Four of my stories have been accepted for publication in Otoliths, edited by Mark Young. Thank you, Mark.
One of my poems will be published in a future issue of Olentangy Review, edited by Darryl and Melissa Price. Thank you very much, Darryl and Melissa.
I’m delighted that one of my poems has been accepted for publication in Poetry NZ Yearbook 52, coming in March 2018. Many thanks to the editor, Jack Ross.
Two of my poems have been accepted by The Tower Journal, edited by Mary Ann Sullivan. Publication is in mid-September. Thank you, Mary Ann.
New book What We Give: a novella has just been published as a free ebook at https://en.calameo.com/books/005063882e0b5bfd690e8
This is my third book of prose. It tells of a widow and her ruminations about life with her husband, her doubts and doubtfulness, his exactness and charm, and the consequences of death.
“Let us remember our loved ones, our lovers who took us again and again without fail, without success, only with love, by love.
Let’s think about his presencethe one we miss, beside us in bed, beside us in the car, in front of us at the table, beside us walking arm in arm at the park.
Let’s feel his love, gone now, but still here. Still everywhere we are.”
Sections of my poem “Silence” in the latest issue of Otoliths. Thank you very much, Mark Young.
My flash fiction pieces “Chronology” and “Star” have been accepted for publication in the Fall issue of Olentangy Review. Thank you to the editors Darryl and Melissa Price.
I’m glad that two of my poems have been accepted for publication in future issues of the wonderful New Zealand journal Brief. Thank you to the editor Olivia Macassey.
Freshly published. My latest collection of poetry is now available as a paperback at Amazon.com
Jill Chan’s sixth book of poetry is a selection of her best work with the theme of faith and belief. The sequence “What To Believe,” an 18-part tour de force, is filled with uncanny precision and beautiful language. It asks more than answers, seeks more than finds:
how we steal
the most empty places
just to be sure
of our honesty
from Phone Call and Other Prose Writings (2017)
To accept that one sometimes writes badly is as much a necessity as accepting that she can write.
Until one can feel okay with writing badly, to the extent that one resolves to try to write better next time, one cannot be good. It is through taking risks that one learns, and writing badly is a sometime necessary outcome of this risk taking.
To feel one is on the edge of succeeding is sometimes a nice measure of doing good work. Sometimes one even feels one’s endeavour has failed, but success may be lurking in the work itself, unknown to the insecure writer.
Something akin to bravery is coming to rest upon you but you block it off with your inexperience. Because you’re so used to failure, so used to the limits of your art.
To be surprised by your own good work is good.
To be surprised each time you do it is a measure of humility. A measure that you take enough risks, that good work is a gift you keep accepting from some benign force who is generous. And patient. Patient with your talent sometimes wavering and rightly set in humility.
Each good work is a testament to your obedience—a listening for the word in you. So many possibilities gaining favour in you. A manifestation of your faith, your endless patience and gentle prodding.
Some day, you will write better. Some day, words will come out of you like untamed devotion. Some night, you will pray and mean to be led.