Another Rejection-Not-Rejection.

I got my second rejection that was decidedly not a rejection at all, but an acceptance letter today! And I was thrilled to receive it while isolating with my parents so I got to read it out to them.

Another story arrived to a magazine I have been trying to get into after they had filled the next issue but would I allow them to hold it until the December issue?

Yes. Yes I will. Thank you and please print my story.

The story I sent out was a supernatural story based on a real experience I had. I enjoyed exploring what-might-have-happened but I'm not sure my old college housemates will find my version comforting, lol.

I will post more information as I learn it.

*

Artists, keep making your art. I'll see you all on the other side of this pandemic. 

Story Rejected. Wait? Not Rejected?

I received the best rejection yet this morning. A new story was rejected from an anthology and it was a long and sweet note. Buried at the bottom of that rejection was a request to include the story in an anthology for next year that hasn't even been listed yet.

Yes! Take my story.

Maybe a smarter writer would shop it around but I am still looking for homes for my stories where they are wanted as I know my writing style is not mainstream (or so say most of my beta readers).

So next year I already know I will have a new story out. It gives a little glow to how 2020 is panning out.

Recovery Road

It's been a year since the accident that almost took my life. How could I not be thinking about that tonight? In many ways it's been a very long year. And in another way, I don't feel like I have a lot to show for it.

Except I can walk, talk, write, make myself food in the kitchen, put my shoes on by myself, use the bathroom, wipe myself, check the mailbox, climb stairs, cough, etc. I had to relearn all of it. And I did, like a champ. From the outside now, I move slowly, but you wouldn't necessarily know something so almost-devastating had happened to me. Most days that is enough to make me happy.

My recovery has taken me longer than I expected. The more honest answer is that it has taken a lot more out of me than I expected. When I get most frustrated, my brain sighs heavily and says, "You were a pillar of fire."

I was not in a fire. I was the fire.

I spend most of my time preparing-to-do-things, like getting clothes ready to put on, or getting ready to wash up, or getting ready to make the bed. And then I can do one thing to cross off my list. I keep making plans of five things to do a day, but I forget to start the list with all the things I already have to do before any of the extras can get done.

If I get one extra thing crossed off, one new thing done, I call it a win.

And then, at the end of the day, when my exhaustion-induced-naps are over, I write. But two months ago it would have been, "I try to write," so I will embrace the improvement. And my writing spurts sound more like my old voice, and more easily so on my first try. It's not that I had any damage to my brain. But when your body is still using processing points to remember how to step up on a curb, it doesn't want to divert power to imaginary world-building.

And I learned that even then, it's not about desire. It's not about want. It's about can't.

So you have to ride it out. Or you could fight it, but I'm pretty sure that will just tire you out more, requiring more naps than now, and if now is very frustrating to you, it's probably not the best choice.

I have managed to write a few new stories and submit some of my pre-accident ones. Within the last month the story muse has been singing faster than my healing hands can type, so I'm getting better at choosing what to work on and catch-in-the-moment. Better discernment is a good skill to have.

I like to note my silver linings. They make the pain worth something.

I even found a story I sent out the morning of my accident. I couldn't recall the storyline. Once I read it I remembered having the idea for it and drafting it, but I couldn't remember how I ended it at all. How many writers get to say they read one of their own finished stories for the first time and didn't know what was going to happen?

Three of my recent submission responses were we-really-liked-your-story-and-held-it-for-further-consideration-but-it-didn't-fit-with-our-other-selections, and two of my responses were sales. That feels really good. I am not back to where I was, but I am back on track. I lost momentum for a while but I didn't lose my creative mojo.

A year ago I was on fire and they thought I was going to die. Today I am putting pen to paper and birthing a new world. These are good things.

Oaths and Statistics

You have to get your feet wet.

A little over a year ago, I made a public statement on land sacred to me, that I was going to take a leap of faith, believe in myself, and send my writing out regularly. I am happy to look back at that moment and be able to say that I did it. There were a few months where there were lulls in submissions calls, but during those times I kept working on the next story, never ceasing to string words together. I built worlds.

