When you write a novel, and when you finally, finally have a publication date coming up, you’re supposed to pull out all the stops to get the news out into the world, to generate buzz and pre-orders. You do social media posts, blog posts, Substack newsletters, all that. But you are also encouraged to write pieces about your book, its meaning or social implications, the setting, your writing process, anything you can think of, and get them published in literary journals, magazines related to your topic, your local newspaper, the New York Times lol, wherever you can.
All exhausting for the writer to contemplate. And easier said than done. Not the writing part, but getting anything published. When I was preparing for the publication of my second novel Unswerving, in 2024, I wrote two essays, one discussing the portrayal of characters with disabilities in literature and popular culture, the other about having a protagonist who was both disabled and a lesbian. And I began submitting them to literary journals. Not just to any old publications, not throwing spaghetti at a wall, but sending them out to carefully researched magazines, scrupulously following all their guidelines and timeframes.
I am no stranger to submitting to literary journals. I’ve been doing it since 2011. I have an extensive spreadsheet to prove it. And I’ve had some success: twenty-two pieces of short fiction, creative non-fiction, or memoir published since 2013. But also, like any writer, a TON of rejections. How many? A quick search in my database tells me: four hundred and thirteen. Which some people would say is not that many. I know writers who aim for one hundred rejections a year. But it feels like a lot to me.
Oh, here we are: two more rejections have come in since I started writing the piece you are now reading. Most of these are the standard so-called “form” rejections, some addressed merely to “dear writer,” or even occasionally even using the wrong name, most full of platitudes about “careful consideration” and hope for “success elsewhere.” I’ve garnered a few “personal rejections” which are almost as exciting as an acceptance: a personal note from the editor who is truly sorry they couldn’t fit the work into their upcoming issue, or who assures you that it “made it to the final round,” or occasionally a helpful suggestion for improvement (but not an invitation to re-submit.) It’s a rejection, nevertheless.
I don’t give up. I have four pieces out on submission now, three short fiction, one micro nonfiction. I subscribe to several newsletters that alert me to journals opening to submissions or posting themed issues, to see if I have anything that might fit. When a rejection comes in, I review the piece to see if I want to make any (more) edits and send it out somewhere else within a few days. Checking the guidelines—the maximum word count, whether to submit anonymously or not, what kind of cover letter is required—takes a lot of effort. I’m not always up for it, but I try.
The two pieces I wrote to generate interest in Unswerving received a combined rejection count of thirty-seven, which is not that high. Many of the journals on my submissions list only accept fiction or did not seem appropriate for other reasons. But eighteen months ago, I received an acceptance for one of these pieces from Calyx, a feminist journal out of Corvalis, Oregon, that’s been around since the 1970s. The editors requested a few minor changes, easily accomplished, and we were all set. Break out the champagne!
But things move slowly in the world of publishing. It’s only now, after more than a year of waiting, that my essay Is a Disabled Lesbian Protagonist Too Much? is finally out in the world. In a beautiful glossy magazine, the 50th Anniversary Issue, in the illustrious company of gorgeous artwork, amazing poetry and powerful stories. It looks good. And it was selected as one of the excerpts available online too.
So finally, it’s out there. In writing, persistence is the name of the game.