Fortitude

It’s a different world than when I started submitting my stories to magazines twenty years ago. The internet was a thing, but online submissions were not. I remember printing out my stories, including a SASE (I’m kind of curious if you know what this acronym stands for), and taking it to the post office to pay extra, since I wasn’t just mailing a letter. I bought the Writer’s Market books, not every year because I couldn’t afford it. Sometimes I got form letters saying that my stories didn’t fit what they were looking for. A lot of the time, I didn’t get responses at all.

Still, I kept on.

I didn’t think I was being brave or whatever. I knew I was a great writer. I just needed someone to give me a chance. So, I kept on, through the rejections and non-responses. I would occasionally get responses with personal feedback addressed to me. My friends didn’t get it.

“But they’re still rejections,” they said.

“But someone took the time to actually write me a note,” I said, excited by what I saw as progress.

Things moved to email, making submitting easier. I had spreadsheets of which stories I had sent where. As soon as a story was rejected one place, off it went to another, most of the time, the same day. If the magazines weren’t going to lose sleep over it, neither was I.

Then, I started getting acceptances. My first was a short story I submitted to Fangoria’s Weird Words contest. I don’t think I won. At least, no one ever told me. The story was up on their website for the longest time, even though I don’t recall signing a contract of any kind. But it was early in my career, and I didn’t know much (really anything) about contracts.

I still got more rejections than acceptances, but I was on my way. Or so I thought. The problem with progress is that it’s hardly ever a straight line. At least, it isn’t for me. It took me ten years to get my Bachelor’s, during which time, I dropped out twice and switched my major twice. After working 20 years in theatre because I just kind of started doing it as a teenager, I started working on bikes when I was 34. Each time I’ve gotten knocked down, I’ve been able to pick myself back up.

But for many years, from about 2017-2023, I thought I was done writing. It just wasn’t there any more. The stories, the fire, the will. All gone. Because I never stopped getting story rejections, which started to hurt more after I started getting story acceptances. It all sounds so immature, but there it is. Growing up and maturing isn’t a straight line either.

I got a story rejection this past week, which is what started these gears a-turnin’. I read the email while I was at work. I said, “Damn, that sucks.” Then, I went about my business. It didn’t hurt as much as I remembered. So today, before I started writing this article, I looked at more places to submit. Because it’s a good story. I just need to find the right people to read it. And the fortitude to stick with it in the meantime.