I’ve learned by being in writing discussion groups that have pro (authors who’ve been paid market rates in exchange for the right to publish their stories on a venue) writers in them (who don’t know me) that submitting to venues is a super important part of getting published. I say that without cheekiness, because for the longest time part of me unconsciously thought that someone is simply going to notice the work I have on the blog and commission me to write. I don’t have mentors or anything, I’ve always groped in the dark when it came to writing.

Getting published means you have to get your work out there, you have to be vulnerable, risk getting rejected again and again and again. This makes total sense statistically speaking, and it’s something I thought I was ready for. But my numbers beg to disagree.

Fortunately, one of the best things I have done recently to get familiar with the SFF short story market is to impulsively apply to be an associate editor (slush or first reader) for Escape Pod, which publishes uplifting, optimistic, action-heavy stories with good (or at least plausible) science in them. I would be given free reign over submissions along with other readers, to pick and choose which and how many stories to read. This means that throughout the six months, I had to read at least a story a day. And if I couldn’t, I would cram on the weekends, reading seven stories in one day, and if I couldn’t, I would use long weekends or scheduled leaves to fill my quota.

Proof of participation (putting it here for posterity as this page will probably get updated once the next round of readers come in):

Here are just some of the things I learned from reading a shit ton of short stories during my six-month stint:

1. There are a ton of great short stories in the submission mill! Think of this when you’re feeling down about submitting, but only to consider that the readers might have had a hard time turning your story down, or that your story might have been great but just does not objectively fit the magazine’s tone.
2. There are way more below-average stories in the submission mill! Stories that start out great but sputter toward the end, stories that start off clunkily and lose the reader immediately, stories that are really vignettes. Think of this when you’re feeling down about submitting, but only if it will increase your confidence that your story might yet have a fighting chance this round.
3. Stories can draw you in through a lot of different ways: a great premise up front, an emotional first line of dialogue, even an extremely well-written and interesting sentence. The reader’s not supposed to be able to tell what you’ve done, but the primary goal of the writer is to keep the reader reading. Use all tools at your disposal to keep the reader’s attention. Bore them at your own risk.
4. That said, if by page 6 nothing substantial or inciting incident-ish has happened, you’ve already lost me. It doesn’t matter if you’ve used all your hard-hitting prose or wacky character descriptions, by pages 5-7 I deserve some important movement to the story. If your story is a bit on the shorter side of short stories, you should have me by pages 2 to 3.
5. A lot of the stories I passed on have great premises but seem afraid to explore them. A symptom is the late start (see #4) or the languishing middle, where writers often seem to be holding back, not really pursuing the promise (not the premise, but also the premise) they set up, almost as if they’re scared for their characters to do anything risky and life-changing. Sadly, I’m here for the risky and life-changing. I’m here so that I can watch your characters do stupid, daring things in the safety of my armchair.
6. Not saying your character can’t act rationally. They can, but they must suffer, and suffer bad, in service of the primary dramatic question of your story. Suffer externally by going against real-world obstacles like a space hurricane or a gate-keeping intellectual, or internally like a captain contemplating a truly horrible decision or a farm-hand deciding which bunny to let go, but suffer.
7. Good stories have a shape. The beginning and the end should be shorter than the middle. You know you’re in the beginning if you’re laying out the world, introducing characters, situations, and the status quo. Once you’ve lit the match, you’re in the middle. Things happen and escalate, turning over your premise this way and that, until you get to a place where the question is answered. Now you’re in the end zone.
8. If your beginning and ending are too long or too thick, it might be a case of information mismanagement. Story-telling is about doling out information in such a way that you keep your readers awake. Either cut unnecessary info or make your words work harder for you (use description of the place to move plot forward, use plot-moving dialogue to make your character’s personality crystal-clear, use one unforgettable detail to describe a world). If too sparse, add complexity by really trying to understand the world you’ve built. Always interrogate if this is really how it would play out in the real world.

I had to let the gig go when it ended because I do not have the stamina to read in a discerning deliberate manner every single day with a day job on the side (heh). It’s definitely a different mindset than sitting down at the end of the day to read a short story to relax. But I’m super grateful for the experience. I feel like I’ve learned more about short stories in those six months than in the last six years.

My submission numbers are still pretty thin. I think I’ve submitted only 30 times in my life for maybe 5 to 8 short stories, even if I feel like I’ve been doing this for a while. Sometimes I forget I was the same person who submitted a query (with a completed manuscript ready, of course) to 100 agents in 2013 (two requests for samples, zero ultimate takers). That’s a whole other story we shall revisit in the future.

Recently my goal has been to keep my stories out there in the ether instead of sitting on (in?) my hard drive. I plan to keep generating new stories, but also to keep submitting on the side. I’ve also started feeling my rejections when they come, so I can deal with them faster. It seems that the more I delay what I’m going to be feeling anyway, the more my story loses its chance to be read. What has happened in the past is, I would see the rejection, deny that it hurts, then I’ll stop writing for weeks that turn into months until I remember that I’m a writer again and that I need to be submitting.

At some point last week when I got my eighth rejection for a drone story, I considered putting my story in the trunk. I know that it’s different for a lot of writers, but knowing what I know with my experience at Escape Pod, knowing I’ve said goodbye to some pretty cool stories that just don’t fit the bill, 8 rejections is nothing. 8 rejections is table stakes. 8 rejections is just another day in a writer’s life.

All I can do is make sure the story is the best that it can be and to just. Keep. Submitting. I’ve dealt with harder things.