Pushcart Nomination

Thanksgiving seems to be an appropriate time to express my gratitude to the editors of Calliope. Apart from being (to date) the only literary magazine to actually print one of my stories (others, I am grateful, post them online), the editors have nominated “Initiating an Apocalypse” for a Pushcart Prize.

I’m enough of a realist to know that my chances of actually winning a prize are slim, but it is nice when a story previously rejected many times is seen to have some potential. I suspect, but I may be wrong, that writers don’t submit material unless they believe it is good enough to publish.

Still, being declined repeatedly wears not only on the ego, but on the soul itself. It’s easy to feel like a poser or mountebank trying to pass yourself off as a writer. Still, somewhere deep down, we believe.

At times I seriously question whether I should keep at this at all. The ideas, however, burst out regardless. Either I will catch them or they will fall fatally to the ground. Some I never try to publish. The few I do, I believe in. I clap my hands and wish.

I recently reorganized my electronic files so that I could keep my finished (at least in draft) stories from those still in process. I was somewhat surprised to learn that I had some 45 finished pieces (and probably double that in various stages). Some I’ve sent out and wearied of the rejections.

But Calliope gives me hope. “Initiating an Apocalypse” was my most officially rejected story. Someone eventually saw the value in it. For that I’m thankful. Perhaps among the dozens of others rejected there are some gems as well.

I write to make sense of a life that refuses to make any on its own. And I live for it. Certainly work does not give any meaning. And a simple email saying, “you’ve been nominated for a Pushcart Prize” is an example of resurrection.

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. ...

Patterns

There’s a pattern I’m noticing. For fiction publishers. Even if you aim low you’ll find it a struggle. Part of the reason is the pattern. Lots of websites list publishers. The smaller, hungrier presses either eventually close or get to a place where they require an agent to get in. That’s the kiss of death. Although my stories have won prizes, and been nominated for prizes, I can’t get an agent interested. I’ve queried well over a hundred, so the agent route is one of diminishing returns. This too is a pattern. Back to the smaller presses. I check many lists. What I write, you see, is highly idiosyncratic. It’s literary but it’s weird. Publishers don’t know what to do with it. If a smaller press published stuff like this, I’d find it. The pattern includes writers who never get discovered. Ironically, a number of editors of fiction literary magazines (mostly online) tell me they enjoy my wor...

K. Marvin Bruce

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