For Once: A Post About Writing and Rejection

Current mood: chipper
Category: Writing and Poetry

CURRENTLY ON MY IPOD: Makes Me Wonder: Maroon 5

Good Afternoon,

I have the weekend off...Thank God! I needed it more than anything in the world. Well, I need a book contract more than anything in the world, but a weekend off is also nice.

For once, I am going to share some thoughts on writing. I highly encourage any and all of you to comment on this. Topic of the day...are you ready? Do you have your 2 pencils sharpened and ready? REJECTION.

Inevitably, rejection is a part of every writers life. Rejections on a small level, on a large level and on an insurmountable level of pain are just going to happen. Get over it.

But there is a difference between rejections meant as "stop writing...leave the world alone, we are sending little blue men to take away your laptop" rejections and the rejections that are impersonal, or are meant to ask you for more.

As the submissions editor for Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, I can tell you that there are several types of rejection I send out. And I can also say that this is a very difficult job, most of the time.

Here are some of my grounds for rejection, and after speaking with other sub-editors I know that they go by this as well.

If you want to be rejected please follow these rules:

1) Don't read the magazine you are submitting your works to. This is a sure fire way to get rejected. I can not tell you how many submissions I receive that are not nearly on topic of what we accept. Our name says it: A LITERARY JOURNAL OF THE ABSURD AND SURREAL. If I get one more story about ponies, carebears or love I am going to puke.

Well, unless the carebears are revolting against a mutant force that calls itself My little pony and then the ponies get slaughtered by He-man..I might actually read that one all the way until the end. And then reject it. If you submit to a magazine geared for children, it better not talk about heinous sexual acts etc.... Just go to the archives of any e-zine or email the print ones to see if you can get an issue at a discount. What's your hurry anyway? Its not like literary mags are going away and this is just a phase. So chill out, research your market and then take two steps back and then re-edit and then send.

2) Ignore the damn guidelines. Please...pretty please with sugar on top. I was once rejected by a wodnerful mag called, Sybil's Garage. The rejection letter said...We liked your work, your story was intriguing..BUT YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THE GUIDELINES...STANDARD MS FORMAT ONLY....I admit that I was young, green and wet behind the ears. I submitted everything else to their liking, I just left out that little incidental thing called standard MS format. Oh for shit's sake. I about cried. But then the story was accepted elsewhere.

If we say we don't want stories based around D&D and zombies..don't send it to us. Don't think you will be cute and see if you can get away with it. You are not cute. You are probably pale and sickly like me from lack of sunshine...and too much computer time.

If we tell you to attach your sub. in word or RTF, then do it. Don't cut and paste into the body of your email. IF we tell you to send it in pink hieroglyphics then do that too. It doesn't matter. When you are asking to be published in a certain magazine then you better know good and well what they want in order to have their editor even read the first few words. INCLUDING WORD COUNT. We will let a few past the count slide, anyone will, but when we ask for subs of under 1000 words and get one that is 5000 it is an automatic rejection. Trust me on this one. We have that little word count button on our computers too.

3)Writing, terrible, awful, no-good writing. Yes, I actually reject the writing because of the writing. I recently read a piece in my submissions box that was composed entirely of very very very flat dialogue. Now take this down kids..."And then Fred said, I don't like you. And then Molly said to Fred, But I love you. And then Fred said, I am going to take a knife and cut the editor's brains out, as this writing is killing her.." Got it? If you aren't sure if your writing is up to snuff, then have someone take a look at it. Read it out loud, read other writers works of whom you wish to emulate. I love the short stories of R. Dahl and R. Carver. So, I read them when I can and try to soak in their style as much as I can.

And if I hear one more person say that they don't like to read because they feel as though they will be wrongly influenced by the works or that they will start to become "unoriginal" I am going to throw myself off of a bridge. Come on people! WTF? Do you think musicians don't listen to music in fear of playing like the greats? Do you think that artists blind themselves when they go everywhere in fear of being tainted by Picasso, Matisse? Am I right? Read, read, read and then when you are done reading, go read a little.

It will dramatically improve your writing.

