Lately, I've been playing a game with rejection notices.
I've been counting them.
And I've been leaving their numbers on my Facebook feed.
Why?
Well, why not? Why take rejection seriously? I started taking it for what it is, a game, and decided to treat it like one. I started doing this at the beginning of the year. I count each notice and leave their numbers on Facebook (#1, #2, #3, etc.), and keep counting them until I get an acceptance. Once I get an acceptance, I start all over again. I clued my friends in to what I was doing, so they would know, but I stopped writing status updates that complained about rejection or made people tell me they were sorry it was happening to me. It happens to every writer and I wanted to stop making more of it than it was.
Since I've been playing this game, it's taken most of the sting out of getting a rejection, and helped me concentrate on sending work out and rejoicing when I get an acceptance. There's no rhyme or reason to this. One acceptance came after 8 rejection notices, another after 7. And in between, I just watch them do what they do, and file them away.
(Sooner or later, I'll probably stop these shenanigans, but for now, I'm enjoying myself.)
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
First and Foremost
In her blog post, "Confession Tuesday - the Yin and the Yang," Kelli Agodon discusses the struggles of writers, that our lives aren't always hunky-dory, that we spend a lot of time in self doubt, even when the writing is going well.
Most recently, I have spent time in the "where do I fit in?" chair after receiving a rejection claiming that the work I submitted was experimental, and then another saying that the editors liked my voice, but it wasn't what they were looking for. From submitting my first manuscript to contests and presses, to submitting poems to journals and contests, I have spent a lot of time lately wondering which editor will like my work and where I will fit in.
Is this important? After feeling this way for weeks, I came upon an interview with Nikky Finney, a poet whose advice I trust (she was the driving force behind my chapbook), in which she says:
"In that moment I knew what kind of writer I wanted to be in the world. Yes, I wanted to write about beautiful things, but I also wanted to hand something over to the reader that was more than beautiful words, something that might have the power and presence to make them stronger, better and wiser. I did not want to be the writer who was simply waiting for applause. I wanted to be smack dab in the middle—doing something foundational, something that might be helpful to another human being."
Isn't this why I've written about my experience as a mother, to shine a bit of light on someone who is going through the same experience? I wanted mothers to feel less alone, less trapped in the trade name of "mother," less prey to the chaos. I wanted to give voice to the complexity of that life and not sugarcoat it, not make it a relic. I wanted those things first and foremost, and somehow, my poems found a home. So I have to keep pushing. I have to keep writing what is true for me and reach out to those who feel as uncertain as I do.
Most recently, I have spent time in the "where do I fit in?" chair after receiving a rejection claiming that the work I submitted was experimental, and then another saying that the editors liked my voice, but it wasn't what they were looking for. From submitting my first manuscript to contests and presses, to submitting poems to journals and contests, I have spent a lot of time lately wondering which editor will like my work and where I will fit in.
Is this important? After feeling this way for weeks, I came upon an interview with Nikky Finney, a poet whose advice I trust (she was the driving force behind my chapbook), in which she says:
"In that moment I knew what kind of writer I wanted to be in the world. Yes, I wanted to write about beautiful things, but I also wanted to hand something over to the reader that was more than beautiful words, something that might have the power and presence to make them stronger, better and wiser. I did not want to be the writer who was simply waiting for applause. I wanted to be smack dab in the middle—doing something foundational, something that might be helpful to another human being."
Isn't this why I've written about my experience as a mother, to shine a bit of light on someone who is going through the same experience? I wanted mothers to feel less alone, less trapped in the trade name of "mother," less prey to the chaos. I wanted to give voice to the complexity of that life and not sugarcoat it, not make it a relic. I wanted those things first and foremost, and somehow, my poems found a home. So I have to keep pushing. I have to keep writing what is true for me and reach out to those who feel as uncertain as I do.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Doing the work
I've known for a long time that writers find solutions or answers to their writing problems by doing the work. By not stopping. I've shared this writing advice with my students and taken it when I've been stuck on a poem. If I don't stop writing, whatever problem I'm having is eventually resolved.
But I never thought this would be true for submissions.
I've been sending my first book to contests and presses for the past six months. Over Christmas Break, I began to get anxious. The university was on break so I had no schoolwork to keep me busy, so I started thinking about the presses I hadn't heard from yet, why I hadn't heard from them, and my close friends can attest to the fact that I got a little neurotic. Who wouldn't, but I was wondering when it would end.
It ended this morning.
You see, a week ago I had made a promise that I would not submit any work to magazines, journals, contests, or presses for an entire month. I needed a break from worrying about the response of editors and was sure that a break would help.
That was hogwash.
