Tag: Rejection

  • That Was A Fast Rejection

    So, I had a flurry of submissions that I sent out at the end of January. On the 31st of January to be exact. The month had flown by, and I had fallen behind on some projects, but I made a promise to myself that I was going to get submissions out before the end of the month. I sent out a handful, all to lit journals that I felt my work complimented. Just playing the game like a million other writers.

    I do appreciate that the readers and editors of these journals can get inundated with submissions, and though they try their best, it can take time before they are able to respond. (I once got an email from an editor apologizing for taking so long on my submission, and then a month later they rejected me.) Everyone wants an answer sooner than later, and I do like that some journals says that you should expect a response after three months… if not sooner.

    This afternoon I just received a rejection, after only nine days.

    They were fast; I do like that.

    It was substantially shorter than three months; I don’t like that.

    In all fairness, it’s a rather odd duck of a flash piece.

    See, I want to believe that there was a little bit of a debate over there. Like the reader is fighting for my piece, but the editor is holding strong that there really isn’t a place for my story in their publication, even though it is well written. Then other editors and readers start weighing in. The debate starts getting tense. Voices start rising. People are getting mad. Resignations are threatened; accusations of favoritism are made; mass chaos envelopes the office!

    But, then cooler heads prevail. Drinks are had; apologies given; laughs are shared; everyone starts talking about why they got into publishing in the first place; the power of words and ideas; given people opportunities to share their voices and insights. It’s a thankless job; always on the verge of collapse; no one makes any money.

    “We do this because we love it.” Someone says.

    Everyone agrees, and smiles.

    Then the managing editor adds, “But we got to reject that story.”

    “That’s true,” the reader agrees.

    “Send him the form letter of death!”

    They all start laughing…

    I guess what I’m saying is that if they would have held onto it for at least a month, then my ego wouldn’t be so bruised.

    But, rejection is part of the game.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Crypto Scam, Sick Kid, Reject Me Already, and Thanksgiving

    (Don’t flood it…)

    So, Sam Bankman-Fried is going to jail for a very long time. I’m sure you know this, but crypto is a scam. Or, if I’m being polite, it’s just a new form of gambling. And SBF gambled and got caught. From everything that I read about this guy, he was too smart for his own good. He struck me as the type of person who was, and knew he was, smarter than everyone else, and somehow thought he could use his intelligence to get himself out of this situation. In the end, he was a con-artist, and he coned a lot of people. Including some other very smart people. Also, I am aware that as soon as I post this, I will get inundated with a bunch of crypto bots trying to get me to buy crypto.

    And the kid is sick. We watched “Let’s Make a Deal” this morning together. That was sweet. She’s running a fever, and feels awful, but she gets the iPad all day, so it’s not all bad.

    And as of this minute, I have yet to be rejected by Taco Bell Quarterly. They are one of my favorite online lit journals, and I’m not saying that because I submitted a story to them. TBQ has an attitude not unlike a favorite underground punk band that is parts hilarious, offensive, and friendly all at the same time. Anyway, the other day TBQ announced that they were sending out rejection letters and… I’m waiting for my rejection letter. They did say it would take some time, as they have to send out 2,800+ rejections. Over on TBQ’s X/Twitter feed, writers who have received their rejections are editing and marking out their letters to create new messages of varying degrees of positive/negative statements. It’s been fun to watch. But still… Where’s my rejection letter?

    Now that Halloween is over, time to start prepping for Thanksgiving. For me, that means making chicken, turkey and mushroom stock ahead of time. As well as stock piling non-perishable food. I’m getting ahead this year, and watch how this will play out. I’m sure I’ll be writing about it often.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Summer Playlist, Ringo, and Rejected

    (It’s just a jump to the left…)

    Our Summer Road Trippin’ is about to start. The thrill of leaving the City is building in me, as I use my Magical Thinking to forget about how awful traffic is on I-95. (Anywhere on I-95, it’s bad.) And with the road trips comes a friendly competition between the wife and me – Who Can Come Up with The Better Playlist? First of all, there never is a winner – it’s more like an exhibition, a “friendly” so the speak, than a competition. The rule of the contest is that the list needs to be 3+ hours long (we are driving after all) and needs to loosely tie into the theme of Summer/Travel/Vacation or getting away. We do repeat songs from year to year, and occasionally we do have the same song on our lists. (Harry Styles and Paul Simon are the frequent repeated artists.) This year, we have added a rule, which is we need to accommodate some of the songs our daughter likes. She’s beginning to form her own strong opinions on music, and we want her to feel that she has a say in all of this. My lists can be rock and grunge heavy, but this year I want to work in more 70’s funk. Oh, and the Tom Tom Club will have a prominent spot this year.

