Stages of Not Publishing

Psychologists, I’ve read, have come to doubt Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s fives stages of death and dying. Writers, it seems to me, know quite a bit about these topics, and they hold true to my experience. I may not be typical in having so little time to write, but I do emote.

So the latest literary agent has turned down my once accepted, and multiply-rejected Boeotian Rhapsody for publication. I can’t believe it (stage one) at first. The agent’s description seemed to match my genre so well. Sometimes just opening email is a shock.

Why is this so damned hard? A number—very small, admittedly, but a number nevertheless—of short fiction publishers like my work. They don’t publish books, of course. Still, why can’t anybody give me a chance? I guess I’m at stage two.

I consider writing back to the agent. Maybe making my case. This, however, is the kiss of death in publishing. Agents like quick, clean, and no commitments. Bargaining (stage three) is definitely out. I start casting about for other publishers, wanting to show my chops—maybe Amazon publishing? Oh, but they don’t take unsolicited submissions. Get an agent.

Depression always seems to be the longest stage. That period of intense introspection, beyond the everyday introspection, that asks what is wrong with me that publishers find me so repulsive. I have a friend who works in non-fiction publishing. They’re happy if they sell four hundred copies of a book. Write engaging fiction and you’d better have a name like King or Patterson to even get a chance.

Finally I begin to see that this morning is just like any other. Gray and empty. Rather like my protagonist comes to realize. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she went through all five of Kübler-Ross’s five stages too.

But then again, psychologists tell me that the stages are just a fantasy. So is my novel. So is my novel.

“The truth is that writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.”

—Virginia Woolf

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best...

Creative Righting

Rejection of my writing is a rejection of my imaginative world. That’s why I was cheered by the acceptance of one of my stories this week. That makes number 31. I’ve been working on a lot of fiction lately, even as nonfiction book number 6 is going to press. The ideas are still there, and bizarre as ever, but publishing venues just aren’t welcoming. The other day I had lunch with a professor whose wife is also a professor. She just had her first novel published, and so he pointed me to her indie publisher. I went to their website to learn that they’re closed to submissions. I have to admit that my latest accepted story, “Creative Writing Club,” was probably given the green light because I know the editor. That seems like a pretty dicey way to get any notice, doesn’t it? You have to know the right people even in the low circulation world. My fiction is difficult to classify. It’s got speculative elements to it. ...

Creativity

Maybe you’ve noticed this too. When you step away from fiction writing for a while, your creativity becomes flaccid. I’ve had to step away from this blog for a while because I was writing my sixth nonfiction book. God, I’ve missed fiction! Now that I’ve entered that phase of waiting for publishers to respond, I’ve turned my limited writing time back to fiction. I submitted a couple of stories this week and am waiting to hear about those as well. When you’re a writer, waiting is a way of life. Opening my software where I store my fiction stories, I was amazed by how many I found. Some of them are bad—so bad that they’ll never (rightfully) be published. Some are surprisingly good and have been sitting around while I finished up my nonfic. The vast majority, however, are unfinished. Some years back I realized that when I’m writing in the heat of inspiration but don’t have time to finish a story that I need to write down where I...

K. Marvin Bruce

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