The Busy Buzz

It's been a busy week, as most holiday weeks have become for me. But I know that I'll be craving all of this busy buzz when the mid-November slump comes along. I'm happy that I still have so much to do this late in the year.

A few more rejection slips have come in, but they seem to be the ones that are more promising: either the rejection compliments the quality of the writing or anticipates future submissions. Realistically it can still be the standard form letter rejections from these publications. But I've gotten many, many rejections before. Compliments and urging future submissions are not always included. I just have to keep working to find the best publication for each piece. That may not be easy for my short story. I think it's giving off one vibe, but my intention was something else entirely.

The poetry project is still chugging away. The funny thing about it is that I've noticed the quality change just from the time that I started with the first piece to the ones that I've written in the past couple of days. The first piece was going to be previewed on Patreon tomorrow, but I now hate that first piece and need to give it a total rewrite. I will still post an excerpt from the collection, but it won't be the title poem. Make sure to sign up for my Patreon page so you can get the first look at it!

The Rejection that Made Me Smile

The submissions from January are finally starting to roll in. I got my rejection letter from The New Yorker yesterday. After I read it, I couldn't stop smiling.

Sounds like I've gone off the deep end? No, don't worry about that. It's a little hard to explain why this rejection made me happy, but I'll try. First, I think I've mentioned this before, but the whole idea of submitting anything to a publication like The New Yorker seems insane. Very few (if any) stories make it from the slush pile into the pages of the magazine. Writers understand that--it's a prestigious publication and it likes to work with writers they already know. While I'm sitting here typing this, some of you may be ready to hurl "Cat Person" as a counter argument because it made it out of the slush pile and onto the pages. Sure. I'm not saying it never happens, just not that often.

The idea of submitting there was crazy, but I really needed to get back into the habit of submitting my work. That's why I decided to send my story to The New Yorker. I was almost certain to get a rejection back. Actually, I didn't even expect a rejection letter at all--the submissions guidelines say if you haven't heard anything back in ninety days, assume they didn't want it. The fact that I got an acknowledgement at all is probably a good thing, right? It means at least one other person on this earth read it.

It's not that it's a bad story. I wouldn't send anything of poor quality. It's just that it's one of thousands. It didn't have much of a shot. I just needed to get back into the groove again. And I have--I've submitted plenty of work over the last few months. I just thought if I could get this New Yorker rejection out of the way, I would be ready for whatever came next. I would be able to say to the next rejection letter: "Screw you! It's good and it will find a home where someone appreciates it."

Turns out, I didn't need this rejection to rediscover my determination. I received a rejection letter last week as well, from a university journal that wasn't interested in my poetry. Normally a rejection letter sends me on a roller coaster ride of anxiety because I'm the type of person that fears success as much (or more) than failure. The anxiety I get when I see the email subject line pop up is insane.

But this one was different. I didn't get that feeling of defeat like I usually do. Mostly it's because I received one of those higher-level rejections. Usually writers get the one-line form letter rejection. I have a treasure trove of those. If it goes beyond that, it gives you a little hope, whether you make yourself insane thinking that you're reading too much in it or not. What I received is the second level rejection--the one that says they don't want it, but they look forward to you submitting again. That's progress. There is also a third level rejection that has a personal note from an editor, but since everything is email instead of the old fashioned through-the-mail rejection, I'm not entirely certain these still exist.

Now I have to turn around and submit my poetry and my short story to other publications. Although as I wrote that short story I couldn't imagine it anywhere other than the pages of The New Yorker, I know that there's a publication out there that's waiting for it. I just have to put in the time to find the right place.

December Is Here!

The best part about it being December 1st? NaNoWriMo is officially over. At 24,755 words I didn't even hit half of the goal, but it's 24,755 words more than I had thirty days ago, so it's still a win in my little writer heart. The rest of 2017 will be dedicated to getting Melody's Valentine ready for publication in January, but you can be a part of what I'm going to work on in 2018. Become a Patron by December 15th and you can vote for what project I tackle next.

I also woke up to a rejection letter. Not fun, but not anything that's unusual. It will make me rethink about submitting to west coast-based publications for awhile, though. When I submit to Midwest or east coast publications, the rejection letters usually arrive between noon and 6pm. West coast publications like to give me something to wake up to. At least I'm at the point in my career where this little anomaly makes me chuckle. Five years ago I would have went all Betty-Draper-on-her-fainting-couch for a day.

And it did get me thinking about where to submit to next. 2018 is probably going to be the year of Go Big or Go Home, so I'm aiming high. The literary elite won't see me coming!

Lessons on What Could Have Been

Sometimes you think when an opportunity presents itself, it's the universe telling you that you need to make a move, take a chance. I had that sort of moment two weeks ago when I found an ad for a press looking for chapbook manuscripts. Since I had just come off of a month of putting together a poetry manuscript, I thought I would make the most of it—pick out the best of the original to create a chapbook. And it seemed like a good, cohesive collection. I felt proud to have made it.

But I flaked. Over the past week I kept going, “oh, I'll submit it later tonight.” I convinced myself I had one more day, one more day, wait, just one more day—then I ran out of days. On the last day before the deadline, I decided to reread the submission call. It wanted stuff that was experimental, surreal. And I quickly decided that my poetry didn't fit within those parameters, and convinced myself it wouldn't be the right fit.

I should have submitted anyway. 

