K. Marvin Bruce

  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.   ...

  I’m taking a little break from The Space between Atoms this week to share some news.   I hasten to add that the “struggling” part of “blog of a struggling writer” doesn’t refer to the struggle to write.   It’s the struggle to get published.   The Space between Atoms is finished, just being unveiled slowly. The news involves overcoming, for a little while, the struggle of getting published.   My twenty-fourth story, “Planet Heaven,” has been accepted for publication.   It will appear in the next issue of Sein und Werden (“being and becoming,” roughly).   This particular story was finished ten years ago. I submitted it to a now defunct mag.   They didn’t like it.   It sometimes takes me awhile to recover from rejection.   I suffer from what one of my friends calls aporripsophobia, the fear of rejection. Then there was a publishing website—I forget its name—that had a call for submissions that was perfect for this story.   I submi...

I used to tell a young friend interested in writing that there’s no right or wrong way to do it.   While I write in some form every day—lately it has been non-fiction—I have been wondering if I go about my fiction the right way.   I wonder this because I keep a spreadsheet. This spreadsheet contains information about every submission I’ve made: the date sent, to which magazine, word count, and response.   I color-code everything so I can tell at a glance if a story’s still awaiting a publisher or not. While looking at this spreadsheet recently, I noticed that it had been two or three years since I’d tried to get any fiction published.   Well, apart from my novel (which is also on the spreadsheet); I sent it to an agent who turned it down earlier this year.   What I noticed about my submissions is that they tend to happen in June. I’m not a student and I’m no longer a teacher, so June has no special connection with free time.   I do, ho...

Writing’s my retirement grease.   If I have to explain the concept to you, obviously you’re not up to date on the Simpsons.   Well, come to think of it, it’s been a few years since I’ve watched it myself. Willie, the groundskeeper at Springfield Elementary is saving the grease from the school kitchen’s traps for his retirement.   Homer, on one of his get-rich-quick schemes, has been collecting spent grease to supplement his income.   When he targets the school, Willie spies the truck sucking up the goo and cries out “My retirement grease!” Daily work is not only non-satisfying, it’s also time-consuming.   I sit at work thinking how there’s little to do and I could be getting so much writing done while I sit, staring at a screen, waiting for an email to pop up.   I don’t make enough money to retire.   My plan had been to die on the job, but then I realized, if I could make money on my writing, I’d have some grease. Right now ...

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect.   I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory.   Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany.   If you can write, you should get paid for it.   I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid.   I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments.   A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript.   That’s never happened before.   Then the editor disappeared.   Even called me by the wrong pseudonym.   I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I cam...

Every day in Trump’s America the line between fiction and fact becomes effaced.   Not that that’s any excuse for neglecting my fiction, in fact it seems as good a reason as any to press on with it.   I’ve got a non-fiction book under contract and that keeps me away from my mistress Muse in the “fake news” world. It’s too bad, really.   I’ve got a seventh novel well under way and I’ve got a potential publisher considering one (at last) for publication.   The thing is, for a man being published is about the closest you can come to giving birth.   Months of gestation, after having seeds planted inside, and perhaps then you have something to say.   Something that will grow up beautiful. As someone who has written literally millions of words, I’m always amazed at how difficult it is to find others who want to read them.   The internet’s a crowded place.   My daily commute to and from work forces me offline for a few hours a day, and it i...

Do you admit that you’re a writer?  If it’s in your job description I suppose you do, but for many of us being a writer presents us with a dilemma.  Do you admit to your boss that you’re hoping to get paid for what you do off the clock? I have a friend in the publishing industry whose employer has strict rules about such things.  Any “employment” that takes away from work time has to be declared in written form and sent to the office that investigates conflict of interest.  If you’re a writer who’s paid to do something else you can already see where I’m going with this. Inspiration doesn’t obey time-clocks.  In fact, it almost always makes a mockery of them.  When you’ve arrived at work and punched in (i.e., booted up your PC) does that story idea obediently bed down until 5 p.m.?  Of course not.  Even after you’ve dug into today’s business, it’s probably playing like muzak in the back corridors of your gray matter.  It sometim...

The self-critical writer is an odd beast.  In fact, I sometimes wonder if I’m not working at cross-purposes with myself in trying to get published.  You see, despite all the “no”s I receive from editors, I am my own worst critic.  I put a lot of care into my stories—there’s nothing slap-dash there.  Yet when I watch movies I often groan at the state of the writing.  They’ve made it, and I haven’t. The same is true when I read novels.  I’ve read many—most by major publishing houses with “bestseller” splashed all over the cover that left me with a shrug and a yawn.  They get multiple book contracts.  I get rejection slips.  (Or I would if they still sent slips.)  They don’t even tell me why. I don’t really need rejection slips to critique my work.  I critique the hell out of it.  I go over stories time and again, like a rock tumbler, even after they were pretty good to begin with.  Such is a writer’s life....

