In 2018 I submitted short stories 78 times. Out of these I got exactly one story accepted for publication. Eleven submissions are still out, but all the rest are rejections. So yeah, I find it hard now in January of the new 2019 to start the process all over again. Very hard.
I stopped submitting in November because Nanowrimo didn’t really leave me time for anything else. Then I kind of took December off from the writing, because of accumulated family responsibilities and holidays.
January is supposed to be a more balanced time: I plan to finish the first draft of the novel started in November and get it to about 88,000 words, while also taking one day of the week for short story rewrites and submissions.
Every story submission is a lot of work (usually one to two hours, after finding the market) to craft a pointed cover letter and complete all the other requirements (they can be wildly different from one publication to another and quite involved).
But the emotional work is the most taxing: with every submission I have to build myself up in my own head, make myself believe that I can do it, that my work is suitable, if not perfect for publication, that in spite of that last rejection, I am not a subpar writer, only one still looking for a break. Sometimes, when self-confidence is beyond my reach, I just go for numbness: Yeah, it’s a bad story but there are many bad stories out there. I’ll submit and get it done with. They’ll reject me and that is fine, because all I need is to do my work and submit, the rest is beyond my control. I don’t even want to be published in their elitist little magazine, so what do I care. I tell myself that I don’t.
And yet, I have to submit in 2019. Somehow I have to find the inner resources for that ounce of self-confidence that pushes me forward until I sign that cover letter, attach that Word document, and press Send. Over and over and over again.
I have been away from this blog for too long. Feeling guilty about it. Because this is my space and I should be taking better care of it. Instead, I have been posting a lot on Instagram. Which is not my space. It belongs to Facebook. I don’t like that. And yet.
Instagram is easy. One picture, a few words and you’re done. Exposure is wide and varied, depending on the hashtags used. Dialogue is open and frequent and interesting. I’m visual, I like beautiful images, they connect with a part of my brain that apparently needs this connectivity, so there you have it.
Of course, there are bad things about Instagram. I’ve seen many people suffer from severe Instagram fatigue. Because it seems to turn into a very competitive place: who posts most often, who gets most likes, views, follows, who has the best visually organized feed and I don’t know what else. Evidently, most of us don’t get the big followings that others seem to acquire at lightning speed.
I’ve read my share of articles about making Instagram work best for you–post at certain times of the day, post frequently, comment a lot, that sort of exhausting thing, but I don’t have the energy or time to use any of the tactics. While I see my account there as a public interface for my writing, not necessarily a personal space, I do post personal images (outfit pictures, hello!) and I enjoy that part a lot. I am torn between how much exposure I want for that kind of thing, but I keep doing it, even though it seems like not a very serious preoccupation for a serious writer, which I definitely am. It is my thing, I’m going to own it.
But I don’t want to feel like I am tied down to the platform. I don’t want to start feeling like it’s another kind of work. It’s not. I don’t monetize any of my social platforms, besides possible readers who might want to buy publications where I’ve written. So I post whenever I want, whatever I feel like. Mostly outfit pictures, as I said, because … for a good reason, I’m sure, let’s not get into that right now).
So, what was I trying to say here? Wow, this new WordPress update is messing with my head. I mean, it is good and all, but change is difficult to adjust to.
I’ve been having a huge pain in my neck for the past week. It appears that most neck pains are psychosomatic. They are caused by depression and anxiety and deficits in social support (Depression and anxiety as major determinants of neck pain). Interesting, right?
I am reading a lot about consciousness and brain function and I am feeling a renewed faith in the so-called “irrational”, superstitious, symbolic, etc. Science leaves space for it. We don’t need to be fully aware and rational 24/7. Which is a relief. For me at least.
Back to Instagram? Well, there is not much more to say. I have no strong feelings against it. I am not in competition with anyone and don’t have any ambitions related to that platform. I do wish there was a simple way to transfer all the content I have published up there to this website of mine. I’ll have to figure something out. Because my biggest gripe is that I don’t want my content at the whim of some nefarious tech company out there. I have started a page on this website where I am trying to upload old outfit pictures. I hope I can keep that up, although I feel bad that all the captions being lost, not to mention the comments that are often more interesting that what I ever write.
In writing news, I started a new novel during Nanowrimo this year and I am feeling positive about it. It’s about life, death, resurrection, consciousness, and séances. All the good stuff. I will probably take January to finish the first draft, after which I will give it a time of rest and return to Dragaica, the second book, the one that is almost there, and I’ll finish those last edits on it and start submitting it again, while also submitting short stories. It’s going to be busy. And that is good.
Brett Kavanaugh’s testimony and hearing yesterday was the closest I have ever seen to someone who was brought up to believe he had all the privileges (all!) suddenly being asked to answer for his actions instead of being the one asking the questions, and suddenly feeling crushed under what he could only perceive as being denied the most extreme part of his extreme privilege: one of the most important jobs in the country for as long as he wants it. So all he could do was shout in anger, and cry, and try to demean those in front of him. Interspersed with singing odes to beer. And expressing disqualifying partisan views. Ralph!
