The Submission Echo

Listen carefully, writers! Do you hear ‘the submission echo’?

or: Why Shouting into The Void Isn’t Always Bad…

Writing and submitting manuscripts can be discouraging. 

It can feel like shouting into the void. 

You send your stories, your queries, your pitches, out into the world and hear…nothing—-or ‘no—so often you start to “wonder what’s the point”?

I’m always preaching about the benefits to you of doing the work anyway, but recently I discovered another benefit, that I’m calling ‘the submission echo’, and it came after a flurry of ‘shouting into the void’, myself.

The Little Story That Couldn’t

I’ve been through a spell of ‘not sending things out’ and now I’m in a season of sending stories out to find their place in the world, again. And there’s a lot of waiting around for answers.

This week the answer was ‘no thanks’. 

The publication I had lovingly crafted a story for, didn’t want it.

Hmmph!

But…This one didn’t sting as much as some other ‘non-acceptances’ (I’m not using the R word!) because this one had brought me much more than an opportunity to be published.

This story had been a challenge to write. I’d had to research cutting-edge science for it. I’d walked away and come back to it. I’d enjoyed the process. Some readers I gave it to it to enjoyed it. 

In the end, I simply like this little story.

That’s why I was so surprised that the ‘no thanks’ didn’t sting as much as I expected, and here’s why:

I noticed the ‘submission echo’.

The Submission Echo

That’s what I call the effect when creativity begets more creativity, courage begets courage, and one story drives you to write more stories.

Lots of surprising things happened after I submitted that story:

  • Yes, the story had been tricky and the research had stretched the limits of my understanding of a particular field…and energized me. It reminded me that I love writing.
  • Yes, it took courage to push the ‘submit button. But the little hit of excited dopamine made me want to do it again. Which meant more writing, more market research, more wrangling with tricky plot points…only now, that felt exciting, not overwhelming.
  • And yes, I gained renewed confidence in my ability to push through a problem in a story. (Since submitting the Little Story That Couldn’t, I have added three new scenes to my previously-stalled novel-in-progress.)

Shout Into The Void

When writers tell you not to fear rejection it’s not just because acceptance is a numbers game1.

It’s also because pushing yourself to finish the story, polish the story, take a chance on showing it to someone…all these things make you uncomfortable and it is in the discomfort that we grow.

Submitting stories isn’t the only way to force yourself to stretch, and grow as a writer, and next week I’ll send you some other ideas on how you can push yourself to grow as a writer.

But I hope you push yourself to do something that feels like ‘shouting into the void’ in your writing life, this month…because you never know what you’ll hear in the echo.

storyaday graphic divider

Until next time: here’s a new episode of the podcast, talking about this story; the fine line between ‘excuses’ and ‘reasons’; and a writing prompt centered around holidays. Check out the podcast, here.

Keep writing,

Julie

P. S. Need more practice writing stories you can send out into the void? Consider the StoryAWeek newsletter: 52 weekly lessons and writing prompts. Find out more.

  1. Assuming you are a halfway decent writer, the more stories you send out, the more likely you are to hear a ‘yes’ ↩︎

Release The Hounds (aka ‘your stories’)

As I sit here, thinking about what I want to achieve over the next year as a writer, that generosity of spirit is something I want to keep in focus…

Note: I might be writing this message for myself.

One of the best things I did for myself this year was to take a chance on a book of poetry: Poetry Unbound by Pádraig Ó Tuama

(This is why I will never give up on physical bookstores and libraries: the sheer joy of stumbling across books and taking a chance on them!)

I’m not a poetry expert and often find books of poetry unsatisfying, as I sit there thinking, “‘what am I supposed to get from this? What am I missing?”

Well, Ó Tuama’s book follows up each poem with an essay in which he tells you what he loves about the poem. It’s not prescriptive. It’s not an attempt to tell you what you should get out of the poem, but it does offer a way in.

A Great Start To The Day

Every day that I start by reading a poem and essay from this book, is a good day.

I start my day thinking about words and what can be done with them.

I start my day thinking about how words affect the people who read them.

I start my day with black and white proof that it is possible to use words to share tiny moments and experiences, to be brave enough to put them out into the world, and to find other people who will be moved by them.

And that’s a pretty good way to start the day.

Borrowed focus.

Borrowed courage.

A chipping-away of my excuses.

Do The Work

In a recent conversation with one of the StoryADay Superstars she talked about a gift she made for her brother.

It was challenging (so much that she put off starting, for years), it was a little beyond her skill set (so much that it was imperfect) AND yet she resolved to finish it and give it to her brother anyway.

Of course, he loved it.

He saw all the things that were right with it, not the few tiny details that could maybe have been neater…

Perfectionism Generosity

As I sit here thinking about what I want to achieve over the coming year as a writer, that generosity of spirit is something I want to keep in mind: a willingness to finish things and share them, and let them be enjoyed.

To not withhold.

To not be arrogant enough to think I’ll ever ‘get it right’.

To be bold enough to finish and share my stories.

How about you?

What inspires you? What gives you courage? What’s the best thing you’ve done for yourself over the past year? What’s the most generous thing you will do, in the coming year?

Does Your Writing Cut The Mustard?

The first restaurant I worked in was an American-style family restaurant – pretty exotic for the southwest coast of Scotland in the 80s, a place festooned with fish’n’chip shops, where ‘chicken tenders’ sounded like a new language.

One of my jobs was to set out bowls of condiments before the customers came in…and not just salt, pepper, vinegar, and the two sauces known to us (red and brown), but things like ‘hamburger relish (it was green! Who had ever heard of such a thing?!) and three types of mustard: one classic yellow, one fancy ‘Dijon’, and one totally alien grainy concoction that I fell in love with.

Tonight, I opened a jar of that grainy mustard and its tangy smell transported me back 38 years, to the service corridor between the kitchen and dining room of my first job, when mustard was an exotic new experience.

It reminded me of a truth in writing: we spend so much time in our own heads that we take for granted the way we think, the way we talk, and the way we write.

Sometimes, when we show our work to someone else they are thrilled by a throwaway phrase or a description that took no effort at all…because it’s normal to you.

Sometimes we need other writers to push us to try the mustard, when we’re accustomed to always reaching for the salt and vinegar. 

And yes, this is my fancy way of letting you know that Critique Week is coming up, and that if you would like to get some fresh eyes on your writing you should consider joining us.

But more than that, it’s my way of encouraging you not to take your own writing for granted. It might be the new flavor someone else is looking for!

Keep writing,

Julie

P. S. I’ll be opening up registration for this round of Critique week, soon. Get on the waitlist here.

How To Become A Highly Successful Writer

 Dancing

There’s a scene towards the end of the movie WALL-E when the captain of the only remaining human ark-in-space realizes it’s time to go home to Earth. They’ve been away for generations. By any reasonable measure, he’s been successful. His ship is still flying. His people are still alive and procreating. Everything is running smoothly.

But, in his research, the captain falls down  a hyperlinked-rabbit-hole of cultural practices that humanity has simply forgotten.

“Computer,” he says, prompted by the previous entry. “Define: dancing.”

Imagine an existence where we’ve forgotten about dancing! Would you consider that kind of existence ‘successful’?

DEFINE: SUCCESS

Continue reading “How To Become A Highly Successful Writer”