Yes, Jelly Bellies. Those little, glorious jewels of unabashed flavor. I'm currently resisting the urge to nosh on the little buggers, since some horrid demon decided to bring some into my home...okay, I'm not really complaining, but still--they might be gone by tomorrow.
Just saying.
Anyway, back to the subject. Now, my personal favorite are the Belly Flops--the little mistaken buggers that don't meet the quality control standards. Today, I found a triple watermelon, and nearly shat. I've always loved the watermelons, just because they're red on the inside, green on the outside--like a watermelon. Amazing, the things that inspire me to write these blog posts, isn't it? I'm sure we'll be talking about lessons from cat crap, next week.
Back to the jelly beans. Aside from the obvious lesson--higher quality equals more money--there's something deeper. As a reader, I (and, I believe, most people) will reread a good book over, and over, and over, and I (and I also believe most people are like this) like to be surprised when I reread. Give me something deeper, something that only slowly savoring your book can reveal--like biting a watermelon Jelly Belly in half instead of just gobbling it up.
As a writer, that means we should strive to include thee things in our books. If there's a fresh layer to be had the second time, you've written a very good book. If a reader still finds new, tasty bits after a fifth reading, you've written a downright great book. If, after ten, twenty, fifty readings, you can still captivate your reader--well, I bow at the altar of you.
The Belly Flops themselves are also a lesson on wastefullness--your mistakes, if they're well-crafted mistakes--will be accepted. Don't just give up because your story isn't what you want--somewhere, at least one thing is salvageable, often the whole thing. Show it love and you'll have a very pretty mistake--like a Belly Flop.
Now you can return to your lives--my psychotic rambling is over for the day.
Peace, love, and chicken grease,
Voss
NOTE: Jelly Belly and Belly Flops are registered and trademarked by the Jelly Belly Candy Company.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Wet and Cold am I
For those of you that don't know (good GOD, how many blog posts have I started with that?), the pacific northwest is cold, wet, and snowy...finally! It took until almost the end of winter, but here we are, finally in the midst of winter, and it doesn't look to be letting up any time soon.
What does that mean for me? It means I don't have a lot of options--I have to do work. Of course, I would have been doing the work anyway, but I'm hoping if I make it sound terrible you'll all take pity on me and bring chocolate to my door...I'll also accept Kahlua, if chocolate is unavailable.
Really, though, I'm getting an awful lot done on my end. My first book is almost through with edits (after a year, I might note...I won't be waiting that long anymore...it's miserable...), I've written and submitted to a new anthology, and I think I may have gotten minor caffeine poisoning...apparently five cups of coffee is too much for a six hour period...go figure, huh?
Well, I'm back to work, after one more parting shot (after all, I won't get to my 160th page edited just sitting around here, as much as I love talking to y'all.): over at Speculative Friction, there's a bit of celebration about a new book release or something...sounds pretty cool, if you ask me.
Happy living and such,
Voss
What does that mean for me? It means I don't have a lot of options--I have to do work. Of course, I would have been doing the work anyway, but I'm hoping if I make it sound terrible you'll all take pity on me and bring chocolate to my door...I'll also accept Kahlua, if chocolate is unavailable.
Really, though, I'm getting an awful lot done on my end. My first book is almost through with edits (after a year, I might note...I won't be waiting that long anymore...it's miserable...), I've written and submitted to a new anthology, and I think I may have gotten minor caffeine poisoning...apparently five cups of coffee is too much for a six hour period...go figure, huh?
Well, I'm back to work, after one more parting shot (after all, I won't get to my 160th page edited just sitting around here, as much as I love talking to y'all.): over at Speculative Friction, there's a bit of celebration about a new book release or something...sounds pretty cool, if you ask me.
Happy living and such,
Voss
Monday, January 16, 2012
Glorious Spreadsheet, Hallowed be Thy Cells
Recently, I realized I was having a hell of a time keeping track of my submissions, and that can get dangerous--at that point, I wasn't entirely sure whether a story just sat there, or if it was just in a really long submission process. So, I made a spreadsheet (It's also proving helpful for Write 1 Sub 1.), and I discovered something.
Spreadsheets are bitchin'.
Rejections don't tend to upset me nearly as much as they did before the spreadsheet's glory came into my life (Wow, talk about religious fanaticism...). I have a theory about this, too. I think that, when you're just flailing with a rejection, it suddenly stands alone, the only piece in your mind. But, when you go in and look at the spreadsheet, and see all of those other stories aside from your recent reject, it all seems much less evil and nasty. That leads to faster turnaround on your part, which leads to more submissions, which leads (eventually) to more acceptances.