I found this also very edifying: Kavanaugh is lying. His upbringing explains why, by Shamus Khan.
No wonder that, when the poor lie, they’re more likely to do so to help others, according to research by Derek D. Rucker, Adam D. Galinsky and David Dubois, whereas when the rich lie, they’re more likely to do it to help themselves.
Look at me! It appears that I will have not one (the much anticipated Deadsteam, edited by Bryce Raffle — I already received my author’s copy and it is a beauty!) but two publications coming out on October 1.
Another one of my short stories, “Ink Bodies” has been published in Twilight Madhouse Vol. 4, Dark Rooms Edition, by Schreyer Ink Publishing. The volume is ready for preorder now and will be available in both digital and paper format on October 1.
The scariest secrets are kept in the furthest rooms, and our deepest fears reside in the darkest corners. Venture deeper into the madhouse than you have before with eight new stories that explore dark changes, darker desires, and the places where the light never quite reaches.
Sounds good right?
It cannot be a legal practice! It cannot be ethically justified! It cannot be happening! But it is. Because women and their bodies and their consent are worth exactly nothing. Sure, let’s treat women like they’re subhuman, only for the advancement of medicine, of course. Higher purposes and all, said the men in charge. Sure. Women’s bodies always were and continue to be worth nothing. In case we had any illusions that feminism was making real strides.
Also found on Death Roots Syndicate Volume VI. (Death Roots Syndicate is a free digital download label specializing in the promotion of dark music including but not limited to country, folk, blues, rock, punk and roots music. First time I’m learning about them, but it all sounds so good, I want to listen to all their stuff.)
School is starting tomorrow and summer is going out with a bang (heat advisory). I don’t know how to feel about it. All year, all winter long I dream up such high expectations of summer and then somehow it just ends and looking back at it, there were so many missed opportunities, so much good weather wasted on work or other non-summery activities. It all feels like such a big portion of once-potentially wonderful, lost time.
It has been a good summer. A full one. A productive time. A time of being with loved ones who live far away. Regardless. It still feels like it could have been dramatically different, infinitely better. But it was only what it was. And we are healthy and full and our house is so much cleaner (seriously, it feels like it’s a different house, because of incredible grandparents who came in to help us with a ton of home improvements).
Demoralizing, exasperating, demotivating, patronizing, simply soul crushing calls for submissions:
Please send us your best work. Do not sent us stories that have been rejected by other publications.
Edit thoroughly and send us only your cleanest work.
Format according to these particular requirements: (a list of ten seemingly arbitrary rules follows).
Write a good, clean and well-formatted cover letter. Your story will automatically be rejected if the cover letter does not look professional. We appreciate seeing that you’ve put in some effort.
Address the letter to the right editor even if we don’t list the names of our editorial staff on our web page. Make it look like you are taking this job seriously.
Write a short summary of the story. Hard word limit: 250 words.
Also, write a long summary of the story. Not more that 350 words.
Include a bio for us. List all your publication credits.
Include a third person bio for publication. Leave out the credits but write something that is interesting about yourself.
We do not accept simultaneous submissions: please to not send us stories that you have submitted to other publications.
Our response time is six months. We try our hardest to respond within this period of time, but editing a magazine/anthology is a lot of work, and our staff is limited, so please allow some delay.
We cannot extend our regrets to all the writers who have not been accepted, due to very large submission volume. If you don’t receive any communication from us in six months, you can consider that your work has been rejected.
Do not write to us to ask about the status of your submission. We do not have the manpower to answer.
We’ll pay $0.01 per word, if our campaign gets funded. The authors will also receive an electronic copy of the publication. (The publication will also come in print, but the authors will have to buy a print copy for themselves if they want one.)
Thank you for reading the submission guidelines carefully. You have a better chance of having your story accepted if you read our past three issues, the editor’s interview about the theme of this anthology, and this eight-page essay about the vision of our magazine. Happy writing!
I could look at pictures of Julianne Moore all day for style inspiration. There is something about the clothes and the way she wears them, like they are hers and she is herself in them, that is very powerful and attractive.
But the clothes themselves! When she wears loose and somewhat edgy outfits, which she does a lot, they are amazing! And she is into black and white quite a bit, so you know, I’m in love.
I mean, lots of black, harem pants, Birks and clogs, baggy and oversized! So much to love. She is only 5’3″ but of course exceptionally beautiful, as Hollywood people tend to be, so no chance for most of us to look like her as hard as we tried. Still. “Would Julianne Moore wear that,” is now my clothes shopping mantra.
Copyright 2018 Lori Tiron-Pandit