4) Surprise endings. No, not the good kind of surprise ending. The one that makes you go, WTF? I can be reading a story, thinking..wow..I actually like this one.. I think I might forward this on for consideration and whammo! Stupid and terrible ending. Almost as if the writer said..Oh shit..My word count is out of hand. Must end now..must end story now!!!!...And then the two people lived happily ever after and they never heard from the giant killer squirrel again.

Yeah...uh...okay. Reject.

In some occasions, if the story is absolutely over the top and stellar, we will ask the person for a rewrite of the ending. But this is totally up to them. If you are passionate about the ending you wrote, then keep it and tell us to sod off, just know at this point it is a rejection. And also, if you are asked to do a rewrite and we offer suggestions, you don't have to necessarily take our suggestions to the letter, but just write something better than what you gave us the first time. Anything better and we will give it a heavier consideration.

Alrighty now...got all that?

Here are the types of rejections I send out. And ones that I have received..(thank you Steve Finbow..from Thieves Jargon for my weekly rejection this morning) I will place these in example, for I learn better from example than I do preaching.

1) The good:

Dear Mr. Pen,

Thank you for submitting your work titled, Mr. Pen Does a Happy Dance. Your writing is very good but unfortunately this will not be right for our publication. However, we would like for you to submit more of your works as you see fit. Thank you again for your submission.

Sincerely,

A. Hole Editor

or

Thank you for your submission. Although this particular story is not quite right for what we are looking for, we think your style is very much in tune with our publication. Please feel free to submit again anytime.

Sincerely....A. Hole Editor


I have been asked to submit again on many occasions and often after a few more submissions to the editors who requested more, I get an acceptance. With the exception of Steve from TJ. I have sent him four or more pieces after he has asked for them and rejected them all. Oh well, tenacity wins, right? If I submit approx. thirty or more times a week I am bound to be accepted somewhere, some time, some how...Someone has to love me, right? WRONG! Do not take any of this personal. What is that line from the Godfather? "Its not personal, its business.." I just pick up my little laptop and keep going.

2) The bad:

Dear Mrs. Pen,

Thank you for submitting your work, Mr. Pen Does a Happy Dance While Churning His Butter. Unfortunately this work will not be right for our publication. The story was not sufficiently written in our style and the ending was slightly jarring for the reader. I especially was thrown off with the addition of the killer squirrels. I suggest you read one of our journals in order to get a better idea of what is expected from our contributors.

Sincerely,

Major A. Hole Editor


(NOW I HAVE TO NOTE THIS: If an editor gives you specific feedback, be thankful. At least you will have an idea of what was going through their head when they rejected you and at least you know they read your story.)

3) The ugly:

Dear Mrs. Ink,

Thank you for your submission. We hated it. Please do not write anything again..As a matter of fact, we sent a virus with this email in order to prevent you from ever writing again. Your computer will self destruct within a matter of minutes.

Just kidding.

But this is the worst, at least in my opinion.

Dear Mr. or Mrs. Idiot,

Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately we are going to pass on it at this time.

Sincerely,

No-Name A. Hole, Editor

With this, you have no feedback, no inclination as to whether or not they even read the story etc...I once got a rejection letter from a literary magazine that stated the wrong title in the rejection. I emailed them back to see if they had even read my story and never got a reply. Jerks...

I usually give personal feedback with the rejections unless I have nothing good to say. Then I know when to keep my mouth shut. LOL... I would want someone else to do the same for me.

Regardless, the rejections we get should not make us cry. They are just a fact of life. How's that for cliche'. Remember this: often times after you have followed the guidelines, read a few dozen issues of that magazine and written the "perfect" piece for submission, and you still get rejected, it is still a matter of personal taste. Bradley and I don't always agree on what goes in and what doesn't. But that is okay. We talk it out. If I really really really like a piece and he says..no. I throw a mild temper tantrum and then ask him why, or at least rest on it for a day and then go back to read it again the next day to see if his opinion is valid. And often times it is.

I hope this helps somewhat. Also, schmoozing the editors from mags and requesting them as friends etc.. is not something that is going to help or hurt. It just takes up time. Your writing will be what will sell you to the mag. And that is it. At least for most of the mags I know. I am becoming quite friendly with another editor of a well known EZine and I sent her a story for the publication. She rejected it, told me why etc.. Fine..Our friendship is not tainted because of it. I don't care. It just wasn't up to her tastes.

