At the start of this year, I decided that I would actively work towards getting one of my short stories published in a lit magazine. To accomplish this task, I came up with a schedule that I would follow during the week, you know, while the kid was in school. In this schedule, I had time set aside to write, re-write, outline, and do research for stories I was working on. Also, I made time to do research on publications that I wanted to submit to, and submitted as well. It was a good system, as I did get a solid amount of work done in a very short time, which left me feeling productive. Now, for Summer, I stopped following the schedule because the kid was home, and vacations, and other home projects. After Labor Day, when the kid returns to school, I’ll get back to my work flow.
I bring this up because, even though I haven’t actively worked on anything for two months, I’m getting responses from all the magazines I submitted to at the start of the year. I have yet to be accepted by anyone, no shock there. When I get the rejection email, it’s a form letter, which is to be expected, and I take no offense to it. During my time working for a publisher, and it was a very tiny publisher, we were inundated with submissions, and it was hard to stay on top of it. You needed form letters. So, it goes…
Yet, the one I got yesterday has caused me to wonder me, slightly. It was the type of rejection letter that thanked me for submitted, but unfortunately they couldn’t find a place for my story in the magazine, and wished me luck in the future. All pretty standard stuff, and I don’t believe insincerely meant. Then the letter took a turn. They told me I was welcomed to submit again, that they accepted simultaneous submissions as well, and added a list of websites that contained lists of other publications to submit to. I took this to mean that they were trying to be encouraging – that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of other publications out there. I thought it was a nice touch. I spent twenty years doing theatre, an industry that is built on persevering rejection, so getting told no is nothing new.
What I started thinking about this morning was the lists, of lists, of lists of publications out there. In essence, these publications wouldn’t exist unless there was a bottomless collection pond of unpublished stories to draw from. I know of no publication or publisher that has a lack of material submitted to them; lack of talent might be a different story. There are probably millions of unpublished writers in America. People we may never read, or ever know of. Billions of words and ideas that never get beyond a small circle of friends and family.
At moments like this, I start to wonder if there aren’t just millions of Kilgore Trouts running around. I mean, minus publishing stories in porn mags, but I think you get the idea. Maybe there should be a Kilgore Trout Society for unpublished writers. Their symbol could the asterisk.
(You know, if you liked it, please take a second to “like” it, or comment or share. There is a version of me that really needs the validation.)