In the last year, I wrote and edited over a dozen stories, of varying lengths. I sent them out into the world and received a passel of rejections, which indoctrinates me into the Every Writer Club. You know what helped with that? I shared my favorite rejection form letters with other writer friends. It’s not personal. Most of the time, you are one of hundreds of writers vying for a dozen spots.

But, in that same year, four of my stories were accepted!

I still doubt myself and my words. It comes with being an artist. But I have a trust now that I didn’t have before I opened myself to accepting rejection into my creative process. I trust that each story that doesn’t hit the mark is a learning experience to make the next story, or rewrite, better. And I trust that a rejection doesn’t mean my story is bad, but that it simply hasn’t found the right home yet.

As a writer, you are creator, nurturer, adoption manager, and undertaker. I have new goals this year, and prayers that my computer can hold out until I get paid enough for a story to replace it. Wherever you are in your own process, may your time be fruitful and productive.

Happy Hunting!

Silver Linings

I have five stories out waiting to be read and accepted or rejected. One story has been out since September, almost seven months now. On the publisher’s webpage, several authors have posted about signing contracts and getting published, only to never receive payment or their contributor’s copy. The publisher has responded each time publicly, assuring that they did so months ago. But they have yet to respond to my story. And it’s unlikely I would sign the contract if they did. It’s a shame. It’s a good one that would have meshed perfectly with their project.

But otherwise… other authors have been posting their rejections to projects I submitted. It’s nerve-wracking, and ironic, as artists and creative types tend to be sensitive by nature. And wounded by rejections over creations we consider to be our children. It’s enough to make some people give up. To decide that at some numbered rejection, their story isn’t good enough and they set it aside.

We forget that there’s also the audience to consider. Sometimes we shop stories around to the wrong places, because we don’t know better. I’ve had my fair share of those. I’m new to the business and not so savvy about that end of it. So there are bound to be hiccups and bumps along the road.

What matters is that I get up, dust myself off, and keep going. What matters most to me, about this journey, is that I didn’t think I had the heart for so much “no” and I am encouraged to find that the fortitude to do it anyway, because it is in my nature to do so, lives inside me, beneath that hurt.

I have this ritual I do every morning before I open my author e-mail account. I tell myself that rejection is part of the journey. If I get them it’s because I’m putting myself out into the world. And I believe that eventually, after a slew of rejections, the acceptance letters will come. So I welcome the rejections.

Still, every morning I don’t have a rejection in my inbox is a good one. It means one more day my story is being considered. When your career boils down to a daily game of chance, it’s all about the silver linings.

What keeps you going, on your uncertain path? 

Fundraisers, and Why Artists Ask You to Back Them

Photo by Sarah Lyn Eaton

Steps in Being a Writer (as I have discovered them in my personal journey, so take it with many grains of salt)

1) The first step in being a writer is to write.

2) The second step is to finish something.

3) The third step is to let someone else read it. This is the stage for beta readers, where I want to know if the story makes sense? Did you enjoy it? Did you care about the characters?

4) The next step is a hodgepodge of waiting for feedback and getting sick waiting, of wanting it and not wanting it at the same time. It’s where the artistic crisis of faith comes into play and you doubt every word you wrote and you’re not sure anyone will like your story, EVER. That feeling never truly goes away, for any artist, but it does lead you to…

5) Believe in yourself, that this is your path, or let it go and find another. Which you’ll consider for half a day, seriously, until you remember there is no other path.

6) Accept that no story will ever be perfect from the gate and learn how to edit yourself, how to craft your story the way you want to tell it. I often have multiple people reading during this stage, where I get a little more insistent with my questions. If all you give me is “I liked it” you might as well kiss me with death-lips. I’m glad you liked it. But there are a lot of good writers out there. I want you to want to read it again. And I repeat this step until I am satisfied.

7) The fourth step is to send it out, pray to whatever deities you believe in, and cultivate fortitude. There will be way more rejections than acceptances. If, like me, you aren’t sure about the market for your stories, you might start with smaller non-professional paying anthologies, magazines, and e-zines before submitting to professional markets. Seriously, I thought I understood how many rejections might come my way. I was wrong. If you’re lucky, you’ll get helpful feedback with your rejection. But when publishers have to sort through hundreds of stories in a timely manner, you can’t expect it.

