Submission-a-day plan
Writers of fiction all have them: a paper or electronic file of short stories we never did anything with, either because we're ashamed, scared, or because the piece didn't seem to fit the needs of any market. As I prepared to send out my first urban fantasy novel for its second round out in the world, I happened to open up that file and take a hard look at the contents. Some of the pieces, I hadn't read since finishing them. Some of the pieces weren't even finished. And the coolest thing about some of them was that I honestly had no memory of writing them at all. It was like reading someone else's short story collection.
Like any collection, some stories were better than others. A lot of them were much, much better than I thought. So why didn't I put any of them out there before? All of the above reasons in addition to the old enemies of lack of time and energy. During some periods, it was often the simple, stupid case of not having access to a printer on a regular basis.
Excuses like these are no longer going to fly. There is a wealth of items in this folder of mine. I apparently have had the nerve to send my novel to two different publishers of not-inconsiderable merit in the industry, so why not work on bolstering my shortform credits while I twiddle my thumbs for four months waiting to see if Famous Editor Guy at SF Publisher #2 decides to send me a rejection letter or not?
In addition to yesterday's submission of the novel query package, this morning, I submitted a flash fiction piece to a contest. That's two pieces in two days. And then it hit me: I want to be a published fiction writer full-time, but what on earth am I doing to truly achieve that goal? Yes, I'm publishing critical reviews and essays, and that's doing me a great deal of good. I also happen to love doing it. Why do I have no fear about putting my non-fiction self out there? I need to have the same level of work ethic for my fiction. Having a work ethic means going to work every day. If I already have a personal backlist to sell, why am I not attempting to do so?
For the rest of this year, then, I'm going to attempt the attempt itself. I'm going to send out one piece of writing per day and see where it gets me. If on December 31, 2006, I haven't sold anything, that's not even the point. The money is definitely not the point, and getting successfully published somewhere is almost not quite the point, either. The point, gentle reader, is simply to do what any job applicant ought: apply for the damn job. You don't get a job when you don't send out résumés, and you sure as hell don't get published if you don't send your work out.
Seem obvious? Then why have I struggled with this for so long? Because we all love what's new, and that includes our own work. We want to be published for who we are now, rightthisveryminute. If you haven't the time to complete a new novel every month but only a new novel ever year, last year's novel isn't going to seem nearly as cool to send out as this year's, which makes one dream incessantly about chucking the cushy day job and writing full time. Fine and dandy -- and great if you win the lottery -- but until you've got the luxury of being able to resign and write new material 'til the cows come home, it'll be a helluva lot easier to sell something if you've got the cred to back it up. Make your own personal slush pile work for you. Somebody somewhere will bite, even the tiniest of the small presses, and then you're one step closer to having a CV that looks all the more impressive for the effort you've made.
Duh, right? Yes. Duh. I'm thirty-one years old, and it took me a decade to get to this realization. Now, pardon me while I get my envelopes and stamps in order. I have a career to get off the ground.
Like any collection, some stories were better than others. A lot of them were much, much better than I thought. So why didn't I put any of them out there before? All of the above reasons in addition to the old enemies of lack of time and energy. During some periods, it was often the simple, stupid case of not having access to a printer on a regular basis.
Excuses like these are no longer going to fly. There is a wealth of items in this folder of mine. I apparently have had the nerve to send my novel to two different publishers of not-inconsiderable merit in the industry, so why not work on bolstering my shortform credits while I twiddle my thumbs for four months waiting to see if Famous Editor Guy at SF Publisher #2 decides to send me a rejection letter or not?
In addition to yesterday's submission of the novel query package, this morning, I submitted a flash fiction piece to a contest. That's two pieces in two days. And then it hit me: I want to be a published fiction writer full-time, but what on earth am I doing to truly achieve that goal? Yes, I'm publishing critical reviews and essays, and that's doing me a great deal of good. I also happen to love doing it. Why do I have no fear about putting my non-fiction self out there? I need to have the same level of work ethic for my fiction. Having a work ethic means going to work every day. If I already have a personal backlist to sell, why am I not attempting to do so?
For the rest of this year, then, I'm going to attempt the attempt itself. I'm going to send out one piece of writing per day and see where it gets me. If on December 31, 2006, I haven't sold anything, that's not even the point. The money is definitely not the point, and getting successfully published somewhere is almost not quite the point, either. The point, gentle reader, is simply to do what any job applicant ought: apply for the damn job. You don't get a job when you don't send out résumés, and you sure as hell don't get published if you don't send your work out.
Seem obvious? Then why have I struggled with this for so long? Because we all love what's new, and that includes our own work. We want to be published for who we are now, rightthisveryminute. If you haven't the time to complete a new novel every month but only a new novel ever year, last year's novel isn't going to seem nearly as cool to send out as this year's, which makes one dream incessantly about chucking the cushy day job and writing full time. Fine and dandy -- and great if you win the lottery -- but until you've got the luxury of being able to resign and write new material 'til the cows come home, it'll be a helluva lot easier to sell something if you've got the cred to back it up. Make your own personal slush pile work for you. Somebody somewhere will bite, even the tiniest of the small presses, and then you're one step closer to having a CV that looks all the more impressive for the effort you've made.
Duh, right? Yes. Duh. I'm thirty-one years old, and it took me a decade to get to this realization. Now, pardon me while I get my envelopes and stamps in order. I have a career to get off the ground.
posted by xkwtx at 7:26 AM
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