I Just Really Believe In My Writing

This is how it goes:

It's a day and I decide I'm going to send out some submissions. It's been a while, I know I have several poems and of them a fair number have been double-plus-edited, and some I know I love, and I decide it's time to send some packets out. I feel I probably have enough material to do that.

I start looking. First through my files, then my emails, then my notebooks. I find some poems I knew I had that I knew were pretty good, some poems I forgot I had that actually are pretty good, and about as many as those both combined in draft poems, half poems, even single lines, which I deem have compensating potential. This probably means at least 10-20 equivalent poems.

I type any of any category which are in notebooks, which means I also moderate-to-major edit each. I print the "final" versions. So long as I keep moving I don't end up with 7 final versions. Then, of the selection including printed versions, I pull the ones I've edited to death, print those if I haven't got the most recent versions. These are the ones I am pretty to dead certain are good and can be published - should be published - are the best possible poems. 1/4 to 1/3.  The rest: a third I minor-edit; a word or two, often words I've changed back and forth on several drafts, or phrases which are the same. Most go into the sub pile. Nothing significant changes. Phrasing. Small pieces. Easy fixes. A quarter remaining I major-edit. Multiple adjacent lines scrapped, redone, fusses. The plot may change. The story may finesse. Often the poem will significantly grow. If it grows too long it is put aside knowing it will have to be cut down. Most major-edits go into the sub pile.  I sort out weak poems. Of what I pull I probably will submit at least once 3/4. however of that 3/4, 1/4 or so will only go out once. Around 1/4 will be in heavy rotation. What poems they are sent with will vary. Sets will rarely be sent out more than twice without some variance.

Between these statistics I will log onto Duotrope and start finding magazines. I check where I've been accepted and what magazines others have also submitted to. I check the turn around times but speed is mitigated by high acceptance ratings. I visit the website of every magazine I think I might want to submit to. I start to read at least two poems from each. Ones I think I may want to submit to I often read four. Magazines I have submitted to before and have been encouraging I visit, check submission guidelines, see what I've submitted before, compare it to what I've got, and make a judgment call. I often read more poems from them at the same time, both to check what they've got that's new and because I like the magazines I submit to, you know, really. I like them for at least something, or else I wouldn't have submitted anything to them in the first place. I want to see what they're doing. Has it changed? Is it more like my stuff or less? Can I see why I liked them in the first place?

I look at at least twice as many magazines as I submit to.

Once I pick 'em things don't take quite so long. I choose the poems. At least one of my strong/favorites, one of my recent edits, etc. It really depends on how many poems the magazine will read and which I think fit it best. Sometimes a magazine really seems like it'll like certain pieces the best. Sometimes I just shrug and send what I think are strongest, thinking they'll appreciate it. As time goes by if I'm really determined to get the submissions out I start throwing in wild cards just to get new things in the eyes of people.

I make distinct documents or copy/paste distinct groups of poems into boxes as demanded.

I generate every cover letter on the spot for the magazine. I always check the masthead and address the editors, and/or poetry editor(s), and/or reader(s), (depends how many! some magazines don't even tell you these things, which is weird!) by name specifically. I like to use "Mssrs." for groups of mixed-gendered people, it's old-fashioned and different and fun in its Victorian-ness and technically, absolutely correct too. I know my grammar, my fancy English. I use the most precise fancy words through the letter.

First paragraph is always simultaneous submission and any info the guidelines request about the poems. Titles, word counts, number, whatever. If I know the magazine sometimes I get excited and talk about what I like about the magazine and that I think the pieces are really a good fit. Sometimes I get carried away here and am pretty sure the editors think I'm weird af. I think hey - at least that means they have an opinion.

Second paragraph. Always heart-felt never copy/pasted. This is where I thank them. Because reading a slush pile's awful. I know, I've tried it, and honestly I couldn't do what a lot of editors do every day. I know editors that always respond to submissions within 1-3 days. You can see their stats on submittable. I've submitted to them multiple times over the years and they never fail to turn it around. Do you know how hard that is? That is ridiculous. That is amazing. That is admirable. I could not do that without getting worn down and burnt out. Some people do it day in, day out, reading what you know is mostly a ton of shit, for no pay, for nothing except they believe in this. I have tried it and I cannot do that. So I say thank you. Because this work is so often ignored and not thought about by exactly me, the people like me, sending shit out.

Third paragraph: Bio. Almost always the same, the one part that doesn't get touched because god damn I can't remember it. Updated as relevant.

Best (always best),

E. H. Brogan

_______________

No wonder I got so burnt out on this after so much time doing it. After two years. Not even stopping but still trying just less and less, in smaller, more defeated waves. When I write it all out, think how much time it took - god, that was hard.

The thing is, I still just really believe in my writing.

I sent it out because I was convinced it was the best it could be, that it was really interesting and fun to read and made sense and great. I sent it out because I thought it was needed.

What sucks is that today, I look at the same shit, and I feel the exact same.

All this stuff I feel so solid about. Like every line has been gone over and it's perfect, it's the way it's meant to be. That it tells a story and makes sense and is beautiful and matters. That it should be read. That I can't possibly make it any better.

I send it out and I sent it out. And I wish that I didn't feel the same because I think, if I could see what's wrong about it, what it is the people don't like, that makes it "good but just not quite right for our magazine" - then I could fix it. Then I could make it "right," and I'd get published, and I'd get published by Big Magazines, like Rattle and PANK and Ploughshares and West Branch and McSweeney's (for the funny prose and lists, I can do lists), and Sixth Finch and THRUSH and Rhino, and I'd get a poetry book published by any size press, and they'd ask me to teach, and I'd make it. Maybe, in a small way, but I'd make it.

But I can't. I don't see what's wrong. What's missing? I love my poems. I believe in my poems. I think they are different and interesting. I think they challenge certain aspects of current poetry which need to be challenged. I think their run ons and lack of commas are on purpose and convey reading. I think their awkward line breaks should be awkward. I think they build tension. I think rhyme on top of rhyme on top of rhythm on top of rhythm. I think wordplay is artistry, I think poems should be music not flat, even prose. I think stories. I think fun. I think parallels.

I know I'm just another average schmuck but what I'm trying to say is yeah, I'm not any more special than anybody else, "my poems won't change the world," I know it, but I fucking believe in them. And I send them out. And I hate it. And sometimes there's a little ray and one gets published and it's amazing and I'm so appreciative.

For every yes you see there are a lot of nos and they are stupidly painful.

I work hard.

I should learn how to relax, but I care about words - writing- so much.