And if you want a reply to send out to the people who reject you then here you go.

Would love to know your rejection stories etc... The good, the bad, the ugly. And if you have received a rejection from me.. let me know what you think of that too.

Going to submit to a few places now..

Enjoy your Saturday.

Yours in Rejection from Red-Headed Editors, Right Ways and Reasons Why,

Cicily

Gamma Pi Lunches at the Happy Machismo

Current mood: sick
Category: Writing and Poetry

Currently on my IPOD: Gravity: John Mayer

Good Evening,

I have the death virus right now. My head hurts, glands are swollen, throat is scritch,scratch,scaley....After this I think I am going to do shots of NyQuil and then head off to bed.

Anyway, you guys have got to chill out. Holy hits on my blog batman! After the post regarding the stupidity in the country, I had, literally, over several thousand hits. And then the emails started to come in. We want to see part of the book. We want to read some writing....My pub history is limited online because most of the zines I am in are print. So I have decided to post a little tid bit on here. No..It's not from the book. Thats under wraps.

Almost one year ago, I attended the Algonkian Writers Workshop in Colrain Mass. with Mike Neff and a large assortment of wonderful writers...I learned so much at this conference, it was unprecedented inspiration. As a matter of fact, if I had not attended this conference I don't think I would be writing the book I am writing now.

But, one of the writing exercises was to write a piece (short, middle of a story type) that was completely moved along by dialog. This is an exercise...and only an exercise...Don't read this expecting to find the holy grail of Pulitzer prize winners in the making... The work is below. I had them laughing out loud when I read it. You may not find it nearly as funny, but I always hated sororities...So here goes nothing.

Enjoy!

Gamma Pi Lunches at the Happy Machismo

(c) Cicily Janus Oct2006

"Great to see you! Alice, you're looking great, have I told you that lately?" Diane lied.

"It's been a while since us Georgetown Gamma Pi girls could grab a bite between headaches and assignments, huh?" Winking at Alice, Diane sat down at the table.

"I tell you what, the source of my headaches has been Bob, he can really push himself and his assignments on you." The work over the last three months had been more than she had bargained for. Alice needed to blow the steam off of her chest. She looked around at the wait staff and tried to relax.

Handsome young Mexican boys wearing tight white shirts and dark blue jeans, painted on their butts, the scenery at this place definitely has more going for it than the food. Burnt refried beans and sour tequila slipped a noose around her senses and suddenly her appetite waned. As usual, Diane looked better than Alice, especially since the miscarriage two months ago.

"So, Diane, what's new in your life? Did you and Gary ever go on that trip he promised you?" Alice forced a Wal-Mart smile as she gawked at the unbelievably yellow plastic sombreros upon the heads of the bartending staff.

"Not yet." She sighed and glanced at a happy couple sitting at the bar, playing footsy for all of the world, or at least all the people in "The Happy Machismo" to see. "You know how men are, promises, promises. He knows that I've been under stress, but it's always the same crap from my dear old Gary, 'Come on honey, you know sex lowers stress levels, come on wadda ya say?' " Diane stood up and made the motion like she was going to unbutton her pants, zipper first, just like a man. Alice and Diane both dated Gary at one point or the other in college, but in the end, Diane won him over.

"Diane, seriously! Don't embarrass me here." She said this with a smile on her face. "This is supposed to be a 'business' lunch." Under the table cloth Alice unbuttoned her pants knowing that her capacity for guacamole with hot corn chips has yet to co-inside with her pant size and her blouse was already clinging for life to her bosom.

"Business? Alice, this is lunch, let's just talk girlie shit."

Approaching the table, a buff, golden boy placed two water glasses in front of them and proceeded to interrupt their seemingly friendly banter.

"Could I get you ladies…."

"You can get the hell out of here until we're ready to order." Alice said. Diane has not had a glimpse of this side of her since the big sorority brawl back in 89'.

"Where the hell did that come from? The stick up your ass? Alice, give him a break, he's all of what? 18 years old? You know, ever since you took this job, three months ago, you have been on the edge. Is it me? Is it the fact that we are working for the same group of assholes in PR? Bob can be a jerk, but he really knows his stuff, you should listen to him once in a while, you might learn something."

