The San Antonio Writers Guild, as I've mentioned before, has "The Judy Award" for the member who has received the most rejections in a calendar year, the logic being, "If you don't submit, you can't get published." Simple logic. I believe it, too. But when it comes to making a choice between submitting/researching markets, or writing, I have so far been able to work up the discipline to submit.

The act of submitting my work can't be as bad as I've made it out to be. And I've made it out to be a horrible, grueling task.

1. Only once I've worked up the courage -- the conceited nerve -- to think I have a piece that is ready for submission -- not an easy point to reach since I am a compulsive editor -- can I even begin the process of submission.
2. Then I have to decide what genre it falls into. This step is stressful since. I've already sacrificed a writing session, so misstepping during the submission process compounds that feeling of waste. I used to be in a band and, as anyone in a band that plays original music will tell you, the question he hates most is "So what kind of music do you play?" It can't be answered accurately without an encyclopedia-length explanation. Unless one is intentionally writing genre fiction, finding just the right genre and sub-genre can be tricky. Once I've made a choice, I'm seldom confident it is the right one. I find myself thinking back to the other options I could have chosen instead.
3. If I've bitten the bullet and committed to a genre and have found a list of publications that accepts works of my piece's length, I then move on to the unfun sifting through each site's submission guidelines and getting the work ready for submission.
   1. Find the submission guidelines. I'm a web designer and try to make all my navigation through a site clear to the user. Many of the publications' sites do not realize how difficult their submission guidelines are to locate. My thinking is, if the guidelines are hard to find, am I dealing with a publication that is worth my time? If only that could be answered easily. The truth is, even known publications, at times, have this problem. More sand falls. I want to turn back.
   2. Once they are found, the newbie realizes that every publication has different guidelines for submission. Keeping track of all the details for each publisher, necessitates use of a spreadsheet, a hardcore left-brained activity for a person who seldom uses his left brain.
      1. The materials requested varies: Some want a query letter only. Some want the first few pages. Some want the whole thing. Some want both. Some want the physical copy as opposed to the digital file.
      2. The formatting varies: Some want this font; others want that one. Some want 10- and other was 12-point type. Some want the author's info in a title page only; some want it on the first page with the beginning of the story; still others want it in both places with a bio.
      3. There are timeframes in which  publications do and don't accept submissions. Oy.
         
         Keep in mind, we're only gathering facts. We haven't submitted anything yet.
         
          
   3. Note carefully the email (or physical) address to send it to. Invoke paranoia. It's an easy step that I find myself triple- and quadruple-checking, probably unnecessarily.
   4. Once we have all of our data saved into the spreadsheet, we now have to modify the piece to each publications odd specifications. This is the most frustrating step as there's all sorts of room for confusion, it can take longer than I want it to, and the multiple formats clutter my computer folders like nobody's business. By this point, I have little confidence I've dotted and crossed all my Ts and Is.
4. I finally have it ready and I click Send.  Yay! More to record on the spreadsheet my body has already been wanting to reject.
5. Here's another fun part. Wait. Maybe an hour. Maybe six months. Maybe...forever. You just can't say. And each publication has their own preference for how they will accept taps on the shoulder to ask, "Hey, um, what's going on with my piece?" They've got you over a stump, too, because the last thing a writer wants to do is piss off the very publication they've waited months to hear from. We don't want to make rejection any easier for them. I don't like being in a position where I should be able to ask a reasonable question but, for whatever trip, I would be hurting myself to ask.

The process is not broken. There is no process.

I always want to be effective. I find that, with the way things are set up in the industry, I can't do more than to minimize the amount of wasted time. And too much of my submission effort goes toward appeasing editors' preferences instead of getting good work into their hands. I see the need for work to be submitted in a clean fashion. I know I prefer files and such to be sent to me in a certain way. But there really should be an agreed-to standard.

Unless there is a formal "Submit-in" organized, I don't submit. I think about it daily, but nada.

I've resolved to set aside Wednesday's for submission work. That way, I'm not facing a choice whether or not to submit. It's Wednesday; I submit. I submit to submitting.

I think that'll begin with the new year, though. I have writing to do.

Over the last couple weeks, my small critique group has taken a look at the first chapters of my novel-in-the-works that has gone by various titles: The Letter from William Waiklin, Felled, William Waiklin, The Beating Heart Tree. What stands out about their reviews is that a] I suffered from having taken time away from solid, careful writing every day and b] that the parts that I needed to work did, in fact, work.

The first chapter is told from the perspective of a biind, aging Ojibwe man who has all but completely been Westernized since living his early years in "the old ways." He and William Waiklin have a tense conversation under false pretenses. Eventually the important truth about why William is there is revealed. This sets up the frame into which other stories, which constitute the bulk of the story, are told.

I mistakenly called this chapter a prologue, but as I should have known, a prologue is never 20 pages long. There is a place for a prologue, but I'll need to reorder the content of the chapter some to make it work the way I want it to. The important part is, again, that the parts of the chapter worked, so reordering is possible. I would have found proceeding in the direction I had intended had my groupf deemed the parts themselves unworkable.

I decided to leave the reordering work for later when I can revisit that section with a fresh eye.

The second looks at a young love triangle in the pre-Western-trade years in an Ojibwe village. Through back and forth flashback from one of the three characters' POV, we see the parallel between the tension building between him and a competing male and his actions on a very violent day, actions which lead to his very peculiar downfall.

The critiques were consistent. I had clumsy POV issues. I hadn't set up the backstory well.  I hadn't tied the second section to the first in any way. To compound the issue, i had mistakenly sent two or three pages that I had not even attempted to perfect. Notes, basically. Members of my group were left, understandably befuddled at the beginning and at the end.

The silver lining was that, if one disregarded the beginning and end, the flashbacks themselves did seem to work. These flashbacks, again, being told from a 16th (maybe) century Indian's POV could have gone terribly wrong; however, his voice worked, all members agreed. This was key. The Indian voice in this and the first section needed to work of it was back to research.

Overall, I'm excited about the direction I'm taking. I realize the structure of the finished piece will be a difficult puzzle and possibly a hard-sell, but at my age, I'm pretty sure I'm headed in the right direction even if the course ahead is foggy.

I've already made enough changes to the first part -- notes, really -- to address the large stroke problems my group pointed out. Next, I'm working on the "evil deed" part of the second section, the killing, the mortal judgment, the supernatural penance. 

But I've already said too much.

Photo: Frank Montano (Anakwad), Ojibwe musician

After an interminable number of days unable to dedicate substantial time to writing each day due to free web work for my beloved cousin, Daphne, and free graphical work designing my son's cycling team's full kit, I found the transition back to my regular writing pace a mixed bag.

On the positive side, the energy to write released like a flood. I'm typically neither a speedy nor particularly focused writer. But driven by so many unrealized ideas that had gathered at the door, the words came fast and furious, like releasing puppies from a basket. 

On the negative side, who wants to read the disorder a basket of puppies can produce. The result was similar to that well-known Cheech and Chong moment when they have to follow around the dog who ate their stash. There was a great volume of words and little in the way of quality to sift out.

I guess that is arguably a good thing. Still, I noticed a general dulling of my writing, a lack of stamina and ability to focus singly on the desired story path.

Regardless of the confusion, I'm confident I'll normalize soon. Writing may not be one of those impossible-to-forget activities but the curve back to full fitness should be a short one. Setting is everything. Providing oneself with the proper setting and ample time to allow true writing to begin, typically 20 minutes after beginning, is essential to growing as a writer. I may have written every day during my semi-hiatus, but I may have been better off not writing at all rather than forcing myself forward out of pride through asphyxiating conditions.