• What I’ve Learned from 100 Submissions

    I just made it to the big 1-0-0 everyone! No I’m not that old yet. 100 submissions. Lifetime. And by lifetime, I mean since late 2018 when I first started sending them out in earnest. I know, I know. What can I say? I’m lazy. But somehow I made it to 100.

    It all started with one submission several years ago…

    Picture it Sicily, 1922

    Actually it was 2015. Someone I followed on Twitter announced they were looking for stories for an upcoming anthology. I submitted one, my first submission ever. It was accepted and gave me my very first story writing credit. I then proceeded not to submit a single thing until almost four years later because of the aforementioned laziness. But after I actually started to, you know, submit things, I gained a little insight into writing and the submission process.

    Here’s what I learned after reaching 100 submissions:

    Write for yourself. To be honest, one of the reasons I didn’t submit for three years after my initial acceptance was i didn’t believe in my stories. They didn’t fit a specific genre. They were too silly, or not scary enough, or too weird or…you get the picture.

    So eventually I took a look at all the half-finished stories and wrote whatever the hell I felt like. You know what? They started to get accepted. One of my first paid-for pieces was even about a writer writing and you’re NEVER supposed to do that and I got away with it. You have a story in your head, that no one else can tell. It belongs to you. Write it down.

    Do as your told. You’re a writer rebel. A loner. No one can tame your words. But if you don’t follow the submission guidelines, you’re going to end up at the top of the rejection list. That means if they ask for your story to be put in Comic Sans in purple font, that’s what you give them. They’ll never do that by the way. Please don’t do that.

    You’re going to be rejected Rejection sucks! I know. Before I even started submitting I was a lurker and I heard the rejection horror stories. Writers online chatting out they sent out dozens and dozens of submissions and got maybe one acceptance. It’s just the way things are. Some places receive hundreds of submissions and there’s only so many spots to go around. Don’t take it personally.

    Cover letters are awful. I’ve looked back at some of the old cover letters I wrote and I’m surprised I ever got anything published at all. They contained so much ass-kissing it was like a donkey make-out party. So instead of telling markets how wonderful they are, I’ve been keeping my cover letters as boring as possible. Here’s my name, here’s my story, here’s where I’ve been published. And if anybody has any tips for me, let me know. I hate writing these things.

    Read it out loud. Think you have that story ready to go? Yeah right. 5 minutes after sending, you’ll look it over and notice you changed a character’s name three times, their hair color twice and suddenly they’re gender fluid. Know what helps? Reading it out loud. You’ll catch a ton of issues, even typos. Just don’t do it in a coffee shop on a busy Saturday afternoon. Don’t ask me how I know this.

    Numbers don’t matter. Because we all know how much writers love math, right? I found myself trying to look up the average stats on the web the other day and thank god I had 100 submissions because it made the math easy. I had 12 acceptances (12% acceptance rate). Is that good? Bad? Am I just (shudder) average?

    The truth is, it doesn’t matter. If you’re sending your stories to super high-tier places like The Dark, Uncanny and Diabolical Plots, you’re going to have a much smaller acceptance rate (if any acceptances at all.) If you have a lot of simultaneous submissions, your rejection rate is going to be higher. And absolutely NO editor will ever care about how many rejections you’ve gotten. Only if they like your story or not.

    I guess what I’ve learned after 100 submissions is I like to write. And you there, if you’re submitting, keep at it. Submitted means you committed. And damn it, taking that leap is the hardest part of all.

  • The Short Story Graveyard

    If you’re a writer, you know the feeling of the burst of inspiration. It usually comes in the shower, or when you’re falling asleep at night. It’s an idea that you MUST WRITE DOWN. It will be brilliant, it will be spectacular. It will rekindle your love of words, cure your athlete’s foot, and help you to grow thicker, longer, more luxurious hair. The idea is just that powerful.

    You finally get the words down. And then…

    Game over, man game over. But it might not happen right away. You might read it and say “This is the best thing I’ve ever written” and submit it, but after 54 rejections, you begin to have doubts.

    That’s when you mercilessly murder that story and bury it deep where no one will ever find it. Sure instead of killing your darling, you might hack it up and use it for spare parts, but the soul of the piece is gone to wherever bad little stories go.

    If I’m being honest, I’ve kept a few braindead short stories on life support far longer than they should have been. Allow me to share the not-so-dearly departed.

    In Memoriam:

    Artichoke: A refined gentleman is upset at a peer’s boorish behavior and is especially offended when the bloke doesn’t know how to eat an artichoke properly so he murders him in the same way you would peel apart an artichoke. I felt I didn’t go far enough in the first draft, so years later I decided to add gore and cannibalism. It made it worse. Cause of death: Artichoke Heart Attack.

    The Lump: A woman forced to work from home goes slowly crazy and finds a lump hiding inside of her house. It follows her around for days and then suddenly one day she beats it up and stabs it to death. In the end, her neighbor asks where her husband has gone off to. Cause of death: Hanging – as in “this premise was hanging by a thread and the whole thing collapsed under its will to be clever”.

    Eddie’s Last Job: I think this one might have ended up totally deleted but as I recall a redneck guy has a beer with his friend Eddie who has volunteered to be experimented on by a professor of some sorts and now has something crawling under his skin. I just remember a lot of swear words and two guys talking over beers. Nothing else much happened. Cause of death: Cirrhosis, probably.

    So those are the stories inhabiting my short story graveyard and thankfully they have been put to rest, never to be heard from again.

    Until they rise again from the dead. Oh crap.