QWF Writes

Tag: submissions

  • Dreadlines: Conquering the Fear of Submission—by Nicola Sibthorpe

    Dreadlines: Conquering the Fear of Submission—by Nicola Sibthorpe

    I am bad at submitting my work. Too often I build up rejection in my mind to be a personal commentary on my writing and on my future as a writer. Yet rejection, as any writer can tell you, is anything but final.

    First there is the self-rejection. I find it difficult to tell when a piece of work is done. I nitpick and fuss over it during the editing process until I resent the work. All I see are its faults. When I feel like I can still improve upon it, I don’t want to submit a piece to an editor or contest judge.

    Setting aside a piece is sometimes the most effective way of continuing to love a piece. I can return to it weeks, or months, or even years, later to rediscover the bits that worked and fix the parts that didn’t. I find editing difficult to do until I’ve put distance between myself and the work. Confidence is important in publishing, and it’s easier to be confident in my abilities as a writer when I can read the work as an outsider.

    “I nitpick and fuss over it during the editing process until I resent the work.”

    Then there’s the fear of outside rejection. The faceless and powerful jury intimidates me. I wrote the poem, “Artemisia Absinthium,” in the first year of my undergrad, and the editing I did for it was minimal. I remember the poem developed naturally from its source material. It poured out in one sitting. I was excited and passionate about it, and I remained so when I submitted it the first time to Headlights, a journal published by graduate students in the English Department of Concordia University.

    This was my second time submitting to a publication, and I saw it as a low-risk way to practice the process. Having it accepted gave me the boost in confidence I needed to begin considering larger competitions and publications.

    Less than a year later, I submitted the now-published poem to the QWF Literary Prize for Young Writers. It felt like the next step. I had submitted my piece to a journal that was unpaid and circulated almost exclusively within Concordia, and now I could submit it to a competition that was professionally judged and would potentially reach a wider audience.

    Submitting it was hard, but waiting for a response was easy. I had been working on making rejection a thing to look forward to, saving each email and using them as a mark of pride. The best ones included a note of encouragement or advice that I could proudly print off to remind myself that I was learning and growing as a writer.

    “I had been working on making rejection a thing to look forward to, saving each email and using them as a mark of pride.”

    Submitting to the QWF prize was the culmination of several important lessons and writing practices. When I heard the positive news—I’d won!—what was even more exciting than receiving the award was receiving the jury’s comments. I am a staunch believer in the work no longer belonging to the author once it has been released into the world. One of the most rewarding parts is learning what other people thought of a piece without your input or thought process. Having the opportunity to share my work with a larger community, and to meet so many wonderful Quebec and Canadian authors at the QWF Awards Gala, is an experience I will cherish fondly for the rest of my life.

    NicolaSibthorpeLindaMorra
    Nicola Sibthorpe receives the inaugural QWF Literary Prize for Young Writers for a published short story, poem or work of non-fiction by writers age 16 to 24. You can read Nicola’s winning piece, “Artemisia Absinthium,” in Carte Blanche.

    NSibthrope_headshotNicola Sibthorpe is a Montreal-born, Creative Writing MA student at Concordia University. She is interested in folktale and mythology, and the subversions that accompany them. She was the inaugural winner of the QWF’s Literary Prize for Young Writers in 2017. Beyond spending her days writing, she is also a teacher, and she enjoys spending time with her cat and a good cup of tea. You can find her on Twitter @NicolaSibthorpe.

    Photo Credits: Roy Blumenthal (header banner); John Fredericks (Nicola Sibthorpe receives prize); Michael Araujo (headshot)

  • How to Get Out of the Slush Pile—by Rachel Thompson

    How to Get Out of the Slush Pile—by Rachel Thompson

    I yawn and keep flicking through my virtual stack of submissions. I need one more piece that will not only fill a few pages in the next issue but also resonate with the writing I have already accepted for the magazine.

