Rejection Nation: Honing Your Submission Process
~ On My Mind with Kari Ann Ebert ~
I’ve really enjoyed reading what’s on writers’ minds. I especially liked the feel of Laura Ann Reed’s discourse on not talking about poetry. When she said, “Talking is talking, but writing poetry is transformational,” I felt that. There’s a kinship in what’s been on my mind lately and that tension between writing poetry and talking about poetry. It’s the difference between being in the moment and talking about being in the moment. A natural segue to what’s been on my mind lately.
It’s the fast unraveling of time in my life. I suppose it could be getting older, but I find that the busier I become, the more I struggle to get caught up on the time that’s slipped away. I’ve made the intention about being mindful with my time for friends, family, writing, community projects, and self-care. This has opened up so many questions about what is really worth my time.
Let me be more precise. I’ve been thinking about what will serve me in the writing realm. I haven’t submitted anything in a year. I haven’t written anything of substance (that I’ve finished) in a year. Now, I’m intentionally setting time aside to get those creative juices flowing again.
Chatting with writers in the community, I’ve found that there’s a certain philosophy — or maybe to be more precise — game plan about submitting work for publication. Many writers live and die (hopefully not literally) by the rule that they aim to get at least 100 rejections in a year.
100 rejections? That means that I would have to submit way more than 100 times. Now, I’m not really into doing a lot of heavy math, but this seems like a numbers game to me. I’ve tried to convince myself that I should meet this quota in order to be considered a “real writer.”
Here’s the thing, my personal measuring stick of fulfillment (my own fulfillment) is not about how many acceptances or rejections I can muster in a year. I’m fulfilled by finding exactly the right word for a poem. Or seeing a poem on a page that distills the feeling of that poem down into a word/white space/rhythm/sound & breath picture.
Taking a slow, measured, and I have to say a little obsessive approach with my poetry is the most fulfilling part of writing to me. So, I can’t get on the 100 rejections bus. I guess I’ll just have to buy some new poetry-walking shoes.
How many other writers feel this way, but still put that undue pressure on themselves? How many other writers just want to be left alone with pages to fill and freedom to enjoy their aroma? How many others feel fulfilled with just being able to spend time with their work, honing their craft? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think any particular writer is pressuring other writers to conform to the numbers game. It’s more of a perceived pressure, in my opinion, but it is strong. It often leaves me feeling like I’ve just finished combat training: drained and needing some serious R&R.
I do want to see my work out in the world. I’d like to have my full-length poetry collection accepted by an amazing press. The thing is, I want my collection to match up with the vibe of the press. The aesthetic. If I try to get 100 rejections of individual poems from my full-length collection, what are the chances that all the presses I’m submitting to have the right vibe?
Please understand, this is just me processing my own tendencies and tastes. If someone else feels no pressure but thinks the 100 rejections game plan is grand, they will get no judgment from me. I’m happy if they’re happy. That being said, I’m not happy spending my own time (that’s quickly slipping through my fingers) on endeavors that don’t serve me or my writing.
So, how do I keep the act of submitting in mind as an important part of my writing practice (because it truly is important)? That’s definitely a work in progress. I have been pondering some strategies that I think might fuel my submission drought. And I’d like to put them into practice.
One strategy is giving myself an assignment with enough wiggle room for spontaneity. Making the intention at the beginning of each week to set aside 3 hours (all at once or three different sessions) to focus on the core elements of submitting will help start a habit.
The crucial elements are threefold.
First, it’s impossible to find literary magazines and presses that line up with an aesthetic or style without reading and researching. Just one hour per week will help curate a list of places to submit.
Find out where your favorite writers have been published. If you are struck by writing that is close to your poetics, it will be meaningful and productive to research where that writing has found a home. Then, read those lit mags!
Second is submission preparation. There is nothing worse (in my opinion) than taking 3 hours to submit just one batch of poems. As you’re curating your list, consider notating submission guidelines for each possibility. How many poems or pages of poems? All one document or separate? Do they ask for a cover letter? Do they want a bio? If so, how many words? You can also include the names of poems that fit well with each possibility’s vibe. You could put everything into a spreadsheet if you’re fancy. I love a good spreadsheet.