"You know how I value my job. It's not that I don't want to work Bob's Georgetown PR Palace, it really is great. But.." She hesitated. "It's just that the Phillip Morris, 'Killer-at-large' account is really going to bust me up and send me back to prostitution if I don't do what needs to be done for this account." Her voice escalated as rapidly as her blood pressure and she suddenly wished that she had not said that. Diane has been at the company for over a year and in addition to being a loud mouth, she is Alice's only competition for the new supervisor position that Bob is going to create for the marketing department.

The young Mexican boy appeared out of no-where and asked Alice to keep it down. Alice lowered her voice and pulled her chair closer to Diane.

"They are the ones responsible for killing my mother, my father, my baby sister and the wiener dog from second hand smoke. They all smoked. Maybe I will talk to Bob about moving over to the Righteous Animals of Uganda account, I think I have a lot to offer for that company. Does Bob ever let you switch accounts?" Alice whispered as if this was a big secret she was telling. Diane knew she had her where she wanted her, talking about the past, ruminating about what could have been and what could be, Alice was such a schmuck for this stuff. With a look of false sympathy in her eyes the moment for takeover was about to present itself, and Diane knew it.

"Alice, don't worry about it. Bob has always helped me out when I needed it, especially with special projects like this one. But if he won't, well, you are the type who could get a job anywhere you wanted to. Having that special talent to pull off any kind of bull shit, and with tenacity is a winning combination you know. Relax, let's just eat our food." The Guacamole had arrived and Diane smiled at the coolness with which she delivered that speech. For a fleeting moment, Alice had the look of a kicked puppy on her face. Diane had undermined her with men, friends and drinks throughout her life, this was not going to happen again.

"Listen. Alice, if you want, I can hook you up with Dave, you know that guy I dated for a while last summer. He calls me every once in a while for a non-committal act of sex and I have, well, let's just say, leverage to get you into his company. Wadda ya say, He would probably pay you better and the hours, as long as you don't get involved with him, are reasonable." Diane elbowed Alice a little too hard in the ribs. Chummy was a pet peeve for Alice.

"Speaking of Bull shit, why don't you cut it out of your life and talk to me about the real issues at hand." Alice, one. Diane, zero.

"Bull shit? Bull SHIT? You are the one who attempted to steal Gary out of my hands after I had my miscarriage, I saw the two of you in the hospital waiting room as they were wheeling me into surgery, now that's bull shit! It's time for pay back. I was so damned nice to you and got you into this company. With my bosses! And here you are, thinking that you can just waltz right in, a mere three months into the position and steal the promotion that I have been working for!" Stares from all corners of the room bore holes into the backs of their chairs. People quickly pulled cash out of their pockets and headed for the door in an effort to avoid the inevitable.

"Now, that is some bull shit right there. Working? HA! I hardly call what you and Bob do in his Beemer in the parking garage after work, working. Should I call Gary right now and let him know about your latest 'work project'? "

"How the fuck did you know about that?" A lady at the corner booth gasped and dragged three preschoolers out of the restaurant by their hands, attempting to cover their ears. The boys with the guacamole and corn chips ran over to the table in a vein effort to calm the women down.

"Senorita's please, The Machismo is a place of love and fine food, don't…"

In Unison,

"Shut the hell up!"
At least they agreed on that.

"Alice, you can take your job and your fat ass and wash it down the tubes if you want, but at least I am the one who will win this time! At least I still have my looks, the girls at Gamma Pi laughed at the size of your thighs at our reunion last month, and guess what, I laughed with them!" Diane scooted her seat away from the table, this was about to get ugly.

"Diane, you take your guacamole and your job and stuff it down Bobs pants, I QUIT!" She picked up the bowl of guacamole and threw it onto her ten dollar Anne Taylor meets Good will rip off blouse. Her face grew pale and the obedient Mexican boys came to scrub her boobs of the chartreuse/guacamole shit that she had made of her life on this afternoon over lunch.

Alice quickly made her way out of the restaurant to avoid a fist fight and walked next door to the office to tell Bob what she really thought of him. And for just a brief moment, she wished that she had ordered some guacamole to go.