And really, who doesn't want that.
Voss
Spreadsheets are bitchin'.
Rejections don't tend to upset me nearly as much as they did before the spreadsheet's glory came into my life (Wow, talk about religious fanaticism...). I have a theory about this, too. I think that, when you're just flailing with a rejection, it suddenly stands alone, the only piece in your mind. But, when you go in and look at the spreadsheet, and see all of those other stories aside from your recent reject, it all seems much less evil and nasty. That leads to faster turnaround on your part, which leads to more submissions, which leads (eventually) to more acceptances.
And really, who doesn't want that.
Voss
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Dreaded Evil THING
Your friends don't hate you, I promise. If you're in that boat, however, you probably just received a beta-read (Of course, I suppose if your friend tried to run you down with a Sherman tank, cackling and cussing, I might seriously suggest blocking them from your Facebook account. Just a suggestion.). I repeat: your friends don't hate you.
No, I promise. No matter how nasty and shitty you feel after reading their comments, it passes, normally by the time you wake up the next morning, and easily by the next time you see them.
I've received more than a few beta-reads in my time, and I do have a tiny bit of insight to give, although I'm sure you tire of my preaching by now.
No, I promise. No matter how nasty and shitty you feel after reading their comments, it passes, normally by the time you wake up the next morning, and easily by the next time you see them.
I've received more than a few beta-reads in my time, and I do have a tiny bit of insight to give, although I'm sure you tire of my preaching by now.
- You aren't mad at the beta-reader. If that's all you remember from this, I'll be happy. 99% of the time, you aren't really mad at the beta-reader (Not to say it never happens, because I know it does, but only rarely.). You're mad at you. It's something you're either pissed that you didn't notice, or pissed that they noticed. Those are by far the worst. You find yourself cussing them out because they had the audacity to notice your mistake. Be pissy now, but get over it.
- You were always going to receive negative feedback. I know, it seems like a stupid thing to point out, but admit it--you, like every writer, has at least a small part of him/her that wants to hear that it's the single most brilliant piece of literature ever written, all praise, all hail. Of course, that doesn't happen. Even in the most amazing of published works, unchallenged in their complete brilliance, can be overhauled. Why should a pre-publishing manuscript be any different? The problem is that we have that little, unrealistic ideal in us, and it makes it considerably harder to take critique.
- You're considerably better than you were when you wrote that drivel. Unless you're using Bart Allen as a beta-reader (i.e. The Flash), you've spent at least a little time since you sent it to the beta-reader, and you've kept writing, and you've gotten better (we're talking a novel, not just a short story--although sometimes...). Remember that. It might seem like they're harping on the same old, same old, or that they're being vile and truly nasty, but you're better. It's not as bad as it might seem, from the comments--it stuff you probably would have caught on your own anyway, a lot of the time.
All right. Feel better? I didn't think so--but you will. I swear you will. Go eat some chocolate, sleep, and come back to those beta-reads ready to go.
Tomorrow.
Not now.
Peace, love, and chicken grease,
Voss
Monday, January 2, 2012
New Year's Resolutions
I hate New Year's resolutions. They're evil and, when not met (which is quite often, as most of us know), will depress you quite severely, sending you falling out of writing grace and in with the denizens of teenage fast-food drones and old people that knit cat sweaters in tiny cottages in their own backyards.
Or maybe that's just me.
However, there are some lovely people more than willing to set goals for you:
The general idea started with Ray Bradbury (on an aside: can you believe that rascal's still kicking? 91 years old. Bloody hell.), who submitted a story once every week--and it worked. Think about it: you write 52 stories, what are the odds that they'll all be brainless drivel? It's almost impossible, really. At least one story of the fifty-two is going to be good enough for publication, and probably more.
The great part is that it can be any length to qualify--from 1 word all the way up to 15,000, which is pretty much the highest that most markets go for short stories (I've seen them go up to 25,000 words, but really, let's face it--that's a novella.).
Now, you might already write that much, but that's not all there is to it--you have to submit one every week as well. It works to not only get your name out, but also to familiarize you with the markets and the submission processes and to help desensitize you to rejections. Not completely, but eventually you have to kind of shrug it off if you're writing and submitting one story a week (more if you're up to it).
On the site, they also have market listings and (if you get published and paid) a place to list your published work (great publicity, considering that they have 200 plus members and counting to date).
