“This manuscript of yours that has just come back from another editor is a precious package. Don’t consider it rejected. Consider that you’ve addressed it ‘to the editor who can appreciate my work’ and it has simply come back stamped ‘Not at this address.’ Just keep looking for the right address.”
—BARBARA KINGSOLVER
This year, my friend and fellow author Julia Park Tracey proclaimed she no longer would use the words submit and accepted in regard to seeking publication for her work, because they spoke the language of her old self-judgments and made her feel bad. Instead she says, “I put forth my work for publication, and it is either received or not.”
These subtle semantics may seem like no big deal, even silly, but think about how deeply words get lodged into your psyche, like little, dark beasts waiting to feast upon your weaknesses. Week after week you submit your work. What images does this word call to mind? Supplication? Falling at the feet of a superior and begging for approval? Likewise you don’t need to wait for acceptance from others. You accept your work already; that’s why you sent it out to seek publication in the first place. If it doesn’t find publication, you return to my original dictate: Go deeper, or go elsewhere.
When you’re ready to seek publication, play with the semantics in your own mind, because they do, in fact, make a difference.
By the time you’re submitting work, you want to present the face of a professional who has confidence in what you’ve written. Agents, editors of literary magazines, and publishers are looking not only for quality work but for signs that the writer moves with confidence through the world. When I edit query letters for my clients, I regularly remove phrases that say things such as: “I would be so grateful if you’d read …” or “I hope you don’t mind taking the time to read …” or “Since I’m new at this …”
Those lines meet my red pen quicker than you can say, “Cut,” because they come across as needy, uncertain, and unconfident.
Now I’m not saying you will always feel confident, but try to drum up those kind, empowering words discussed in chapter twenty-two, “Nourish Yourself to Avoid Burnout,” and talk about yourself and your work as though it holds great merit and demonstrates you know your stuff. Readers on the other end don’t know how you feel inside—they know only what they read, so make your first impressions strong ones.
Part of talking that talk means that you investigate and research every outlet you’re pursuing so that you know the answers to the following questions.
Nothing weeds out a writer’s work faster than simple oversights. It’s worth the extra time it takes to work through your writing and submission package with that fine-tooth comb to be sure that you’ve followed the specifics exactly. What writers often don’t know is that while your submission is a precious singularity to you, it may be one of hundreds showing up on the other end. Therefore, tired and often overwhelmed slush-pile readers are looking for reasons to send a work packing. Don’t give them that reason. Stand out, speak strong, and talk about your work in clear, firm terms.
On the other end of the self-deprecating newbie writer is the writer who, in trying to put on a strong front, goes a little too far in her self-praise. Saying something like “I’m sending you my magnificent, heartwarming, hilarious, breathtaking novel” or “I’m a talented, innovative writer” may sound good while you’re typing it, but to an agent or editor such self-praise may come across as working too hard to prove a point. If you’re serious, talented, and innovative, that will probably come through in the work. And the writing must speak for itself. The trick is to believe and feel your own worth but to communicate only professionalism and to ride the current between lack of confidence and megalomania.
Say you’re looking for an agent. You go to Publishers Marketplace or visit Chuck Sambuchino’s Guide to Literary Agents blog, and you make a list that’s one hundred names long. Sure, you could submit to everyone seeking “new voices”—no hard-and-fast rule says you can’t. But before you do, consider a couple of things. First, recall chapter eight, “Go Where You Are Welcome.” In that chapter, I suggested you pay attention to the signs that tell you an opportunity is right. In lieu of being sure of that, what you have are clear variables, usually outlined in the form of submission guidelines and “what we’re looking for” links. Just because an agent is interested in “strong new voices” doesn’t necessarily mean that agent is right for you. Take a look at his client list, submission criteria, and bio. Do you see a fit? If not, then consider he’s probably looking for “strong new voices” of a particular kind that may not be yours and to submit your work might be a waste of time.
The goal in submitting your work is not to send it out scattershot to the wind like a handful of wildflower seeds but to pick and choose the right people with whom you resonate and feel sympatico, and who seem most capable of taking your work where you feel it should go.
I understand that at times you want to be published so intensely that the notion preoccupies you. You send your stories or novel queries out in big chunks to anyone and anywhere, reasoning that the more you throw out there the better the chances that something will stick.
But stop for a second and think about this strategy. What intention are you setting for yourself and your work? What message are you running with? That being published anywhere is better than being published in the right places? That’s not true. You want to be published in the right places, by those who love and appreciate your work. You want to find your literary tribe, your compadres, your professional version of your Creative Support Team. When you find a true fit for your writing, you will never, ever want to scattershot your work again. What you want is to see your work in places you admire and to form partnerships with agents and publishers who champion and push you to be your best. Because believe me, you may hear yes from places that don’t convey the vision you have for your work. I’ve heard the story more times than I can count (and, honestly, it’s happened to me, too) of people who signed with the first agent who would “have them.” They went on to regret it because it wasn’t an informed and aligned choice. Just like you wouldn’t want to settle for a mate, don’t put yourself in the position to settle because you believe it’s better than nothing. You and your work are worth more than that. Believe in yourself and your work. Go deeper, or go elsewhere.
Identify your dream agent, publisher, or publishing situation. List ten qualities you desire in this scenario, such as focused attention, experience with historical fiction, or comfort with frequent e-mail communication. Then begin your search with these specific criteria in mind. Invest in a one-month Publishers Marketplace subscription ($25), which allows you to search databases of agents and their sales via specific criteria.
What exercise makes you feel the opposite of being “in submission”? For me it’s when I do some low-level weight lifting. As a woman, feeling strong is important to me, so even working with some handheld weights can do the trick. What about you? Pick something that conjures a feeling of power, and do it now or whenever you’re not feeling confident.