Yours in Sororities, Single Writing Exercises, and Soul Sisters,

Cicily

Pissy Moods

Current mood: bitchy
Category: Life

Currently on my IPOD: Wake Up Call: Maroon 5

Good Evening.
Today was another crack-pot day in my life. So, I thought I would share something with you.

I wrote this after a few glasses of wine and I happened to get a rise out of a friend, whose opinion I highly value...And then had to write her saying it was all tongue-in-cheek fun. Isn't most of my writing that way?
Please don't take me seriously. Ever. Except with the novel writing.
Anywho, here is my diddy, and like always, let me know what you think.


The Bother of the Uncultured


I am absolutely failing at my life. I have been trying to save the world, but it is no longer worth the bother. The wounded and insane have nothing on me. After all, I can't even get my cats to take their Prozac. Who the hell do you think you are? I, the crazy lady down the street, have no purpose, no stated life, and no exercise in futility to keep my mind contained within the streets of the living, right? Wrong. I have plenty to think about. Television proves it.

Every day I see them. They walk up and down the aisles of our local discount mart, they take orders through the processed food-o-rama drive throughs, they live their lives just to have the beer with no label greet their digestive systems with pure, simulated nutrition bombing on a Friday evening. Theirs is the whole subculture of uncultured beings. I am plagued by their stupidity, by their inane ability to ignore everything that is given to them through sight, taste, smell and touch. Their sight should be taken away for they do not even understand even the most basic instruction on how to use it.

Art is wasted on them, instead, hanging from their walls are velvet prints of dead-obese swinging hip singing Elvis. Looming in their pantries are processed Velveeta with Cocoa Puffs and overly salted generic potato chips whose flavor has been so far removed that the sadness of the chips is apparent through the crumbles they leave behind in the grease pit at the bottom of the bag. An intellectual conversation is something of foreign ground lending itself to the ho-hums of boredom and insanity that will inevitably follow the intelligence out of the room merely leading to a certain death after it jumps off of the roof. And to taste something savory, oh lets call it a taco cheesy melt with extra seasoning, meaning of course, MSG, from exquisite dining experience of a place also known in some social circles as Taco Hell.

Education is for the rich, the snobs, the ones who keep their teeth in tact and their waist line in check, right? Of course. If you lived among this extremist culture of non-culture, you would start to think this too. Literature is something the doctor gives you when he has to teach you about Gallbladder stones and Bladder infections. A factory of mass producing harlequin writers might as well be the Pulitzer winners. As a matter of fact, the fate of the world lies in the hands of Sammy. If she finally gets back with Lucas and Billy and Bo find out, then the whole three-some they had the night before the last episode will be null and selling their Days-of-Our-Lives souls will be a sell out to the devil. Stay tuned and see what happens next.

But what happens next is not pretty, intellectual or surprising. For we all know what the end of the story is. They live and they die, producing mass numbers of off-spring in their place at the ripe age of fourteen and find out that government help isn't so bad after all and the cheese is just as good as any other cheese you buy with money, only this is the free stuff. The food stamp righteous, the free hand out while you have two good legs and fifteen children by the age of 22, isn't that bad of a life. God-forbid, that this sub-species continue to thrive among the progression the rest of the world is making. The progression the rest of us are striving to continue, the advancement of intelligence and the retraction of stupidity.

Yet, I just sit on my porch, shot gun in hand, watching the fat girl across the street talk with a drawl thicker than Jimmy Carter's and a third tire form around her waste as she eats her chips and "ready made" dip in the jar as fast as she can, talking on her cell phone completely ignoring my pleas for the world to suddenly be right. Maybe it is the village idiot from Texas on the phone, speaking of his war in Iraq and how he promises to get her man back home alive. Never mind the fact that he may have post-traumatic stress disorder, or missing a limb or part of his face, for we are fighting for their freedom, right? We are fighting for the same things they are fighting for…Control over the world. Who's the biggest terrorist now? Terrorizing the minds of others while telling them that it is the truth and the only way out of their life? Terrorism is not selective about who it takes under its wings.