    Today is Ringo Stars birthday, if you didn’t know.

    I got a rejection notice at 2:22am last night. A bit of an odd hour, but I guess lit journals don’t keep banker’s hours. The magazine had my submission for four months, which is a normal amount of time to hold one of my stories before saying no. I saw that rejection right before I went to bed, and it did put me in an off mood. Not bad, or angry, just off. Off in the sense that I don’t know what’s right anymore. The rejection didn’t stop me from falling asleep, or from getting up and getting back at it today. Yet, I wondered; who was the person who was up at 2:22am this morning? Did the rejection email have to go out at 2:22am? It couldn’t wait until the start of the work day? If this person was up at 2:22am, then that makes me think we have some things in common; we both like staying up late, and working into the wee hours. I salute you, this person who is most likely a volunteer reader or intern for the magazine. I hope you got some sleep, as I will be submitting to you again soon.

  • Thoughts While Alt Side Parking: Rejection

    First of all, it’s cold out. Second, the car that is parked in front of me is like six inches from my bumper, which does hack me off. And third, the traffic cop is here to write tickets, he’s checking cars, but he’s not writing tickets. All of this is very strange to me.

    Seriously, the cop just made a second pass, and he’s still not writing tickets. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rooting for the guy to write tickets, but if your job is to write tickets, then why aren’t you doing your job? And, we’re all watching him not do his job.

    Anyway, I go that off my chest.

    I got rejected from my fifteenth magazine yesterday. I have one more submission that is floating out there, but being that this piece has been rejected seven other times, odds don’t seem to be good. BUT, I do have three other magazines lined up that I am planning on submitting to, which I will hopefully send off this weekend. I had wanted to get something published this year. Anything, anywhere would have been fine, but you know, things don’t always work out.

    With the situation I am in, the lack of publication, I have been trying to do a round of honest circumspection of my efforts, and see where I need to improve and make changes.

    First of all, I need more material. The last five months of the year I have not been as productive as the first six months. That includes not only creating new work, but also rewriting and editing. Though I am confident in what I have written, I do think the beginning of my stories could use a little more work – refining to better get the story started. I also subscribe to the John Lennon theory of writing – “You got to write a lot of bad songs first before you start writing good songs.” I may still be in my bad song phase.

    Second, I don’ think I submitted to enough publications. Well, I don’t think that, I know that. Just twenty-ish submissions in a year is too low. I should have put more of a priority on researching publications, and prioritizing who I felt would work best with what I write. (This process does feel a bit like throwing shit on a wall, and seeing what sticks.) Funny thing is that this part of the process reminds me the most of my acting days back in Dallas. I really love rehearsing, and performing, but I hate auditioning. So, submitting is paralleling auditioning in my mind, as these are the least fun parts of both processes. Yet, I went on a ton of auditions in Dallas, and I got rejected more than cast, but I did get cast a lot, because I went on so many auditions. I just have to remind myself of that; you got to show up if you want to be seen.

    Third, I just need to relax. Maybe something will come from all of this work. Maybe nothing will happen. But all of this does give me the felling of purpose, which I haven’t had in a while. I don’t wake up angry or dreading the day. Maybe I am delusional. Maybe I’m lying to myself to think that some unemployed forty-five-year-old guy can just up a start a new career in a creative field that is notorious for being highly unfair, and for those who do “make it” is laughably under compensated. But this delusion has made not as angry at the world. It’s helped me process the passing of my mother, and deal with all of the Covid anxiety. That’s worth something.

    Anyway, I have room to grow, and I also need to do better. Like all things in life, if you want it, it takes hard work. I just need to relax and work harder.

    That was a decent pep talk.

    And just so you know, that cop came by again, and still didn’t write any tickets.

    (So, umm… You know, if you are enjoying this narcissistic delve into my id this morning, then please, by all means, give this blog a like, or share, or comment on your struggles. And I’m open to follows as well.)

  • A Polite Rejection Letter to Kilgore Trout

    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.)