. So many choices. So much bragging from these little tubes of deodorant. “We don’t have aluminum!” “We’re all natural!” “We smell like the forest!” “Yeah, well we smell like the ocean!”
I considered my options carefully. How much impact would aluminum in my armpits have on my long-term health? What do they mean by “natural”?
I picked up a stick of the Tom’s of Maine, and on the back, it had some sort of link or QR code to find out “what we mean by natural.” So that was helpful. Or would have been, had I cared.
I decided to put that one back.
In the process of returning the Tom’s of Maine North Woods-scented anti-perspirant/deodorant to its lofty place on Target’s highest shelf, I dropped my hot Starbucks grande mocha and my empty shopping basket at the same time, with the coffee landing inside the basket, spilling all over the basket and the floor.
The planets must have done it.
I approached the nearest person wearing a shade of red that vaguely resembled Target branding. I asked her if she worked there. She said yes.
“I’m an idiot,” I explained, then gave her the story.
“At least the deodorant aisle smells like chocolate now,” she said.
Anyway, that was a story about the beginning of Mercury Retrograde. It means nothing, or maybe it means everything. You’ll have to ask the planets.
Perhaps the universe is suggesting that someone should invent a deodorant that smells like chocolate.
Moving On
Okay, I should talk about Identity Theory, the literary magazine, sort of, now. This is why you’re here, but you’re probably not here. In south Austin, where I lived 20+ years ago, they used to have a bumper sticker that said, “We’re all here because we’re not all there.” Maybe they still have it. Maybe it’s caught on in other cities, like the “Keep Austin Weird” brand.
“Everything’s a brand,” people used to complain back then. But then everyone became a brand.
Anyway, moving on now:
We’ve now nominated roughly 40 pieces for awards and anthologies over the past 2+ years. The Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, etc. Actually, there’s no “etc.” It’s just those four.
You might be wondering (you aren’t) how we choose which pieces to nominate.
For Best of the Net, which has specific caps for each form of writing (poetry, CNF, fiction), I solicit feedback from all the editors, then make choices based on the group.
For Pushcart, which does not have those caps, I ask specific editors to choose their favorite overall pieces in the calendar year. The nominating editors change every year.
I select the Best Micro and Best Small Fictions myself.
These are the nominations for this year:
Best Microfiction 2024 Nominations
(Fiction Less Than 400 Words Published in 2023)
"Barbie Toes and Blow-Up Dolls" by Cole Beauchamp
"Windford" by Melissa Ostrom
Best Small Fictions 2024 Nominations
(Fiction Less Than 1000 Words Published in 2023)
"Styrofoam Sunsets" by Brendan Gillen
"Demolition" by Will Musgrove
"Dosai!" by Srilatha Rajagopal
"Toy Collector" by Rebecca Winterer
2025 Pushcart Prize Nominations
(Pieces Published in 2023)
"Distribution" by Nicholas Claro (fiction)
"Bricks" by Tyler Plofker (fiction)
"The Teacher and the Boxer" by Zoe Young (fiction)
"Unsolved Mysteries" by Sandy Pool (nonfiction)
"how long is a minute" by Shlagha Borah (poetry)
“cashier at campus thai restaurant calls me [sir]” by Becky Tarasick (poetry)
2024 Best of the Net Nominations
(Pieces Published from Summer 2022 to Summer 2023)
"Miss Venezuela" by Naihobe Gonzalez (fiction)
"Ten Silver Cars" by R. B. Miner (fiction)
"Woodwork" by Luke Larkin (nonfiction)
"Knowledge of Missing Out" by Diane Shipley (nonfiction)
"southern apocrypha smeared with duke’s mayonnaise, 1974" by Evelyn Berry (poetry)
"Twitter is Abject" by Katie Berta (poetry)
"Storm" by Jacob Griffin Hall (poetry)
"Lake Valley" by Santana Shorty (poetry)
"Coppering" by Donna Vorreyer (poetry)
"Old Sons" by Jane Zwart (poetry)
Ampydoo Cartoons #25, #54, & #57 (art)
The New Stuff
We dug this short story from Nancy Stone called “I Don’t Know How to Love Him.”
And “Δ Means Change”—that’s a good essay (and math problem) by Corinne Cordasco-Pak.
We chatted with contributors Will Musgrove, Melissa Ostrom, and Rebecca Winterer.
Margo Steines, author of the new memoir Brutalities: A Love Story, contributed a CNF piece called “Damages.”
We posted a new poem by Nikki Ummel: “Self-Portrait as Auntie”
And Ampydoo’s 100th cartoon went online.
Of course, as mentioned in its own newsletter, Christian Bauman wrote an essay called “Gabe Hudson and the Lost Soldiers of Generation X.”
Stuff That Might Happen If The Planets Align
We’re hoping to create a new section dedicated to micro works of all kinds in early 2024.
We’re hoping to re-open poetry submissions soon.
[Picture our corgi on a 2008 Obama HOPE poster here.]
You can get involved. You can submit your writing. You can apply to work on our staff.
You won’t get famous, but you may make an impact on a few faraway people. That’s it: That’s why we’re still here doing the things, sending the words, reaching out.
Keep Yourself Weird,
Matt Borondy
EIC
Identity Theory
This was a refreshing read, and yes, someone read it.
nothing wrong with a grande mocha every now and then. fuck the planets and the fates.