The third element is the actual submission process. Now, you have a working list that will continue to expand and contain everything you need for the submission. This will make it easier. In my experience, these are the things that often discourage me from making time to submit, but breaking them down will help keep the encouragement flowing.
Another way to work submitting into your writing practice is to find a literary buddy. Someone who can keep you accountable. If you’re a goal-setter, find someone who also likes to set goals. If you find you need motivation, find someone who will encourage you as you encourage them. If you’re analytical and love to discuss the pros and cons of different presses, find someone who also finds joy in this. Personally, I find myself gravitating toward this last type of literary buddy. I’m not one who enjoys the pressure of goals. Maybe it’s because it puts me in a position of trying to live up to something. If I can make a space for myself filled with equal parts inspiration, motivation, and fascination, that space will become a very productive one.
No one fuel will propel every single person. Taking the role of the inner observer, we can parse all the advice swirling around and find the practice that energizes us. What does that mean personally to me? Getting as close to the center (or heart) of the writing muse as I possibly can and living there.
I’m very interested in your take on the time management/time slippage quandary. How do you do all that you do and still have time for your own writing? Do you have a formula or ritual when it comes to submitting and choosing where to submit? Do tell. I’m all ears.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Winner of the 2020 Sandy Crimmins National Prize in Poetry and the 2018 Gigantic Sequins Poetry Contest, Kari Ann Ebert is a writer, artist, and teacher. Her poems have appeared in journals such as The Night Heron Barks, Mojave River Review, Philadelphia Stories, The Main Street Rag, The Ekphrastic Review, and Gargoyle as well as several anthologies. Ebert has received fellowships from Delaware Division of the Arts, Brooklyn Poets, and BOAAT Press among others. Her limited edition poetry chapbook Alphabet of Mo(u)rning, published by Lily Press, is available on her website kariannebert.com. She lives in Dover, Delaware, where she serves on the board of directors for both The Dover Art League and National League of American Women (Holly Branch).
Excellent post. Decades ago (and I mean 1980) I gave up a very particular expectation of myself that was embedded with restriction and rules that always—ALWAYS—failed. When I let that go, I found freedom in SO many significant areas of life. For me, the gentle and yet serious expectation that I do my best to work at my creativity each day is what is helpful. I have no idea how many submissions I do a year, but in the time it would take me to count, I could probably send out at least one more batch of poems. I like the expectation and yet freedom of my serious but flexible attitude; it works well for me.
Regarding time for submissions: (fast forward 3 decades) the rules of writing and submitting (which I'd never learned in my then fancy B.A. in creative writing) in an area I was not yet skilled (writing for children) and the desire for and goal of publication controlled my work and learning for over a decade. Around 2012, when publishers began the "no response is our response" response, it was too much to take. I'd taught myself to be resilient with rejections; I had many, many "close calls" for publication (and had had a few stories in magazines); but the lack of response was new and seriously emotionally hurtful. I quit submitting and focused on writing. I was able to put the longing for publication on a back burner, and my writing, ability to self-edit, and choices of content flourished. Even a few years later, when a particular judge for a contest made me take my novel in verse out of hiding, and I began submitting again, that whole aspect stayed out of my creative life. And there it has stayed, still. I'm the queen of submitting—I do it (now as children's poet and author, and poet for adults) virtually every day in the afternoons or evenings. But I write in the morning, whether it's a poem, a draft, or even scribbles for ideas of a new poem or picture book/board book text.
I need and want joy in the creative process—that means, for me, focusing on creating something and revising it until it delights me, creates the emotion I want to share. Then I think about submitting it—in the afternoon.
I am not a member of the 100 rejections club. But I do get 100s of “rejections” a year. I try to match my submissions to journals’ aesthetics but I also realize it’s both a numbers game and a crap shoot as to who pulls my work from the slush pile. (A 20 something is less likely to resonate w a poem about geezer love!)
But I do like getting my work out there in widely read outlets. It broadens the community of poets i’m in conversation with - and, yes, I do like poetry community/conversation with poets I admire. It has been juice for my writing.