It’s all about the money.  As any real writer knows, we write because we’re compelled to.  I suspect it’s only after someone tastes success that s/he gets cynical enough to write for money.  That doesn’t stop agents and publishers from trying, though. My Medusa novel was under contract with a publisher.  This was about five years ago.  After dallying around for a couple of years, the publisher cancelled the contract because the editor who’d signed it up had left the press.  That’s hardly a legitimate reason; in fact, it defeats the purpose of a book contract all together.  I’ve not been able to find another publisher since. Nearly every rejection letter says something along the lines of “It’s well written, but it’s not for us.”  They mean they don’t see enough dollar signs.  I’m not naive—I get it.  I would, however, appreciate just a little compensation for the hundreds and hundreds of hours I put into my writing.  S...

One becomes inured.  That is to say, rejection letters are far more common than acceptances.  So it became clear to me while looking at my Submittable page recently.  The number of cheery blue acceptances is largely outweighed by those dreary gray “declined”s. Look, I’m an editor.  I know how this game works.  Every day I see the pitches the hopeful send, wanting to be represented by my press.  Every day I try to think how to write rejection letters that are complementary, comforting, encouraging.  The point is, I see bad writing. Some people see dead people.  Others of us see dead writing.  Books that should never have been born.  When you agonize over every word, and when you know that you’ve got some felicity with the pen (or on the keyboard) being classed with those who clearly don’t understand is painful. Awfully gloomy for a positive post, I must say!  I just received the good news that my story, “Glass-Wall...

Every year about this time I begin to panic.  The myth of perpetual growth suggests that each year should lead to more publications than the previous one, and by November it is clear that I’ve started to slip from my previous lofty goals.  I have reached a total of 18 published stories now, in a total of eight different venues.  Have I grown as a writer? September saw the panic start.  Some journals, particularly those run by college or university departments, only open for submissions with the start of the school year.  A family crisis the first week of September set my plans off kilter for a couple of months.  Now that I’ve regained my footing, it looks like I’ve fallen behind. Over the holiday weekend I was able to send out five of my multiply rejected stories for yet another sortie against the established publishers.  I’ve been working on building my Twitter following in the meantime, but my fiction writing has been suffering.  Every ...

I remember reading an interview with Joe Hill, Stephen King’s son.  It was when I was reading his perfectly titled Heart-Shaped Box .  In the interview he mentioned the kinds of things he thinks about when out and about in the world.  His macabre thoughts are similar to mine. Joe Hill, however, is a bestselling author.  His father is one of the most successful writers currently alive.  Even though Stephen King writes other than horror occasionally, now that October’s nearly over his classic works come to mind. As does the dilemma of the unknown writer.  My parents don’t write.  One of them is deceased, so that is probably a good thing, but neither one of them was educated and writing is not something either enjoys/ed.  Nobody could tell me how to get published. I started writing at a young age.  I attempted my first novel in middle school.  It was also the first manuscript I ever tore up.  I’ve had eighteen short storie...

Ten percent, in the context of the Bible, is a tithe.  The old laws say that you owe God ten percent of your income.  Some religious people today still pay it. I was reading an article recently that featured another ten percent.  This applied to writers.  Although an unscientific survey—including information from Duotrope—this article suggested the acceptance rate of fiction writers is ten percent. That means, and I’m no math guy, that a piece has to be submitted an average of ten times before it is accepted somewhere.  This helps explain, but not assuage, my lack of success when it comes to getting published.  It’s normal. This has been on my mind lately since  Interview with the Gorgon  is getting more than ripe.  I stopped trying to find publishers some five years ago when it was under contract with Vagabondage Press.  They took a long time killing it—with no kill fee—leaving me in ...

I’m in that post-euphoria period of receiving the latest round of rejection letters.  As I’ve mentioned before, I go for months without submitting stories for consideration because, unlike all the wisdom promulgated on the web, I have thin skin.  Rejection hurts.  I have to be particularly confident to submit anything. I know I’m not alone in this.  I know that rejections are often impersonal because huge numbers of submissions are received and K. Marvin Bruce is just another face in a vast, vast crowd.  His writing is weird, if literate (hopefully) and his stories aren’t about what they seem to be about.  It’s nothing personal. Thinking about the past can be dangerous.  Writing in “the good old days” seemed to be quite different.  In the first place, it was hand-written.  In the second place, there were far fewer places to publish.  In the third place, if an editor liked your stuff, you’d made a publishing colleague, not just a...