This last step is where dreams can wilt.

I started sending stories out to non-professional paying markets while I practiced my story crafting. It’s very common to be offered $30 for a 6000 word story when the going rate is .06/word professionally, which would be $360. That’s a $330 pay cut for the experience and exposure. And I get it. Start-up publishers would like to pay more but can’t, though they still want the talent to come in build their reputation.

So far, I have sold my stories for a split share of royalties, because at the end of the day, if someone wants my story, I want them to have it. That’s the reason I chose this path. To share my stories. Not to make money (hopeless artist). But I am hoping that along the journey, that will happen as well (hopeful artist).

It’s what we all hope.

I submitted a story for consideration to an e-zine that can only pay $15 a story right now, but I had an early story that fit their theme and I would be happy to be included- and ecstatic to get $15 for my writing right now! A lot of publishers hope you will sell them your story for exposure, which is good, but it’s like asking a band to come play for a night in your club for exposure, or asking an artist to paint a mural on your building for free because people will see their work. And it is exposure. Which you can do once in a while. And most artists I know do it more than once in a while. Because the path is more important to us. Too bad the taxman didn’t feel the same way.

The last 6000 word story I wrote was the child of three days of story crafting and world building and question answering and outline/draft typing, stopping only to eat and sleep and clean the cat litter. It was followed by five days of exhaustive editing and fleshing out. I kept track. I was working ten hour days to finish a story that will maybe, eventually, earn me money. The more I write, the shorter each step gets, and the better my work gets, which will hopefully mean more stories will sell. It’s a strange teeter-totter.

Where the Fundraising Part Comes In

Many writers and young publishers have turned to the world of fundraising to procure the funds needed to produce a new book, hopefully including payment to the authors, too. Fundraising is similar to ways in which artists have historically been aided. Those patrons who enjoyed the art, music, literature, or theatre, etc. but could not do it themselves would pay artist’s bills while they produced for the pleasure of the discovery.

To be an artist means you make difficult choices as you pursue your craft, each step of the way fighting society’s expectations of and for you. So why should you give some of your well-earned money to artists? Because what would this world be like without art? Without Beethoven or Eric Clapton? Without Shakespeare or Tony Kushner? Without Walt Whitman, Maria Ranier Rilke, or Mary Oliver? Without Meryl Streep or Sir Ian McKellan? Without Vincent Van Gogh, Mary Cassatt, Kandinsky, Michelangelo, or Andrew Wyeth? If you go to the movies, you already support the arts!

And you could help support and encourage the birth of my next story.

A link to the kickstarter campaign for Mobbing Midnight: An Anthology of Crows, and the update where I answer the question "Why Crows?"

The way these campaigns work is, if you feel inclined to donate, you become a patron of the arts and what is known as a “backer” with several rewards that include offering you a reserved copy of the book by helping in advance. The money is not taken from you until the campaign is over. If we don’t reach our goal, you don’t lose any money, the book doesn’t get funded, and we probably publish it anyway, because our stories are our children and we want to set them loose in the world. And then we hope for royalties after the book sells.

You could be a revolutionary. Donations start as $1 but for just $12, it also gets you a copy of the finished book, plus a book mark featuring art by Jennifer Campbell-Smith. You may think even a dollar doesn’t matter, but to a starving artist trying to find their way in the world, every dollar counts. You can’t lose. Either you ultimately don’t have to fork any money over, or you become one of the people who made the birth of a new work of literature possible (something you could brag about). 

As 2014 tips into 2015...

I've been writing for years, finding my voice, finding footing in the stories I wanted to tell. This last year was the first that I seriously started submitting my work to strangers. Throwing myself out there is not something I do. So that is amazing. Accepting that I may not be understood or valued, and believing in myself is not something I did well in 2013. But I had to, in order to embrace the rejections that came back to me.

And yet some people liked what I had to say. And some people even sent me contracts, to share my work with others. So many steps forward, despite the push back. Every one of those steps is a beacon guiding me forward.

That's where my dream lies. It's the only path for me. I believe in fairies. I believe in Santa Claus. I believe in things I cannot see. I believe there are those out there who will feed from my stories.

