Last year, I decided to participate in the #100submissionchallenge. The aim is to remove the fear of rejection, and for the most part it worked. I did feel sorry for the journals I submitted to simply to make up my numbers and not because I thought my work would fit with them. That is cardinal sin #1 for submissions, but sometimes you just want to throw something out there and see what happens.
I am, very slowly, getting a better sense of which journals cater for my style of writing. My style, which I’ve begrudgingly accepted is ‘quiet’, does not always fit in online journals which need punchy attention-grabbing words to draw readers in. My work fits better in journals designed to be perused over a bucket-sized cup of tea. Slow reading, if that’s a thing.
Here are the statistics for my year of submitting like a mad woman:
- I submitted 94 pieces of work
- I had to withdraw 5 pieces which were accepted elsewhere
- I had 73 rejections (still waiting to hear about some)
- I had 9 acceptances (and you can find the published ones listed here)
That’s an acceptance rate of 12%, which is pretty good I think. But still, 73 rejections feels a bit masochistic.
This year, I’m not counting submissions, but apparently I’m hooked. When a rejection rolls in, I get antsy until I send the story out again. I’ve already sent out 23 submissions, had 11 rejections and 1 acceptance.
As well as all these stories, I am of course still working on a novel (currently titled How big the sky, a fabulous title suggested by one of my fabulous sisters.) I also have copious notes for the next two novels.
I think it’s fair to say that this is how I’m going to be spending all my time for the rest of forever.