Submission 101

Talented, would-be-published writers tell me all the time that they have finished articles and don’t know where to send them, or that they have short stories collecting dust, or that they don’t think they are good enough to get published. So, this is for all the writers out there who need some encouragement to send work out, or just need a kick in the ass. Whichever way you want to look at it, here are some tips to increase your odds of success once you screw up the courage to submit your work.

1. Before you send it out, make sure it’s ready. Don’t assume an editor will recognize the masterpiece buried under typos and grammatical errors. There’s too much competition for you to think anyone will take work that’s not the best it can be.

2. Do your research. While you can’t read every magazine and literary journal out there, if you’re serious about being published, you’ll read the ones you’re submitting to. Every editorial board has preferences for style and material, and the only way to get a feel for what they like is to read them. You can pick up some from book stores, or you can order back copies from the journal’s website. You might also check out Cliff Garstang’s blog, Perpetual Folly. He’s reviewing some of the top journals in his “Year of the Lit Mag” series.

3. Study the submission guidelines for each journal. These guidelines are in addition to the manuscript standards you should already be familiar with – double-spacing, 10 – 12 point font, 1 inch margins, etc. The guidelines will tell you things like maximum word count, whether or not they accept genres, whether they want snail mail or electronic submissions, and any other particular preferences they might have. Take these seriously. Why bother to send a journal a 10,000 word story when they don’t publish anything over 7500 words? Geek that I am, I have a spreadsheet that lists journals I think might like my work (based on reading dozens), their submission periods, max words counts, how long they take to respond, and tons of other information.

4. Track your submissions. I use my handy-dandy spreadsheet to track when I send a story out, and when I get a response. Because I also have a column with an expected response date, I can easily track when I need to follow up. If you’re not as nuts as I am and don’t want to bother making a spreadsheet, check out duotrope. It’s a free and easy-to-use submission tracking website. Whatever you use, make sure to track submissions. There’s nothing more embarrassing than sending a story to a journal and realizing later that they’ve already rejected it once.

8. Don’t give up. Few writers have their stories accepted by the first journal they submit to. If you get a rejection, send the story right out again. I have a rule to get it back in the mail within 48 hours unless I decide it’s time for a major revision.

All of this takes effort, and lots of writers hate the submission process. I happen to love it. I love research, and I love spreadsheets. But more importantly, I love the challenge of finding the right home for my work. If I really believe in a story, I owe it to that story to do everything I can to get it out into the world and off my desk.

So stop whining and start putting the effort into submissions that you’ve put into your writing. You’ll increase your odds of getting that “We’d love to publish your story” email we all obsessively watch for.

What the day job does for you

People who know me in my other life (the event planner life) often ask me why I don’t use wedding stories in my fiction. It only makes sense – I entertain my friends all the time with tales of ring-bearing dogs, agoraphobic brides, and drunken groomsmen. (no names, of course)

There are stories there, for sure, but I’m not able to tell them yet. Not on paper, at least. I don’t have the distance I need to be able to have perspective. To be able to create my own characters who would do these crazy things instead of just reworked real people.

That doesn’t mean I don’t use my years of event planning in my writing, though. A wedding is a microcosm of the world we live in, full of drama and joy and silliness and family relationships. There’s no better place to observe sibling rivalry, feuding parents, and people with control issues. (they’re the ones telling the band what to play)

Weddings are also terrific for eavesdropping on conversations, for honing my ear for dialogue. I love to listen in. And because I always carry a clipboard at weddings, I can jot down lines that I really like. I never walk on the floor of an event without paper to write on.

If you have a day job, it might be hard to look at it as a good thing for your writing. For most, the dream is to have all day every day to write. It can be hard to get your writing done when you’re working 9 to 5 – I know that. But I think there are some positive things about having a day job.