May you find your passion in 2015. May you dive into what you need to do to see it through. There is only one you. Only one person in this whole world who sees what you see. I rang in the new year the way I want to live every day after... writing. Working on words. Thinking of my family. Wishing my loved ones health and happiness.

This last year has been solitude, work, loss, reunions, poverty, illness, surgery, births, love, work, success, rejection, love, and love...

May the next year be better. May my work be fruitful. May you find what you're missing. May you find it within you.


Here's a link to a separate blog post I wrote about my Great-Grandma's NYE diary.

The Art of Rejection

Actual rejection letter received.

I have a pile of them. And the hard truth is, they’re never going to stop. It takes great fortitude to pursue a career where a great majority of it involves facing, accepting, and processing rejection.

I’m in the midst of a spree of people like my stories! I’m getting at least to the last ring of consideration before the rejection which helps buffer the blow. It means I’m working in the right direction. But still, when that rejection comes, the third one in as many years from the same playwright festival, it dampens the joy. I still drop into what am I doing wrong?

I have received three story rejections in the last twenty-four hours and I’d be lying if I said the rejection didn’t sting. Oh, it wounds. They were positive rejections, as such a thing exists, encouraging me to try again. They liked my stories. They held them longer for consideration. But ultimately, they were not a good fit with the other selections made.

But there are going to be people who don’t like my work. There are going to be people who hate my voice and my message. What do you do with that when you are made of so much mushy insides?

I accept the rejection. I embrace it and understand that I am never going to be good enough for everyone. It’s just true. So I don’t have to try to be. I just have to be good enough for me. Trust me, no critic will ever be harder on my writing than me.

It means I have to be vigilant at shopping around for the right places for my voice. They’re out there. I’m not going to give up. So don’t give up, either. You are the only you in the world, with your tone of word and your point of view. If you don’t tell your stories, who will?

To Be a Writer

You say prayers before you open your e-mail account. You’ve been staring at the login for a while, trying to give yourself a reason to not check, ever since you sent that story out. It was the first story you sent, destined to be your first rejection, and you know it. You just don’t know how you’ll react.

Every positive rejection is a step in the right direction.

It’s a mantra you created though you know you’re not the first lips to utter them. Still, it stings when you read them:

“Thanks for your submission. Although we generally thought this story had merit, in the end we decided that it wouldn't be a good fit for the anthology. Unfortunately, we are going to pass on this one.”

“Thank you for your submission, but I’m afraid it’s not quite what I’m looking for. Best of luck to you in placing this elsewhere.”

“Thank you for letting us read your story. Unfortunately it is not quite right for the anthology. Good luck placing the story elsewhere!”

“Thank you for sending us your story. Although it's not the right fit, we're glad you thought of us. We wish you the best of luck placing this piece elsewhere.”

You’re grateful for the kind words. So you don’t give up. But you know you’ve missed the mark because they didn’t even critique it. And you try to quell the demon rising inside you, gnashing it’s teeth, because it wants to eat all of the words you wrote and swallow the ones that weren’t good enough. You hush the demon's rage because you know it’s more like a jigsaw puzzle. You have all the right elements. They're just not dancing in accord yet.

So you go back to the keyboard and you open your hands and you write. Because there are more stories and more characters coming alive within you and you have to get them out. And each time you tell their tales, you come closer to being the kind of writer your heart longs for, and you know it. You feel it in your blood. And you chase the dragons in your head. 

Every time you send another story out, you clench your fists, wondering how, in what new way, your words will be judged.

I don’t think that will ever go away.

But you learn that your stories are stray cats that just have to find the right homes. They’re good. And you plug away and plug away. You lose yourself in the creation of lives.

Then one day you open your e-mail and you’re reading the words and you don’t understand what they say because you’re reading them wrong. Because they don’t say “Unfortunately.” They liked your story. A lot. 

They want your story. They sent you a contract and everything. And now you’re a published author. The euphoria lasts through the night. You tell your parents, your partner, and your friends.

When dawn comes and you wake, toddling to the computer, bleary-eyed, you open a file and start all over again. You dance fingers across keys and your inner demon shouts synonyms at you for all the cliche words you first think. And life is born within you and released. And you write.

You write because you don’t know what else to do.