Skip to main content

Fiction Dreams

 I haven’t submitted anything for publication for several months.  Once the courage wears off, after having had some success, it seems that I’ve become thin-skinned again.  Part of the reason, I suppose, is that I’ve had pretty good success with non-fiction.


But I really want to write fiction.


One idea, and it’s not something I figured out, is that submitting to contests is a good idea.  Somehow knowing that hundreds of others are also trying makes it seem less like rejection if I lose.  I can say, “there were hundreds of others—chances were small to begin with.”


I really have no idea how many submissions your typical magazine (print or electronic) gets.  I do know that a number of editors don’t get my style, or what I’m trying to do.  It’s not really horror.  It’s more weird fiction.  But literary.


What’s wrong with the literary weird?  To me, the unusual or uncanny is what I’m looking for when I read a story.  I’ve read too many where nothing interesting happens (and yet they get published).  I’ve even thought about starting my own literary mag.





A friend of mine who writes used to say, “We write what we wish other people would write.” There’s a great deal of truth in that.  I write what I’d like to read.  There must be other weirdos out there!


Some of the weirdness goes into uncharted territory.  Many people, editors especially, prefer writing that stays on the map.  Here be monsters!  And what’s wrong with monsters anyway?  Or fairies?  Or even people who think about sex differently than other people do?


I would never try one of those stories in a contest, of course.  It has to be something respectable.  Like everyone else submits.  That’s the trick to being an original.  Staying unpublished.  And hoping, perhaps against hope, that some day someone will discover something I’ve produced.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Maybe Okay

  A couple pieces of encouraging news, perhaps, dear struggling writers.   I had a couple short stories accepted for publication in recent weeks.   As a fellow writer recently said, “You've got to keep trying.  Somebody will like what you wrote.” That’s a bit of sunshine.   And it’s likely true.   But the stories:   “The Crossing,” about two men in a boat trying to cross the Atlantic, was accepted by JayHenge Publishing.   JayHenge is a small, but paying publisher.   I was flattered when they wanted it for their Masque & Maelström: The Reluctant Exhumation of Edgar Allan Poe anthology.   Being associated with Poe in any way feels good. The second story, “St. Spiders’ Day,” had been brewing in my mind for years—yes, this is a long game!   A friend pointed me to The Creepy podcast.   Since the story hadn’t been written, I followed their guidelines of what they wanted.   It worked. I recently heard a successful wri...

Working Through It

  The thing about being a working writer is you don’t have time.   Between working nine-to-five and trying to eat and sleep, and write, of course, the week is shot.   Weekends are spent doing the errands that you can’t do during the week. I should probably have known better than to join a local writers’ group.   Their meetings, although only once a month, are all-day affairs on a Saturday.   I generally don’t have all day Saturday to spare.   I work all week and I need groceries and the occasional Target run.   And I haven’t yet learned to go a week without eating. This is actually the third writers’ group I’ve joined.   One was not too far from home, but not terribly helpful.   They met on Saturdays, but in the morning only.   Nobody seemed interested in what I was writing, so I stopped going. The second one was about an hour away.   They also met on Saturdays.   Their big thing was having lunch together after the meeting. ...

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.   ...