My requests go unanswered and I expect nothing less, nothing more. What else would I have to do if it weren't for the mind-boggling lack of IQ among my neighbors? What would you do? We would sit around and talk about the books, the arts, the music being made by and between the silences during conversations with friends. We could smell the roses and understand why they give their scent. We could live out our lives with the most stimulating thoughts and fine chocolates offered.

But, it takes a village; a village idiot and a plan to make the world cease its progress towards the betterment of man kind. Only this time, I am not going to be the one who bothers with the thought of this uncultured idiocy which lies in abundance all around me. Instead, I will be the freak, the eccentric, the unaccepted social butterfly who sits in her cocoon spinning wings of which I can fly away from this place to a more accepting culture.


Yours in Bothersome Pieces of Fiction, Burdening your Friends with Terrible Writing and Blowing Smoke Out My A*s,

Cicily

Featured Words from Cicily

Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

Currently on my IPOD: Ordinary World: Duran Duran

Morning sleepy heads,

Apparently I am featured on a couple of fiction/writing blogs this week. Check em out...

First one is Dogzplot

Second one is Tuesday Shorts

Both E-zines are micro fiction features. My piece on Tuesday Shorts is less than 100 words and the one on Dogzplot is less than 500. A challenge to write, but fun nonetheless.

I am off to work for the day, but will return with stories that will astound you, stories that will amaze your friends, stories that are nothing but pure bull-sh*t.
Go call your mom and say hello. She misses you.

Have a wonderful day.

Yours in Fiction, Fighting off Bed-Head and Features,

Cicily

The Mile O’ Men

Current mood: amused
Category: Parties and Nightlife

Currently on my IPOD: My Love is Your Love: Whitney "coked out and crazy" Houston


Good Morning,

I am, at the moment, eating a bowl of Fruit Loops, so you will have to excuse any typos as I am typing one handed, eating with the other and dripping milk down my chin. If you guys saw me now you would wonder when the short bus was going to arrive to pick me up for school.

Anywoo.

Yesterday, I was on my way home from work and listening to the radio. NPR was having one of those weekly test drills where they blare a god-awful noise through your speakers as if to alert you to an Alien attack or something equally as devastating, like say, Paris Hilton's next arrest. So I decided to flip through to the local music stations. My piece of shit car doesn't have a CD player, so this was my only choice.

I tuned into 99.9, a station with all of "today's greatest hits and yesterday's favorites!" Yeah..whatever. Fergie was whining about how Big Girls Don't Cry..and then this advertisement from their morning "crew" came on...

LADIES: Get your groove on early on Friday Morning as we host our annual MILE OF MEN! Downtown, men will be lined up for one mile for you to peruse and choose! Choose your man that morning and party with him by that night. Don't miss out, this was a huge success last year, and we'd hate to see all those hot guys go home lonely.


Uh...

What did they say? Thinking that I had just had a seizure instead of hearing those words I stayed tune. Sure enough, five minutes later, they ran the exact same advert.

Let me ask you this. Is it really that hard for a man (I have to take a bet that the target demographic for this add is young men and women between the ages of 18-25) to find a woman? OR is it really that hard for a woman to find a man in this day and age?

With all of the "internet" dating agencies like E-Harmony and Chemistry and then the clubs, schooling, etc.. really now, someone shouldn't have to go to a MILE OF MEN in order to find a date. What else do we need as a society to find a mate? Maybe we could have old fashioned courting ceremonies as the next big gimmick.

I think I should go on Friday just to take pictures of this travesty of societal norm. My guess is that it is going to be a bunch of girls dressed up like, as my grandmama would say, street walkers, at eight in the morning, pointing, laughing and waving their "junk" in guys faces. Who wouldn't like this? Maybe I should call in sick and stay for the duration to see who the losers are and then post them on my page to try to pick up literary chics....

If I were a guy, I would feel like the fat kid in gym, waiting to get picked for a Dodgeball team.

Stay tuned, I will try my best to come up with some pics of this Mile of desperate lonely, looking for a one night stand, men.

Have a great day and if you are lonely and want to participate in this search on the streets of Colorado Springs, I will be more than happy to pick you up at the airport.

Yours in Desperation, Dodgeball and Drowning in Fruit Loop Milk,

Cicily