With a Little Hindrance From My Friends

          This week we had our writing critique meeting. The meeting of five wild women wielding pens. The WWWPs.

          Three of us had submitted to the same anthology. Two of us had not heard (or so I thought) . Privately, a couple of weeks ago, I had told the more brazen of the other two of the submitters that I had already heard. I heard the next day--the day after I had submitted my story. Seeing the name of the anthology on an email that quickly was definitely surprising.

photo by mbgrigby

         The other writer-friend I didn't tell, until I knew she had sent hers in, as she is sometimes of the thinking, 'Well, they'll take yours and hers...why would they want mine?' But on Wednesday I discovered that my shy friend had indeed sent in her piece.

         It was then that I admitted that I had already heard. "They emailed me the next day. 'No,' they said. It stunk so bad, they had to burn rubber getting away from the stench--that's why they answered so quickly."

        When the shy submitter said she hadn't heard, I replied, "Well, that's a good sign, because apparently if they don't like it they move fast." Then I looked at the other one, and she had her hand over her mouth and had her head ducked down...like she was trying to hide from me.

          She had heard as well. They were considering her story. She said, "I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd be mad."

          I wasn't mad, although I did shout out my favorite phrase in mock ticked-offness. But that was all a façade. I wasn't angry with her. Instead, I felt bad.

          Talking wryly about my rejections is something I do, right along with celebrating the times I get a "yes." And when my friends get their work accepted, I'm thrilled. If it's a publisher/editor that I failed at, I might throw a colorful phrase at the friend, but I'm never serious about it. Rarely am I emotionally invested in a piece to the point that I get furious when I hear "no" because I know that at some point, I'll change the piece and regurgitate it and then submit it to another publisher.

         So if you have any shouting-from-the-rooftop to do, let me know. My writing friends help me so much--either in person or via the blogosphere--and I never want to hinder or inhibit any of them.

         Ever.  

What AM I Going to Do About It?

          After receiving two helpful comments to my post yesterday---helpful in different ways---a few things hit me in the head with a loud thunk.

          One, I have no idea what a "meme" is, but I imagine if I type in "meme" and search, I will find out.  (That was just a minor knock on the noggin...)  But, it led to a larger one, that if we force ourselves to engage in little writing "exercises" on a regular basis and sometimes stray from our comfort zone, it will stretch our skills.

           A writer named RK thought it was perplexing that someone who wants to be a writer does not write...It's not that I don't write; I'm just extremely clever and creative when it comes to ways to avoid writing.  (That reminds me of a story a high school teacher told me.  She was relaying that students are paying for a service/program that "corrupts" their disc. This allows them to seemingly turn in a paper on time via the disc, but when the teacher tries to read it and cannot, it buys the students a couple of days to actually write/finish the paper.  If they would use all that energy and ingenuity for good instead of evil, these students could get their work in on time.)

         If I used all the time to write instead of making excuses and psychic predictions ("No one will like this," "I'll never get an editor to look at this.") I might actually get something published.

          A large blow to my head happened when I brought back to the surface (because I've thought about it before, but quickly shove it back down) the idea that it's much safer to wonder than it is to know.  It's much more comfortable to speculate what response an editor would have to your work, than to really know via a rejection letter.

           For example, I have a picture book that I liken to (with great delusions of grandeur) Cynthia Rylant's picture books.  These are some of my favorite ones:

































        I loftily compare this story to Rylant's because it's not like the picture books I grew up with (five or so decades ago).  I've carefully worked on the craft of the story---the variety of sentence lengths, the similes, and so on.  I use the above picture books in my third grade classroom as well as in workshops I do with college students and fellow teachers---the books are that well written.  (In my next post I will tell you why I hate Cynthia Rylant as a person...)

           Anyway, I became emotionally connected to this story I wrote, several different response groups have read it, and has been "finished" (I know, a piece is never "finished") for probably at least 2 years. I think it's fairly polished.  And for 2 years I've wondered why it isn't published.  And that's because I have not sent it off.

          As long as I keep it that way, I don't have to face rejection, I can ignore the glaring light of reality, I can speculate what it would be like if...

          Various goals I've set have not worked:  By the beginning of the new year, I will have sent it off....By the end of the summer, I will have...It'll be in the mail to an editor by...

            So, RK, this is what I'm going to do about it.  I have a query letter written (it's also been written, and waiting, for 2 years).  I have a publishing house that---logically---I should begin with, because my story is kind of like a bookend for another one of their books.

             Give me a month.  In fact, give me a little less than a month to get off my butt and do something about it.  By September 1, send me note and hopefully, I will be able to say, "The eagle has flown" or "The chicken has left the coop" or some other coded phrase that says, "I've sent it off."  (Which leads to the biggest blow to my head:  RK is from India, a country where some of my favorite books and movies and documentaries come from.  How cool is that?  In another continent far, far away, from a culture that is very different than mine, one writer reaches out to another writer...)