Hello again,
This month, I want to tell you why I’m starting to up my game a bit when it comes to submissions, and why I think some of you might want to consider doing the same.
Before I go any further, I want to clarify that none of this is meant to disparage any literary magazine or website. Neither am I saying my work is ‘too good’ for any particular venue.
What I am saying is that with a bit more experience under my belt, I now feel ready to pursue publication with a few considerations in mind that I might not have always thought about before.
When I initially drafted this newsletter, it was so full of caveats stressing that I don’t blame any journal for how it operates and insisting I don’t think I’m above them, that it was barely readable.
So, consider this a blanket disclaimer that I’m not trying to be rude about anyone, I am just talking about my own submissions and what I think I need to do with them if I want to have any hope of getting where I want to go as a writer.
This decision is a new one. I am sure my approach will continue to evolve. But for now, these are the factors I’m thinking about.
Why aim higher?
I have now been seriously pursuing publication for my creative writing for almost two years. As I mentioned in my full review of my first year submitting, I have spent that time researching the array of opportunities out there, vastly improving on my previous method of entering one or two high-profile competitions a year.
Having done that, and published work in a few places, this feels like the right time to re-evaluate where I’m sending my work, and what exactly I want to get out of it.
The positive angle is that getting published, and even paid for the work, has given me new confidence in my writing. I want to push myself to have more faith in what I’m producing.
This means going after big opportunities as much as possible, even when my self-doubting side suggests that I have no chance of being accepted.
I think we also have to recognise at some point that certain opportunities are aimed at writers who have little or no publication history. There comes a time to stop targeting these, and go be a small fish again.
In short: greater experience, both with publishing my own work and reading other people’s, puts me in a good position to make this change.
This same experience has also given me more insight into why we, as writers, need to be the biggest advocates for our own work, and find it the best home possible.
Because sometimes, even when everyone involved has the best intentions possible, it can feel like a published story goes out into the ether and is quickly forgotten.
I don’t say any of this to try and call out any particular editors or magazines. I say it to be honest about the reality of publishing literary work.
You can pour hours and hours into writing and editing a story, then more time sending it out. The moment it gets accepted for publication gives an instant hit of gratification. Finally, someone else sees what you see. But when that story is published, if it feels like nobody is interested, that can be really hard.
It’s hard to write about even now, because of course, as the author, your first instinct is to assume that the story was never any good to begin with, and that’s why it hasn’t had much of a response. Never mind that thousands of stories are published every day. Why should yours get any attention?
These thoughts are not invalid, but they are not helpful either. I think we have to focus on the fact that, good or bad, your work needs support to help it reach people. This is true across the publishing industry and I’m well aware of the struggles authors face finding readers at every level.
So, if there is even a small chance that getting my work onto a good platform will improve its reception, I think I owe it to myself to pursue that. There’s a finite amount of work I can complete to submission standard, and I want to make sure each one is working as hard as it can.
Compensation
Let’s get a bit more specific about what I mean when I say I want to aim higher.
The first consideration is money. Right now, I do not expect to make a living out of selling individual pieces of creative writing, but having now had some experience of getting paid for my work, I realise that I feel confident enough to start primarily submitting to places that will compensate me.
The first argument in favour of this is that there are plenty of places that will pay, even if it’s just a token amount. For a quick introduction to places that pay, have a look through Austin Hackney’s excellent list of 128 paying publications. As I was writing this email, the latest edition of Authors Publish also landed in my inbox with a fresh new listing of 49 journals that pay. And these are before we look at periodic callouts for anthologies or themed magazine issues.
The next is that submitting sometimes costs money! I have a rule that I don’t pay reading fees for general magazine submissions, but I do often think a competition is worth the entry fee. It would be nice to be able to at least cover my entry costs for the year through my writing sales.
And finally, there’s the obvious argument. As much as we love it, writing is work, and we deserve to be paid for it.
If, like me, you come from a journalism background, the pay rates for creative writing can be quite startling in how low or non-existent they are. This is something we find a way to accept when we have a strong desire to get our work out into the world.
But that doesn’t mean we can’t strive for better, and value our writing enough to at least try and get paid.