    A short story pops up; a few lines in and I’m wondering: is anything going to happen? Flick to the next one, and words start to blur together. Is this the same story, or another one? Why does it sound like everything I’ve already read today? I click, click, click, until I land on one that startles me at the first line. I read on. And on. Now I’m alert, driven to read to the end. I scan the cover letter and see it’s submitted somewhere else at the same time; a competitive voice in my head says, Mine first! I hit the “accept” button.

    —

    Reading, accepting, and rejecting lit mag submissions has taught me so much about writing and publishing.

    For one thing, I’m totally over the idea that if my writing doesn’t make it into an issue of a magazine, it means they think my work is no good. Editors get many, many submissions: far too many for us to print. The people reading these can be tired (see above) and overlook things. We try to give it our best attention, but at our drop-dead deadlines, we have to make quick and cold choices.

    Writing that doesn’t begin at a critical moment upon which everything else hinges, or with an opening line that raises more questions than answers, is unlikely to hold my attention for long. You never quite appreciate in media res until you’ve read hundreds of submissions that languish in the beginning. If you’re writing narrative work, and you don’t open with an action or decision point, you’re going to lose me. Consider the opening line of Rebecca Fisseha’s story, “What Grows”[1]:

    “Once, upon a day of politics trouble, I saw my mother burying her gold in the vegetable and herb garden at the back of our house.”

    After just one sentence, I have so many questions. What is the politics trouble? Who calls it “politics trouble”? Why is the mother burying the gold? Where is this home? When is this trouble happening? When an opening line makes me ask at least three of the five W’s, I feel as if I have struck gold. No wonder I picked her piece for Room issue 38.1.

    More often I read submissions that start by explaining things to me—where we are, when we are, who these people are, etc., etc., when the most compelling narratives make us curious and allow us to savour the discovery of these answers. There’s a simple explanation for why this happens. New writers just don’t have the experience to know how many drafts professional writers go through before publishing. (It’s more than most think, likely by a factor of ten.)

    “You never quite appreciate in media res until you’ve read hundreds of submissions that languish in the beginning.”

    Speaking of explaining, in cover letters I find writers are often tempted to tell me what their writing is about, and why it’s important for me to read it. But I’m going to read it anyway. You don’t need to convince me. And telling me why I should read something I’m already going to read puts me off a bit. Let your work show me what it’s about. Let the cover letter just deliver the facts we ask for.

    Writers often ask me if simultaneous submissions are cast in a negative light. Quite the opposite. It’s more likely to compel me to accept something I like more quickly and it has never had the effect of turning me off of reading something.

    Another thing I’ve learned is that the earlier you submit in a reading period, the likelier your piece will make the cut. Remember how I said earlier I was looking to fill not only a space but to find a piece that would join in a conversation started by the other pieces I’ve already accepted? We truly do sometimes turn down some of the best work because it a) either repeats themes, styles or settings in work we’ve already accepted for the issue, or b) is too long to fit into the space we have left. Because most magazines will read the work in order of receipt, if your piece is in an early stack and we like what you’re doing, there’s a better chance we’ll make other pieces fit around your writing than vice versa.

    “New writers just don’t have the experience to know how many drafts professional writers go through before publishing. (It’s more than most think, likely by a factor of ten.)”

    Start in the middle. Revise, revise again, revise better. Don’t explain in your story or in your cover letter. Tell us you sent it elsewhere. And submit early. My last bit of advice is to submit more often. You’re only going to increase the chance your work is published by sending it out to more places.

    But make sure it’s the right place. If you’re sending to Room, a journal that publishes women and genderqueer writers, and you are in fact a man (this happens a lot)—then I can’t help you.

    rachelthompsonRachel Thompson’s book of poetry, Galaxy (Anvil Press, 2011), won the SFU First Book Competition. Contest judge Gregory Scofield said her poems had “Wonderful and clear imagery as well as a ‘real’ and ‘true’ sense of place, love, longing, family, and the constant struggle and re-negotiation of self and experience.” She’s a current editorial collective member and former Managing Editor at Room. Rachel helps writers level-up their writing lives with practical advice and kind support at LitWriters.co.

    [1] Used with permission.

    Photo credits: Joel Penner (top banner); Vivienne McMaster (headshot)