Plus, they have a sort of Write 1 Sub 1 Lite, if you will: 1 story written and submitted every month. Much more doable for most of the busy people in the world. Plus, you can pretty easily aim in-between those. Two a month or three a month: the point is to write and submit massive amounts of work throughout the year so that you get more work out into the world and into the public eye.
Sound like my much-beloved NaNoWriMo? It is, but this is not so much about fun and writing useless crap you'll never sell. Some things about NaNoWriMo are good and should be taken away (don't be afraid to write crap, for instance) when you leave, but a lot of it should be left at the door.
So just pop on over here and write to submit, to sell, for quality, and still have some fun, I'm sure, along with your selling satisfaction. Plus, being only the second year, you'll be getting in on pretty much the ground level.
Besides, how guilty are you really going to feel? I bet you're going to write more than you usually do no matter what, and it's not like you're chiseling your name on a stone contract here--it's just an undertaking.
So, for my New Year's resolution, I'll be taking the plunge into Write 1 Sub 1. Note I said taking the plunge--I'm tricky that way. No real obligation, you know?
Happy New Year (I'll probably be posting another Happy New Year thing on the 23rd--Year of the Dragon, baby!),
Voss
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Writing to a Theme
Yesterday, I posted about the short story publication process.
Now, let's talk a little bit about how you write to a theme, for, say, an anthology or a theme-heavy magazine/contest.
It doesn't start with the writing process--it starts with the planning. You need to latch onto something for inspiration. Now, sometimes you can get lucky and snatch onto something straight away, but it's not necessarily the norm. So, find yourself a menial or repetitive task (ask my neighbors. I walk circles around my property almost every day. I do it so much I know my path, riddled with rocks and junk cars as it is, well enough to walk it in the dark.) and have at it. Go over whatever you need to, and give yourself at least half an hour of uninterrupted thinking time. If you have a longish commute to work, that's the perfect bloody time to go about it, too, you lucky you.
Of course, that's no guarantee to you figuring out your idea. Don't sweat it. I once went over half a year sitting around saying that an idea just wasn't worth writing for, and then, in the middle of NaNoWriMo, three days before the deadline for the antho, I got hit with the bug and had to write for it, because I got the idea. Inspiration, you see, isn't just finicky and fickle, it also has a tendency to show up at inopportune moments.
Of course, that's also the best time to grab it, when it sneaks up on you all kinds of ninja-like.
It may be full-fledged, it may be an inkling, but now you need to nurse it. However you do it--brainstorm, list make, draw it out, map, bubble-chart--don't leave yourself with some barely formed idea, even though it is brilliant. This is where you get to flex your writerly muscles, especially when it comes to speculative fiction. Worldbuild.
Whether your idea was for a character, a plot, or a world, worldbuilding is pretty much your first step, or one of your first steps. You don't have to go overboard, just enough to grab an editor's attention.
Now, check it again here, right before you set out to write it. Does it still actually fit the theme? If it does, awesome. If it doesn't, awesome. Write it no matter what, because you can always track down some sort of home for it, it might just take a little more searching.
Now, we go to the same process as any other publication run, with one preliminary step: does it work for your theme? After you've written it and let it breathe, edited it and refined it to it's publishable form, is it still good for your original theme. If so, and you don't think it belongs somewhere else all of a sudden (sometimes it happens, and you just have to play around at Clarkesworld or Writers of the Future instead), throw it at the intended market.
It's the same thing, with a little more emphasis, and a little more constriction, put on your idea sessions. Consider it a workout--it's more weight on the arm-lifty thingy machine thing, and it will make you a better writer.
Theme-crazy,
Voss
Now, let's talk a little bit about how you write to a theme, for, say, an anthology or a theme-heavy magazine/contest.
It doesn't start with the writing process--it starts with the planning. You need to latch onto something for inspiration. Now, sometimes you can get lucky and snatch onto something straight away, but it's not necessarily the norm. So, find yourself a menial or repetitive task (ask my neighbors. I walk circles around my property almost every day. I do it so much I know my path, riddled with rocks and junk cars as it is, well enough to walk it in the dark.) and have at it. Go over whatever you need to, and give yourself at least half an hour of uninterrupted thinking time. If you have a longish commute to work, that's the perfect bloody time to go about it, too, you lucky you.
Of course, that's no guarantee to you figuring out your idea. Don't sweat it. I once went over half a year sitting around saying that an idea just wasn't worth writing for, and then, in the middle of NaNoWriMo, three days before the deadline for the antho, I got hit with the bug and had to write for it, because I got the idea. Inspiration, you see, isn't just finicky and fickle, it also has a tendency to show up at inopportune moments.