I doubt I’ll be totally eschewing all non-paying opportunities. Other factors like big platforms, high production values, or a good reputation might sway me. But I definitely want to focus on paying markets where I can.
Prestige
As I hit ‘submit’ and sent a piece of my work to The Paris Review earlier this month, I felt silly.
It was the same feeling I always get when I send something to what I consider a ‘long-shot’ journal or competition. It’s the feeling of both being ridiculous and embracing being ridiculous. I don’t get nervous at all, because being accepted is such an unlikely possibility that there’s very little at stake.
Some rejections might get me down, but not hearing back from The New Yorker? That’s just normal, and I can let it slide right off my back without seeing it as a judgment on my writing. People whose writing is far better than mine, who are published authors and have years more of experience, must get ignored by the very same top magazines every day.
So with all that said, if I view it so lightly, why do I bother continuing to send work to prestigious journals?
I understand why it can be daunting, or why it can feel like an unspeakable act of arrogance to even send work in the first place. But I think a lot of us like to talk ourselves out of making these long-shot submissions, thinking it’s not yet the right time.
If not now, when? Will there ever be a milestone that allows you to feel confident sending something to The Sun Magazine, or Clarkesworld?
My philosophy right now is to just try it. I kind of see myself as adding an item to a (very long) menu, which the editor in question is free to ignore. But if they feel like taking a chance on something new, then it’s there.
One other thing to mention is that prestige does not necessarily just mean large legacy magazines.
There are lots of ways people rank publications, from their number of Twitter followers to the number of awards nods their published work has received. I like Erika Krouse’s ranking, which takes account of circulation, awards, and payment, but also gives bumps up or down for extra factors like submission fees.
For me, a very desirable publication might mean a new indie that seems to have the kinds of readers I want to reach. It could mean an online publication with a great social media presence that gets eyeballs on its stories. It could mean somewhere that has absolutely exquisite print design, and I just want to see my words on its pages. It’s all about research.
Editors
Sometimes when talking about submitting work, we see editors and their teams as a kind of hurdle to be overcome. Or a code to be cracked. As though once we have been accepted by them, the day has been won.
But it’s after acceptance that the real relationship between the writer and editor begins. They are instrumental in what I mentioned above about finding an audience for your writing.
And perhaps even more importantly, I’ve found working with great editors to be a huge boost to my confidence.
I would like to make special mention here of Michael Kelly at Undertow Publications. He published my story ‘Scratching’ in the second issue of the press’s magazine Weird Horror (which, by the way, is currently open to submissions).
Michael not only paid for my story – the first non-competition payment I had ever received for fiction – but also did everything else you could ask for. He ran edits by me, kept contributors in the loop on the production timetable for the magazine, and put together a great issue of which I was honoured to be a part.
But what has most impressed me has been Michael's continued attention to the work of his contributors, even after publication. He has been proactive about awards, again keeping writers in the loop about this, and even made sure we saw a review of the magazine in Locus.
Not every editor can do all this, I realise that. Many are volunteers fitting it in around other commitments. But wherever possible, I would love to be working with editors who make my writing the best it can be, help to make sure it’s read, and give me that little confidence boost of knowing they respect my work.
What next?
I am braced for my acceptance rate to go down as I submit to more competitive places. However, I hope that the increased satisfaction when I do get a hit will make up for that.
I don’t expect to change my slightly scattergun approach to submissions, however. I know that some people separate their target markets into tiers, and only send work to one tier at a time. Frankly, I don’t have the patience to do that, and I get too excited by one-off callouts and themes.
If you find yourself at a similar stage of re-evaluation, I would love to hear from you. And if this post has sparked that reflection on your own submissions and you’re not sure what to do about it, my advice is this: dig out your favourite piece of unpublished work and send it, right now, to your dream publication. It will totally shake off your inhibitions and leave you free to imagine. Then you can make a plan for what to do next.
That’s all for now. Thanks for reading and please do share this newsletter with a friend if you’re enjoying it. The next roundup of opportunities will be out at the start of next month, and in the meantime several of those featured in my last email are still open.
Preview image by Elsa Noblet via Unsplash