To be idle, for me, is to be anxious. This morning I prepared another copy of my manuscript to go out to a contest. Am I concerned about hearing a decision on my manuscript now? No, because I have it ready to go out. I have something to work toward, however small. I am doing the work of a writer.
And I am not going to stop doing this work. Why sit around and fret that the poems or the book aren't published yet? Why not be busy, be thinking toward something else? I have poems to revise, poems to send out, my manuscript to circulate. The real work is not in worrying or complaining, it is in doing.
But I never thought this would be true for submissions.
I've been sending my first book to contests and presses for the past six months. Over Christmas Break, I began to get anxious. The university was on break so I had no schoolwork to keep me busy, so I started thinking about the presses I hadn't heard from yet, why I hadn't heard from them, and my close friends can attest to the fact that I got a little neurotic. Who wouldn't, but I was wondering when it would end.
It ended this morning.
You see, a week ago I had made a promise that I would not submit any work to magazines, journals, contests, or presses for an entire month. I needed a break from worrying about the response of editors and was sure that a break would help.
That was hogwash.
To be idle, for me, is to be anxious. This morning I prepared another copy of my manuscript to go out to a contest. Am I concerned about hearing a decision on my manuscript now? No, because I have it ready to go out. I have something to work toward, however small. I am doing the work of a writer.
And I am not going to stop doing this work. Why sit around and fret that the poems or the book aren't published yet? Why not be busy, be thinking toward something else? I have poems to revise, poems to send out, my manuscript to circulate. The real work is not in worrying or complaining, it is in doing.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Looking back on 2011 and forward to 2012
Looking back over the past year, I realize it's been a good one. I've had more publications this year than I've ever had in one calendar year, my chapbook was accepted, and I started writing book reviews for various publications. I can attribute this success to one thing: getting over my fear of being rejected by editors.
Sometime in the Spring, I started sending out more than one or two submissions at a time. I've always been petrified of rejections, mostly because I've let myself take an editor's opinion too seriously (after all, it's only one opinion). What really inspired me was team teaching an advanced creative writing course with a colleague and requiring our students to submit work to 5-10 journals by the semester's end. I figured, if these students could do it at the beginning of their careers, why couldn't I? By that time I'd been out of school for over 10 years and had a very short list of publications to my name.
It worked. Now, at the end of the year, I try to have at least 12 submissions out to journals at a time. Once one or two come back, rejected or accepted (the former is the case more often than not), poems go out again. Keeping the door revolving has been good for me: it reminds me that I can't hold on to poems until they're perfect and I can't be too touchy about the decisions of editors.
It's also helped me in another way: to see any rejected poem from an editor's point of view, and to make any revisions that I think are necessary before submitting a poem again. I've even taken this so far as to revise and reorganize my first full-length collection after sending an earlier version to 6 contests and presses. I think it's stronger now; I will probably revise it again after sending it to a few more places.
I love revision. I still hate rejection, but making those notices into learning experiences has helped me immensely. For 2012, I want to study line and syntax in poetry so that I can make my line breaks more interesting and effective. I want to be more courageous and I want to feel uncomfortable in the first drafts of my own poems. I hope I can make these things happen, even if they don't happen until 2013 or after. I want to keep learning and growing, because that's what matters, after all.
Sometime in the Spring, I started sending out more than one or two submissions at a time. I've always been petrified of rejections, mostly because I've let myself take an editor's opinion too seriously (after all, it's only one opinion). What really inspired me was team teaching an advanced creative writing course with a colleague and requiring our students to submit work to 5-10 journals by the semester's end. I figured, if these students could do it at the beginning of their careers, why couldn't I? By that time I'd been out of school for over 10 years and had a very short list of publications to my name.
It worked. Now, at the end of the year, I try to have at least 12 submissions out to journals at a time. Once one or two come back, rejected or accepted (the former is the case more often than not), poems go out again. Keeping the door revolving has been good for me: it reminds me that I can't hold on to poems until they're perfect and I can't be too touchy about the decisions of editors.
It's also helped me in another way: to see any rejected poem from an editor's point of view, and to make any revisions that I think are necessary before submitting a poem again. I've even taken this so far as to revise and reorganize my first full-length collection after sending an earlier version to 6 contests and presses. I think it's stronger now; I will probably revise it again after sending it to a few more places.
I love revision. I still hate rejection, but making those notices into learning experiences has helped me immensely. For 2012, I want to study line and syntax in poetry so that I can make my line breaks more interesting and effective. I want to be more courageous and I want to feel uncomfortable in the first drafts of my own poems. I hope I can make these things happen, even if they don't happen until 2013 or after. I want to keep learning and growing, because that's what matters, after all.
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