Of course, that's also the best time to grab it, when it sneaks up on you all kinds of ninja-like.
It may be full-fledged, it may be an inkling, but now you need to nurse it. However you do it--brainstorm, list make, draw it out, map, bubble-chart--don't leave yourself with some barely formed idea, even though it is brilliant. This is where you get to flex your writerly muscles, especially when it comes to speculative fiction. Worldbuild.
Whether your idea was for a character, a plot, or a world, worldbuilding is pretty much your first step, or one of your first steps. You don't have to go overboard, just enough to grab an editor's attention.
Now, check it again here, right before you set out to write it. Does it still actually fit the theme? If it does, awesome. If it doesn't, awesome. Write it no matter what, because you can always track down some sort of home for it, it might just take a little more searching.
Now, we go to the same process as any other publication run, with one preliminary step: does it work for your theme? After you've written it and let it breathe, edited it and refined it to it's publishable form, is it still good for your original theme. If so, and you don't think it belongs somewhere else all of a sudden (sometimes it happens, and you just have to play around at Clarkesworld or Writers of the Future instead), throw it at the intended market.
It's the same thing, with a little more emphasis, and a little more constriction, put on your idea sessions. Consider it a workout--it's more weight on the arm-lifty thingy machine thing, and it will make you a better writer.
Theme-crazy,
Voss
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
A Brief Overview of Publishing Your Story
It was pointed out the other day that, when published authors have learned the business a little bit, they tend to use words that up and coming authors may or may not understand, and I don't think that's fair to them, but it's sort of a hard thing to teach all in one session, so I gave up on that. What I can do is impart a little bit of the publishing knowledge. Now, we're all writers here, correct? So we can all make a first, unpolished, perhaps completely illegible draft, right (I know I can.)? Then we'll start there, with you and your rough draft.
It's a pretty rough draft. Kind of like no one thinks their kid is ugly, and how you love your children even if they do have a bit of a reptilian look and devil horns. It's that kind of blind prettiness and, I'm afraid to say, it must be quashed with vim and/or vigor. The only way to do that is to let it sit. I recommend at least six hours for a short story or piece of flash, at least a week for a novella or novelette, and at least three weeks (preferably a month or more) for a full length novel. Just leave it alone. Don't look at it. Don't think about it. This is the time to call your long-winded Uncle Gabe or make a cheesecake...personally, I'd prefer the cheesecake, especially if you share...
The important thing is not to be doing anything with your story. It has to sit there and fester alone, thinking about how ugly it is, that way it just spills its fears and problems with you as soon as you come back. Because, as it is, that is the only way for it to get better, it has to have that time.
Now is when you get to be Mr. or Ms. or Mrs. Surgeon-Man/Lady. Grab your whole set of scalpels and give it a read through, form beginning to end--and fix the living hell out of it. Cut scenes, cut sentences, add passages, change words, inject a new character if you must, just cut away, at the very least, all of the visible tumors on the outside and readjust the physical structure to compensate. You see? It's now much better, much more pretty.
On the outside.
Once you've done that initial edit, you get to the scary-ass part. Beta-reading/beta-editing. You see, the only things that remain are the things that you can't see, the things you're blind to, the vicious, malignant, internal cancers. You need a specialist, and that specialist is a beta-reader/beta-editor. Don't get discouraged--you probably have a lot more of them floating around than you think? Part of a writing group? Ask them. Have other friends who write? Ask them. Maybe the nice Frenchwoman down at the gas station the next town over is an avid writer. What's the harm in asking? You see? You have options. Now, of course, you can't just pick someone, and if it's your first time having this done, it can be intimidating. You need to first weed out anyone that doesn't understand your genre (i.e. generally, you don't let a deer-hunting bodybuilder/mechanic beta your chick-lit, unless you know it'll work). Now your pool of options is more precise. I'm sorry to say, however, that I can no longer guide you. You can be the best of friends with someone, but if their beta style clashes with you, you can't ever use them. Ever, ever, ever, unless you secretly hate them.
So you send it off (obviously remembering to offer to beta for them, as well) and wait. And wait. Again, a good time to do something stupid and menial, like wash the dog. When you finally get it back, you'll find it marked-up, red and blue all over, and looking for a little bit of sympathy. This is the time when you need the most distance, and the most balls-out confidence...
...and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.
