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Drafty in Here


Maybe you’ve noticed it too.  You finish a story and you’re impressed.  It came together better than you had imagined it would.  You might’ve even surprised yourself with how nicely it fell into place.

Excitedly, you send it to publisher after publisher.  In their various polite ways of writing pinhead letters, you know you see something they can’t.  You start rewriting.  Changing things.  Some carpentry here.  Some cosmetic surgery there.  Better now?

Once again they yawn and say no.  This just doesn’t interest or excite them.  They’re looking for something you just haven’t got.  Meanwhile, you’ve marred your original piece, the one that spoke to you in a way that made you certain you had something to share.

After a while you turn to other things, leaving it in your drawer of unpublished gems.  I read a biography of L. Ron Hubbard once—don’t worry, I’m not a Scientologist.  Hubbard got his start as a science fiction writer.  He’d keep a roll of butcher paper rolled into his typewriter.  When he finished a story he’d rip off the paper and send it in.  Publishers loved it.

Now, I’m no L. Ron Hubbard.  (If I were would I be living in a place like this?)  But I know good stories when I see them.  I’m an editor too.  I’ve got to wonder if the endless editing, polishing, and rewriting that we do is somehow draining the life from the newborn, unwashed story.



Today few people remember Hubbard as primarily a sci-fi genius.  His world is long gone.  Send things in on butcher paper and they’ll tell you to revise and resubmit.  And by the way, only use Submittable.  

Sometimes I’m tempted, I’ll admit, to going to Submittable, clicking my cursor in the submission box, and start typing.  The worst that could happen is what already happens after endless revisions, refinements, and long agonizing over the ending.  Or the beginning.  Hell, even over the middle.

This blog post, I have to admit, is only a first draft.

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