The Same Old Story

After a story is rejected from a literary magazine—a rather frequent occurrence—I always revise it. For stories rejected half a dozen or more times—a rather frequent occurrence—the stories can shift substantially.

In a version of the old saw that “this is the axe used by George Washington to chop down the cherry tree; it has had five new handles and three new heads,” I wonder if the story is the same after such revision. I write in the flush of inspiration. The story comes to me roughly complete.

The literati say “no,” and I assume the fault must be my own. I knuckle down and start trying to revise to their liking. The action changes. The ending changes. The characters change. Is it the same story?

Is the fault that my addled brain seems to have trouble telling a story someone wants to read? Is it the curse of an internet that makes writers of anyone with fingers to type? I started writing fiction four decades ago. If I’d tried to start publishing then, perhaps I’d have had better luck. My stories would be as I envisioned them.

The story is told of L. Ron Hubbard—before he starting making new religions—concerning how he wrote. Hubbard used to be a science fiction writer. He kept a role of butcher paper ratcheted up in his typewriter. He’d pound out a story, rip it off, and send it to a publisher. He had no trouble finding willing buyers. I’ve read some of his fiction. Literary is not a word I’d use to describe it.

Those of us who take great care crafting our stories, some subtle, some bald, always have trouble finding buyers. I’ve published 15 short stories to date, earning a total of $15, and that was for one with a $5 entry fee. I’ve spent more in stamps than I’ve earned in cash. And I don’t even have the original stories to show for it.

I’ve read—in fact I’m currently reading—fiction that makes no sense. The publishers love it. Just try to write a heartfelt story, carefully worded, thoughtfully crafted, and frequently revised. Then completely rewrite it. And again. And again. The story may never be the same, but it may eventually get published, even if it’s not what you wanted to say.

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K. Marvin Bruce

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