May 22: Publishing and Luck

For all would-be writers who read this blog, I have some wisdom to share.

Getting published depends quite a bit on contacts.  I have published one book and some poems in a few pretty good journals and magazines.  The publisher of my book was a friend of a colleague at the university where I teach.  Several of the editors of the magazines where I've placed poems were acquaintances, poets I met at readings, and, again, friends of colleagues.  That doesn't mean that I was published simply because of my contacts.  No.  My work had to stand on its own, as well.  The contacts simply opened the doors.  It was up to me to land the publication.  I have more rejections than publications, believe me, and most of them are from contacts.

I have wanted to be a professional writer ever since I can remember.  I have learned that getting published is about 50% talent and 50% luck.  The talents helps quite a bit, but it's also about a manuscript landing on the desk of an editor at just the right time.

I have worked as an editor for a couple of literary journals.  The selection process for these publications is/was highly subjective.  Good poems can get rejected.  Bad poems can get accepted.  It all depends upon the first person who reads the manuscript.  Now, most editors are experienced readers (and usually writers themselves).  They generally know what they're doing.  They recognize quality work.  It all boils down to personal aesthetic.  I think that's why books like Poet's Market always recommend reading an issue of a journal/magazine before submitting to it, so you know what kind of stuff the editors favor.

I don't have a great track record when it comes to publication.  I have been very lucky.  The first publishing house to which I submitted my first book accepted it.  That was luck (plus a little talent).  I'm beginning to think my luck has run out recently.  I sent out ten or twenty poetry submissions last summer.  I got ten or twenty of rejections.  One magazine never even replied.  I've also entered two or three writing contests in the past year, as well.  Let's just say my rejection record stands firm.

The most important thing I can tell young (and not-so-young) writers is to never get discouraged.  Keep sending out manuscripts.  Don't think of rejection as failure.  Think of it as one step closer to publication.  Luck always changes.  You have to believe in yourself, or nobody else will.

Saint Marty believes in himself.  He also believes in Santa Claus and the Great Pumpkin.

Join me in the pumpkin patch

July 9: Jinxes, Bipolar, Contests, "Carol" Dip

There are a couple of topics I haven't blogged about for a while.  I try not to write about these subjects for one reason only:  superstition.  Even though, as a Christian, I shouldn't believe is such things as jinxes, I am also human, and that means that I fall into the trap of thinking about good luck and bad luck and karma.  I have come to believe that, if things are going well in a certain area of my life, I shouldn't talk about it.  To talk about it courts the fickle finger of fate to reach down and screw things up.  It's a completely irrational belief.  I know that.  However, I still follow that dictum.  If I'm happy or hopeful, I don't stand in the middle of a crowded intersection, waving a cardboard sign that reads, "I'm so happy and lucky!"  I will get hit by a bus.

For instance, as most of the disciples of this blog know, my wife suffers from bipolar disease.  One facet of her illness is that she also has a serious problem with sexual addiction.  I'm not talking about the Tiger Woods kind of sexual addiction where you go away to a treatment facility for a couple of months and then return to a multi-million dollar golfing career.  I'm talking about an addiction that has almost derailed our marriage and destroyed our family on more than one occasion.  When things are going well with my wife's illness and addiction, I don't like to talk about them.  I just say a little "thank you" prayer at the end of each day for the peace and happiness.  Most people who have family members with mental illnesses will tell you that life sometimes feels like a series of hurricanes interrupted by periods of good weather.  You spend a good deal of time waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the next crisis to arise.  That's why I don't talk about my wife's bipolar when things are going well.  I don't want to hear that other shoe hitting the floor.

The other subject I don't discuss is poetry contests.  When I have a poem or a book submitted to a poetry contest, I avoid discussing the subject.  Because, if I start talking about it, I will start obsessing about it.  I will check my e-mail ten or twenty times a day.  I will go to the contest's website over and over and over as the deadline approaches for the announcement of the winner.  I will convince myself that I've lost, and that I've won, several times in a 24-hour period.  It's not healthy.  So, to avoid such insanity and maintain a kernel of hope in my being, I do not talk about this subject, either.  I prefer to live in a fantasy world where editors fight to publish my poems and books.  It's a wonderful land where scarecrows sing and dance and troubles melt like lemon drops.

Thus, on this Carol dip Monday, I will not ask a question concerning either of these topics.  They are a little to close to me.  Instead, my question deals with another important issue in my life:

Will the pumpkin plants in my garden produce any pumpkins this year?

And my answer from the great Charles Dickens is...

"At this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "I suffer most.  Why did I walk through crowds of fellow beings with eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode!  Were there no homes to which its light would have conducted me!"

Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.

Well, that certainly doesn't bode well for any home-grown jack-o-lanterns this year.  Suffering.  Eyes turned down.  Poor abodes.  Dismay.

Saint Marty has a feeling he won't be getting any squash from his backyard this year.

The Great Pumpkin won't be coming to my patch this year