You now have to be humble enough to admit your mistakes to yourself, and that is unbelievably hard, believe it or not. Sometimes, your beta will point out stuff that you can't believe you missed, it's so obvious. Those are the times when you eat your crow (it goes down much better with chocolate) and fix it.
Then you'll want to kill them for something stupid, but aren't sure if it needs changing. This is where the confidence comes in. I got given two pieces of grammatical advice in one beta. One was sound, the other was stylistic only. I took the sound one and said f*ck off to the stylistic one, because it was idiotic. You have to remember that this is your story, not your beta-reader's, so don't change it if it needs to stay.
Now, you've edited and revised twice. That's the bare minimum I allow anything out of the door with. It's in your best interests to do it three, four, maybe five times, but that's a matter of your discretion. I've broken the rule, and it's worked out with one edit before, so who really knows?
Okay, polished story, but you're flailing in the water trying to find a market. Duotrope's Digest is your best friend. Love it, cherish it, and take it out to dinner. You just run over there, plug in your information, and hit search, and it pops up with markets galore that want to read your work. Let them, especially the high-paying ones. It's conventional wisdom that, in this situation, you would start with your highest paying markets. I normally start with Clarkesworld Magazine, because they have something like a one week maximum turnaround time, and they pay ten cents a word. Other big spenders are Daily Science Fiction (8 cents a word) Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show (6 cents a word) and Writers of The Future (1000 dollars for the top story). Of course, the top market is Tor.com (25 cents a word), bu they have a three year backlog of stories, so I tend to shy away.
If you've then exhausted half of your pro markets (5 cents a word and higher), I normally re-edit and start submitting to all of them (except non-paying...not yet, anyway). There are almost assuredly 100 or more markets for your story, enough that you'll probably find some you won't want to (or aren't allowed to) submit to. That's all right, because you can eventually find a market. It's just a matter of dropping your own standards down a bit more. If it's not getting into IGMS, ASIM, or some other fancy acronym-like magazine, maybe you can try something like a charity anthology, a coffee-table flash book, or some of the Static Movement press books. They don't pay, but exposure is exposure, and those are great ways to get some exposure.
Now, you'll probably get a rejection letter...or two...or five...or twenty...it really doesn't matter (Although don't delete them. There's a magazine that requires you turn in 6 or more rejection slips with your submission to even be considered!). They all hurt. Somebody else, someone you've never met, basically just told you that your baby is ugly and should be thrown into the pits of hell *insert evil laugh*
Okay, not really, but is does feel that way. I'm pretty resilient. I can get multiple rejections without it really affecting me. Of course, one too many and I go ballistic and decide that my writing is completely worthless and vow to live in a tiny house in the backyard and knit sweaters for a hundred and three cats. I'm serious, that's my plan if I'm ever going to stop writing...or maybe if I write and just want to be alone...it kind of sounds peaceful, doesn't it?
The cure? Chocolate and good, loud, angry music...and hugs. Hugs are good.
Of course, sex is probably really good too...never tried that one before.
Honestly, though, you need to deal with it however you deal with it, and quickly, because a stagnant story is no money, no exposure, and just compounds the problem.
In the next few days, I'll be putting up another post on writing for themes (like anthologies and the like). For now?
Toodles,
Voss
It's a pretty rough draft. Kind of like no one thinks their kid is ugly, and how you love your children even if they do have a bit of a reptilian look and devil horns. It's that kind of blind prettiness and, I'm afraid to say, it must be quashed with vim and/or vigor. The only way to do that is to let it sit. I recommend at least six hours for a short story or piece of flash, at least a week for a novella or novelette, and at least three weeks (preferably a month or more) for a full length novel. Just leave it alone. Don't look at it. Don't think about it. This is the time to call your long-winded Uncle Gabe or make a cheesecake...personally, I'd prefer the cheesecake, especially if you share...
The important thing is not to be doing anything with your story. It has to sit there and fester alone, thinking about how ugly it is, that way it just spills its fears and problems with you as soon as you come back. Because, as it is, that is the only way for it to get better, it has to have that time.
Now is when you get to be Mr. or Ms. or Mrs. Surgeon-Man/Lady. Grab your whole set of scalpels and give it a read through, form beginning to end--and fix the living hell out of it. Cut scenes, cut sentences, add passages, change words, inject a new character if you must, just cut away, at the very least, all of the visible tumors on the outside and readjust the physical structure to compensate. You see? It's now much better, much more pretty.
On the outside.