For a part of each day you get out of your own head and have actual conversations with people other than imaginary friends.
There’s so much material in the work place. If you don’t believe me, read my favorite workplace book, Then We Came to the End.
Because of the limited time to write, you might just get more done. When I’m working another job, I realize how precious writing time is, and I protect it. I fight for it. And waiting for the muse is not an option – you either write in the two hours you have or you don’t.

If you don’t have the luxury of writing fulltime, you can still get plenty of writing done in the hours before or after work. I’ve done it for years. I’m a late nighter, so I often write until 2 or 3am. You might be an early riser. So get up an hour early and write before work. If it’s important to you, you’ll find the time and energy to do it.

Because of all the weddings I’ve done, I have notebooks full of funny and true dialogue, and enough stories to fill two novels. Someday, when I’ve processed it all, maybe I’ll use it in my fiction.

To enter or not to enter…that is the question

Last week I got an email letting me know that the winner of the Compass Rose Flash Fiction Competition had been chosen and it wasn’t me. I was, however, named as a finalist, and while that doesn’t get my story in print or earn me any money, it does validate my belief that the story is a good one, and just needs to find the right home.

When I first started sending out my work, I unrealistically entered competition after competition. Prestigious ones. You know, Iowa Review and the big boys. Competitions that normally have thousands of entries, from thousands of seasoned writers. I didn’t know any better. I figured my odds were as good as anyone else’s.

They weren’t. I had no idea what those competitions were looking for. Had no idea just how bad my odds were. So I optimistically sent in my stories with $15 and $20 checks, and then waited until inevitably I got the letter or email saying thanks for entering, we had lots of great entries this year, sorry yours wasn’t one of them (not really, but that’s what it felt like). Basically I was contributing to the prize funds for other writers, writers who actually did know what they were doing.

These days, I’m much more educated, and more selective, about entering fiction competitions. There are a few criteria I use to determine whether or not sending in an entry is worth my time and money. (This assumes, naturally, that the story is competition ready.)

1) Is the competition on the up-and-up? Scams are all over the internet, taking advantage of naïve writers who just want to see their work in print. Do your research. Poets & Writers is a great place for this – they have a whole section on their website for legitimate competitions and their deadlines.

2) Is this a competition that’s worth winning? What makes it worth winning? Adulation, money, publication in a great journal? A win in the Joe Blow Write Like a Pro Competition does not do much for your CV.

3) Do you have a chance in hell of winning? Is this a competition that will attract thousands of entries, including those from already frequently published writers? Look for competitions that offer the best odds, like those for emerging writers. Choose respected journals, but maybe not the holy grail of journals, like Missouri Review, at least not at first.

4) How much is the entry fee and how much is the prize fund? Is the pay-off great enough for the risk? Run the other way if you see an entry fee of $15 or $20 for a $100 first prize. This is a money making scheme, and it won’t be you who’s making the money. On the other hand, $2000 and $3000 prizes are hard to win. Competition is fierce, and the number of entries large, especially if the entry fee is low. Look at it like a business. If they’re only charging $5, but the prize fund is $3000, they have to assume they’ll get a lot of entries to cover prizes and make some money for their magazine. That, my friends, is the primary purpose of competitions.

5) What are previous winning stories like? If you write straight, simple narrative, but the past two or three winners of a competition are experimental and edgy, then that’s probably not the competition for you. Once again, do your homework.

I would recommend you start with small competitions and work your way up. Enter local contests. One of my first publications was as winner of an annual short story contest run by The HooK, a weekly newspaper in Charlottesville, VA. I walked away with a nice check and a publication credit, and was a minor celebrity in my circle of friends for a few weeks.

So, make sure the story is as good as it can be, do your research, and choose competitions with the best odds. And know that even if you don’t win, just entering does some very positive things for your writing. You’re much more likely to revise and revise again if it costs you money to submit. You spend time researching journals and past winners, which will give you a better idea of what they’re looking for when you choose to submit to them again. You learn to carefully follow submission guidelines and to take deadlines seriously. And most importantly, you’re sending your stories out into the world, believing in them. Which, in the end, is what every serious writer has to do.