One of the tropes rife in the editorial world, regarding non-fiction, is “this should be an article instead of a book.”  This is a very disappointing thing for an author to hear.  After all, s/he spent years developing an idea into something long enough to be called a book, only to have it suggested s/he should cut it down. I write fiction, and I love to do so.  Once I’m in the  world I’ve imagined, it is difficult for me to break away.  In my day-job, however, I have written, and continue to write, creative non-fiction.  I recently managed to get one of these pieces up to 60,000 words so that I could call it a book.  A friend suggested maybe it should be an article instead. This is the dilemma of the writer seeking publication.  You have to meet the expectations of a publisher.  Nobody knows the piece as well as the author, and it hurts to cut organs away—body parts that your mind organically grafted into the body of your work. ...

That little coordinating conjunction always spells trouble.  I used to be a professor, but now I’m an editor.  I read many, many student papers—and now read many books—where the author doesn’t write well.  I write well, but… I ponder this as I have just received a nice rejection letter, this one from Two Dollar Radio.  My writing is good, but not exactly what we’re looking for.  My stack of such letters teeters over my head.  Well, it would if I printed them out.  It is easy to say no over the internet. In a world where good writers have trouble publishing, what does that say about the publishing industry?  I’m reading a novel right now that’s very interesting.  On the literary front it can’t be called great, but it is a good book.  The writing is good, but… In publishing, the choice comes down to fit and money.  You’re supposed to research your potential publisher—as if you’d have any time between working twelve hours ...

I spent the last weekend on the quest.  If you’re a struggling writer, you know the quest I mean: the quest for publication. There are lots of websites to help, but there are even more writers than websites, and getting your voice heard is a matter of trash talk.  Can your work make money?  It doesn’t matter if it’s good (I know, because I read books!), it’s a matter of can it make money. It used to be independent publishers, fondly called “indies” in the trade, would consider non-agented books.  Have you trawled the listing lately?  Indie after indie, overrun with submissions, now only accept agent queries. So I ate up a weekend looking for agents again.  Problem is, how do you pitch a book that’s not meant to rake in the millions?  Mine is a fun novel, a provocative read.  It will make people laugh, and it will make people think.  It won’t make them open their bank account to bleed into the publisher’s bucket. Agents, of co...

The last time I moved, everything was in a rush.  I had been unemployed and my new job started just a month in the future and half a country away.  I slung things into boxes and unpacked, haphazardly, on weekends.  In the decade since then, life has been a blur. Lately I’ve been trying to find things.  While sorting through a stack of paperwork, I came across a box of old stories.  Really old.  Some of these tales go back to when I first started to write fiction.  Most of them are embarrassing, but when I recall how young I was, they aren’t as embarrassing as all that. One of the stories I remembered writing as a ninth or tenth grader.  My English teacher told me I should try to get it published.  I lived in a small town where no one had connections to the publishing world, and where nobody really knew how to get anything published. Where you’re born does make a difference. The story was in a pile of papers I found....

it, and part of me feels utterly like an ass.  Like a poser.  A wannabe.  Only professionals have agents, right? I’ve been writing since I was a tween.  Living in a small town with parents who’d never gone to college, and a mother who never finished high school, I had no idea how to get published.  I discovered that by editing my high school paper I could publish my own stories, but that felt like cheating. In my days of formal schooling, publication became purely academic.  Serious scholars published serious papers.  I tried to have some of my poetry published in my college literary magazine, but the editors said it was too depressing. Although I’ve been writing fiction since the 1970’s, I didn’t start trying to publish it until 2009.  I was scared and unsure of myself.  My first publication won a small prize, and a subsequent story won a more competitive recognition.  Those who publish books, however, were less kind. I...

Six unpublished novels sit before me on my laptop.  Okay, to be fair the first one is the “throw away” that all novelist wannabes have to write.  Probably the second one, too, if I’m to be entirely honest.  Novel four wasn’t that great, being a Nanowrimo effort.  The other three, however, I like. It’s a funny thing, how writers feel about their children.  Unlike our biological offspring, we are told to drown our darlings and make them suffer.  That applies to works as well as characters.  We are advised to throw away our first ten-thousand hours of work. Well, maybe not throw them away completely.  Experts—and we all have to respect experts—claim that it takes ten-thousand hours of doing anything artistic to become proficient.  That’s over two years of waking time completely devoted to the craft.  Most of us can’t afford more than a few hours of writing a week. It’s difficult to know how to measure success in writing.  ...