It wasn't the fear of rejection. I think I need a recent rejection under my belt to get me back in the swing of things. It was the fear that I may actually succeed. I thought about all that may entail, and I was worried about a lot of things. I have anxiety about sharing my work, which has really only developed over the past six months. I will let absolute strangers pour over my every written word, but there are maybe ten people on this earth that I don't want near my work—I don't want them to even know what I write. And it's the fear that this tiny group of people could get their hands on my work, could confront me about it, could potentially ridicule me that's done more that keep me from submitting my work. It's inhibited my ability to promote the stuff that's already out there for fear they may come across it. It's prevented me from completing as many posts on this blog as I would like. In my mind, the threat is circling and I feel like if I make the slightest move, everything could crumble. It's stupid, but it's hard to argue with anxiety because it's irrational. And you know it's irrational. But you buy into it just the same.

I used to freely be able to talk to people face-to-face about writing, even going as far as talking about projects I have in mind. I used to be able to immerse myself in new submissions. I've been putting together a list of publications for my own use, cobbled together from some of my monthly writer newsletters, and I'm starting to see some publications I've already submitted to. Then my mind wanders back to five, six years ago. That's when I wasn't afraid to submit my work to place far and wide. I wasn't afraid of the rejection. I also had the mindset that everything I sent out had a real potential of making it.

Obstacles to publishing don't phase me. It's just the irrational fear that's left. Even if no one wanted it, I could get work out there and take no pay. But I'm still convinced that the best of my work hasn't touched the light of day and still has earning potential. I can't give it all away just to prove something to my own anxiety. My anxiety doesn't really care. If I get over this obstacle my anxiety will just find something else to latch on to—it always does.

Each morning I get to start over. I get to face whatever hangups I seem to have, and I get to try and work towards a better situation where I don't have to feel as anxious about every little decision I make (or fail to make). If this post is published, it must mean that I've been able to conquer the first of many battles to get back to the full-fledged writing career I'm meant to have.

Knowing When to Slow Down

Being a writer is not all it's cracked up to be. Most people still have the idea that writers spend their days lounging in a Starbucks watching the world go by, while in the evening they sit at their computers and tap out the next great American novel from all that they have observed with a latte in hand. Then, there's the whole misconception of glitz and glamor once you privilege the world with your prose. Book launch parties, signings and sudden invitations to all the best parties.

Or, your writing life could resemble the real world.

I've been spending more time prioritizing than working in the last couple of days. With Nanowrimo fast approaching, I've put a temporary hold on submitting to new publications. This is simply because I don't want to rush these drafts. I know they are not ready for the publications I want to submit to. Why waste the time when I know I'm getting a rejection letter? Sure, those letters are fun to collect, but you don't want too many cluttering up your inbox.

This is only temporary, I assure you. I want to focus on finally winning a year of Nanowrimo, so my free time will be spent on that instead of a flurry of red ink on drafts I've rewritten ten times. But come December, those bloodied pages will be back on the desk, ready to get all bandaged up. 

Oh, and don't forget: I have a few books for sale on Half.com. Shop my store. I will be adding more in the next few days because I finally cleared out most of the boxes in the garage... which means all that's left is some lonely little books looking for a new home.

Invading Thoughts

I have too much time to think on the weekends. When I am immersed in work, I don't worry as much. Give me an afternoon with nothing to do and I run the gamut of emotions from sweet and smiley to down right depressed. I will be working on this micro-focus on my problems, because I need to keep reminding myself that my problems are nothing compared to a lot of people in this world.

The one thing this weekend that didn't trigger an emotional reaction was a rejection letter. It came within a week of submission, but I secretly thought it wouldn't be accepted anyway. That tells me that somewhere in my brain I knew that it wasn't quite ready for submission. That story will definitely be going back to the revision pile for a second (or eighth) look. 

I did also have some success at the end of the week building my Elance profile up a little. Someone finally decided to take a chance on me with a quick rewrite job, so now I have a great rating, a little money and a lot of invitations to submit proposals on new jobs.

Problems? Those can wait for another day.

Battles Scars in the Writing World

I have a few new battle scars to add to my career. I received a few rejection letters this week (even two on the same day!), but don't worry -- I'm not letting it get me. Why? It took about 20 rejections per each acceptance I've had over my career. I only received 3 "not for us" letters last week. I have plenty more wiggle room before it starts to worry me. So today I'm spending a little time to pick up my work, dust it off and send it right back out.

The only part of this whole experience that is strange is that I receive rejections much quicker now. When I first started, it took two months or more (even with online submissions). Now it takes less than two weeks. I guess I should be glad. It's better than sitting around for six months waiting to send it out somewhere else if it's not accepted.

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What The Universe Is Telling Me

We all knew it would happen at some point. Did I think it would happen today? No, but here I am, devoid of all that positive attitude junk I was feeding myself for the past six weeks. Why did it have to end? I was living in blissful ignorance. I thought the world was at my fingertips, just waiting to be seized. And look—I'm even butchering cliches.

It's the same old story—the little things begin to build up to the point that I just break. I've once again been defeated by a long line of trivial setbacks that would normally push a person into that territory where you're either more determine than ever or you flake: I flaked. I let a bunch of rejections (both professional and personal) get to me. I'll never understand why they always have to happen on the same day, but they usually do.

But you know what? This frickin' Universe of ours keeps sending me signs. I guess I don't have to listen, but when you write what I just wrote, then casually check Twitter while you're forming your next thought and see this: You Have a Choice (from @CorbettBarr), you gotta believe in something or someone wanting you to not give up. I'm trying really, really hard not to. There are so many things I could just toss out the window today and never look back. But I won't. I'm determined. I'm still a bitch to be around right now, and maybe I just needed a good cry this morning, but I'm going to get through it. I have to.