During the summer I submitted a story for an upcoming anthology to an editor I would love to work with. I heard from the editor a couple days ago. She rejected the story for this anthology but asked if she could hold my story for inclusion in a forthcoming anthology she’ll be working on next year. That’s the second time this has happened-- an editor rejecting something for a current collection but holding it for a future one-- and though it’s still a rejection, it’s very, very nice to know that editors like my work enough to find a home for it.
Now, if only selling books were so easy. Of course, I can hardly complain about my inability to sell books as I have not submitted a book length manuscript to any publisher in quite some time. I don’t even want to think about just how long it’s been. Years.
While having my name on a book cover is more rewarding than having a story in an anthology, writing short fiction is easier to sell, without the large investment of blood, sweat and tears books require. If a story gets rejected, I have invested only a few hours of my time and energy and there is always the possibility of selling it to another editor for another anthology. In fact, I have only three or four stories that have not been published. Books, on the other hand, require months of work and have a very limited publishing window. A particular book may have only two or three possible places it could go. My backlog of unpublished novels is actually greater than my backlog of unpublished short fiction. Is it any wonder I’ve stuck with the shorts for the past few years?
Having said all that, I still want to write (and sell) books. One of my problems has always been the inability to write to market. In the long process of writing-submitting-getting rejected I have learned that I can’t write for someone else, I have to write for myself. My writing falls flat when I’m trying to please an editor; when I write for myself (or that ‘one reader’ Stephen King talks about in On Writing ), the words flow like water.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever be truly famous for my writing simply because I don’t have the marketing savvy to sell myself or the luck to be in the right place when a particular trend hits. Still, as long as I can keep selling a fair amount of what I write, I’ll consider myself successful.
Highlights of the past week, in no particular order:
--Thanksgiving dinner turned out fabulous, thanks to my brand new stove. I heart my Maytag appliances.
--I finally found an apple crumb pie recipe that is incredible. Oh. My. God. Incredible. That kind of incredible.
--I ate my weight in turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing. Oh, and pie. Yummy cinnamony apple pie.
--Christmas shopping is underway. Finally. Thankfully.
--The Highly Selective Book Club With Only Two Members(TM) chose a book for December.
--Bruch at the Jefferson Hotel is a decadent experience best reserved for a once-a-year event.
--I made pizza, Steve.
--I lost about four inches of my hair. If found, please do not return.
--I found the most amazing hand cream.
--NaNoWriMo finished without me. Sad, sad. Maybe next year.
--I braved the crowd on Black Friday and lived to tell about it. I did not brave the crowd at 6 a.m., however. I am not that insane.
--Christmas lights were hung from the roof with care.
--I now own a very cool train set that will soon be beneath my Christmas tree (when I get it, hopefully tomorrow).
--Finding the perfect Nativity scene, however, remains an elusive goal.
--Sheri came and went and I want her back. Sad me.
--I realized my to-do list for the month of December will require all of December and the first half of January to complete.
It’s been a nice little break from reality, but I guess it’s time to get back to work. Somehow, I will survive December. I suspect chocolate will be involved in my survival. Lots o’ chocolate. Donations welcome.
No matter how you spend your Thanksgiving, consider yourself truly blessed if you can afford to put a Turducken on the table. Never mind that it looks like a genetic experiment gone horribly wrong. Never mind that the name is as tacky as a faded plastic Santa sitting on the front lawn. Chicken, duck and turkey on one plate, with two different kinds of stuffing? What’s not to love?
Of course, even if you can’t afford the fancy store bought, shipped to your house Turducken, you can always make your own. At least it’s not Tofurkey.
Happy Thanksgiving!
We have this little tradition at my house. On Thanksgiving, while we’re gorging on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce from a can, we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. Despite a few rough spots, I have much to be thankful for this year. Most of all, I am incredibly thankful (and very lucky) that the people closest to me seem to love me as much as I love them. Awwww....
I am thankful we only have one more year of George Bush as president. Please, please, please.
I’m also thankful for the luxuries, the necessities, the wild nights, the cute guys (not to mention the cute girls), an incredible trip and my work.
Now, what are you thankful for?
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
