submit my writing for publication

I’ve had upwards of a half-dozen manuscripts out at any given point so far this year and I’ve had three pieces either accepted or published so far this year.

So, I’m marking this done. The secret is just to drop the envelope in the mail or click on “Send.” If you get comments, actually read them before sending the mss. out again but, honestly after the first acceptance, the rejections are a LOT easier to take. And while you’re waiting for the first acceptance, just keep sending out your work.

Since last I wrote, I’ve submitted two more stories. One I’ve already received a “No Thank You” on and the other one I’m still awaiting response. I’ve got another story just about ready to go too. I always want to have at least one mss “in the mail.”

I discovered two very useful resources: duotrope.com and ralan.org (I hope I have those URLs correct) They’re on-line lists of markets for writing. Both of these are weighted toward speculative fiction though they include other publications as well. What I love is the immediacy. They track the actual response rates of each magazine as well as the current status. It used to be as much effort figuring out who to send something to as it was writing the piece in the first place.

One of my stories was accepted for publication this week and even better, it’s a paying market! The response time also was wonderfully fast.

The event has encouraged me greatly and I’ve written diligently all week. I’ve nearly finished a draft of another story.

I also discovered an online writer’s group, for lack of a better description. It’s focused on speculative fiction (science fiction, fantasy, horror) so it’s not appropriate for all my writing but it’s a great free resource. http://critters.org In order to get ones own story critiqued, each member must critique the stories of others, roughly 3 stories per month. Seems like a good deal.

There in the barren parking lot I stood surrounded by heroes. Some had proven their strength in the past, some were embarking upon such endeavors for the first time, and others, well, they like I were heroines only by association. For the first few moments at mobility, hugging and saying good-bye to friends and colleagues was manageable. Watching each soldier toss their life’s necessities all stuffed into large ruck-sacks seemed like people packing the car for a long weekend. Yep, everything was going to be okay… I could do this… no problem… it’s only six months, right? Only my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, our dating anniversary, Valentine’s Day, my entire senior year of college, and the Atlantic Ocean stood between us. Psh, we’ll be fine…
Once he had made his rounds through all of his buddies, Tommy walked up to me. His gentle blue eyes pierced through me as I watched them cloud over and become glossy with tears. “Baby, I want you to leave now. There’s no use making this any harder than it already is. I love you more than anything in this world and I will miss you so much. I need you to be strong for me, okay?”
I couldn’t even squeak out an answer. Eye contact was all it took to melt my strength. My stomach dropped and my heart raced. “NO I WON’T BE STRONG!” I wanted to scream, but all that came out were tears. I clutched Tommy so tight in my arms and quietly begged him not to let go.
The moments following happened so quickly I didn’t have time to really take it all in. I kissed him once on the lips, then he kissed my forehead and promised it would be okay. He helped me into the truck, shut the door, and kissed me again through the open window. As he backed away he never stopped gazing into my eyes. I held onto his hand as long as our arms would reach, but as I backed out of that parking space my grip just wasn’t strong enough.
Maybe it would have been easier if I had driven far away, but our empty base house faced Mobility where he remained for many minutes. Those minutes seemed like days, days I should have been with him! I peered through the open sliding glass door, and watched the now loaded van pull past the house and down the road. He waved through the window of that van, but I didn’t have the strength to wave back. My knees went weak, my body felt limp, and I was at a complete loss of what to do next. There were no more uniforms scattered around the house. ESPN was not blaring from the living room. The smell of his cologne no longer permeated the air. He was gone. I was alone.

I suggest sending your work to Teen Ink. It’s a really cool magazine, book series, and web site so there are alot of places to get published.

I started looking into submitting some of my writing.

I don’t know where to begin

I have been writing for some time and I don’t know how to submit or even to whom to submit it to. I don’t know how to get started. I could use some advice.

“Deal” came back with a “No Thanks.” (Doesn’t that sound better than a “rejection?”) so I sent it out for comments from someone outside my usual group of co-conspirators. He had some very perceptive comments which I’ll take into account the next time I revise it.

I also completed another extremely short story, just under 500 words that I sent off to a webzine that published flash fiction. We’ll see.

Today my heart cries out,
For the young men who were taken advantage of.
Who were manipulated. Who will forever have impure images in their minds. Whose trust was violated. Whose adolescent time was robbed from them, never to be given back. Who screamed internally with a mute voice to those around them. Who lay at night crying from what events occurred. Who coward away from their own images in the mirror because they did not like what they were being made to do. Who now have to work so hard to redefine simple things like friendship and love…

Today my heart cries out,
For the parents, guardians, teachers, mentors of the afflicted. Who are burdened with the guilt of failure to protect. Who feel betrayed. Whose trust was violated. Who falsely thought it would never happen to their child. Who lay awake with nightmares of images of what might have happened. Who are charged to help rebuild the shattered soul. Whose confidence in self and those around will long time be slow to build. Whose heart aches and mind swirls at every thing that reminds them of the past. Who will forever be looking suspiciously at the next person that seems to be kind and loving. Who no matter what is said ultimately must take full responsibility of the horrific reality that it was their fault…

Today my heart cries out,
For the predator marked for life with the atrocities they have committed. Who will forever be branded. Who has become an instrument for demonic tendencies. Who looks at themselves in a mirror and does not recognize who stares back. Who is hated. Who has subdued their heart and soul so deep that right and wrong no longer separate themselves. Whose breathe smells like vomit in the spirit. Who is beyond apologies and a debt that can be repaid.

Today my heart cries out,
Because I know that I am a soldier of Christ. And because of that I know that God does not see levels of sin like I do. I also know that until a person’s last breathe they do have a chance to be saved, much like the man who hung next to Christ. And that it is not truly the person but the demons within them that cause one to stray from the light of God. But today I wrestle with God in my soul because I want this person to feel the pain that they have caused. I cry out to him asking not for mercy but for wrath. I know that if my salvation was measured on my sins alone I would be in a flaming seat right next to this person for eternity. So it is me who asks God to help us through this time. To maybe not stop the bitterness but at least help us heal enough to get past it. I know in my heart I cannot rightfully condemn this man because I have a plank in my own eye. All I can do is pray that God have his way and that whatever penalty cast that the fallen saint be forced to face the demons and come back to Christ who in the end does have the power to make ANYONE whole again…