Once you've done that initial edit, you get to the scary-ass part. Beta-reading/beta-editing. You see, the only things that remain are the things that you can't see, the things you're blind to, the vicious, malignant, internal cancers. You need a specialist, and that specialist is a beta-reader/beta-editor. Don't get discouraged--you probably have a lot more of them floating around than you think? Part of a writing group? Ask them. Have other friends who write? Ask them. Maybe the nice Frenchwoman down at the gas station the next town over is an avid writer. What's the harm in asking? You see? You have options. Now, of course, you can't just pick someone, and if it's your first time having this done, it can be intimidating. You need to first weed out anyone that doesn't understand your genre (i.e. generally, you don't let a deer-hunting bodybuilder/mechanic beta your chick-lit, unless you know it'll work). Now your pool of options is more precise. I'm sorry to say, however, that I can no longer guide you. You can be the best of friends with someone, but if their beta style clashes with you, you can't ever use them. Ever, ever, ever, unless you secretly hate them.
So you send it off (obviously remembering to offer to beta for them, as well) and wait. And wait. Again, a good time to do something stupid and menial, like wash the dog. When you finally get it back, you'll find it marked-up, red and blue all over, and looking for a little bit of sympathy. This is the time when you need the most distance, and the most balls-out confidence...
...and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.
You now have to be humble enough to admit your mistakes to yourself, and that is unbelievably hard, believe it or not. Sometimes, your beta will point out stuff that you can't believe you missed, it's so obvious. Those are the times when you eat your crow (it goes down much better with chocolate) and fix it.
Then you'll want to kill them for something stupid, but aren't sure if it needs changing. This is where the confidence comes in. I got given two pieces of grammatical advice in one beta. One was sound, the other was stylistic only. I took the sound one and said f*ck off to the stylistic one, because it was idiotic. You have to remember that this is your story, not your beta-reader's, so don't change it if it needs to stay.
Now, you've edited and revised twice. That's the bare minimum I allow anything out of the door with. It's in your best interests to do it three, four, maybe five times, but that's a matter of your discretion. I've broken the rule, and it's worked out with one edit before, so who really knows?
Okay, polished story, but you're flailing in the water trying to find a market. Duotrope's Digest is your best friend. Love it, cherish it, and take it out to dinner. You just run over there, plug in your information, and hit search, and it pops up with markets galore that want to read your work. Let them, especially the high-paying ones. It's conventional wisdom that, in this situation, you would start with your highest paying markets. I normally start with Clarkesworld Magazine, because they have something like a one week maximum turnaround time, and they pay ten cents a word. Other big spenders are Daily Science Fiction (8 cents a word) Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show (6 cents a word) and Writers of The Future (1000 dollars for the top story). Of course, the top market is Tor.com (25 cents a word), bu they have a three year backlog of stories, so I tend to shy away.
If you've then exhausted half of your pro markets (5 cents a word and higher), I normally re-edit and start submitting to all of them (except non-paying...not yet, anyway). There are almost assuredly 100 or more markets for your story, enough that you'll probably find some you won't want to (or aren't allowed to) submit to. That's all right, because you can eventually find a market. It's just a matter of dropping your own standards down a bit more. If it's not getting into IGMS, ASIM, or some other fancy acronym-like magazine, maybe you can try something like a charity anthology, a coffee-table flash book, or some of the Static Movement press books. They don't pay, but exposure is exposure, and those are great ways to get some exposure.
Now, you'll probably get a rejection letter...or two...or five...or twenty...it really doesn't matter (Although don't delete them. There's a magazine that requires you turn in 6 or more rejection slips with your submission to even be considered!). They all hurt. Somebody else, someone you've never met, basically just told you that your baby is ugly and should be thrown into the pits of hell *insert evil laugh*
Okay, not really, but is does feel that way. I'm pretty resilient. I can get multiple rejections without it really affecting me. Of course, one too many and I go ballistic and decide that my writing is completely worthless and vow to live in a tiny house in the backyard and knit sweaters for a hundred and three cats. I'm serious, that's my plan if I'm ever going to stop writing...or maybe if I write and just want to be alone...it kind of sounds peaceful, doesn't it?
The cure? Chocolate and good, loud, angry music...and hugs. Hugs are good.
Of course, sex is probably really good too...never tried that one before.
Honestly, though, you need to deal with it however you deal with it, and quickly, because a stagnant story is no money, no exposure, and just compounds the problem.
In the next few days, I'll be putting up another post on writing for themes (like anthologies and the like). For now?
Toodles,
Voss
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