THE NEXT CHAPTER – Getting to Yes

You never know where you're going till you get there.

“I imagine that yes is the only living thing." – e.e. cummings

Some funny things have happened in the past week. Writing about the publishing journey, as contemplated in my documented history of over 600 cumulative rejections over the past 14 years, it is interesting to have received two significant acceptances within a span of four days. I thought this to be worth sharing as well, because it's not how I imagined I'd feel at the news.

The Chronicle of No

I keep a database that I call Agent Queries, though this also contains short fiction, poetry, nonfiction and independent publisher submission records. This contains information about the piece submitted and its genre, the date and type of submission, to whom at what entity it was submitted, the query package contents supplied, notes on submission criteria, and the expected response time if any. Thus, I can confidently say that about eight novels and various other works have compiled exactly 622 rejections between 11/25/2011 and today.

Upon receiving a reply, I also enter the date and text of the rejection (if any), then flag whether it might be worth trying again with a different project. Those who ghost my submission with a Silent Pass are flagged so I don't make that mistake again.

What might seem like an exercise in self-flagellation has actually been very instructive. I've learned how to parcel out my submissions and possessed my soul in patience about waiting for the draft worth sending out, rather than querying in the first flush of finishing what feels like a good draft. I've learned how to read form responses to assess those that leave a door open from those that simply pass. I can track certain agents and publications to see how interests might change or perhaps better align with what I'm currently cooking. It also doesn't hurt to have the records of submissions and fees for tax purposes.

Getting to Yes

I have over the years received 13 Yes responses and 10 Read Requests (which I only tag for full novel manuscript reads). This is how I learned that a read request, while a positive step, is not an acceptance. I also track follow-ups and results in my database.

One thing I've found is that some agents with whom I've had wonderful conversations and correspondence simply aren't on the same wavelength about the salability of my work. I cherish these contacts and exchanges, but must add that it is pretty rare that I make changes to a manuscript based solely upon such first impression comments. As with anything else, I must consider that perspective in context of whether it's an editorial insight or a marketing wish.

Looking at the acceptances, I notice another thing about perspective: the majority of my publishing credits have come, not from what I felt were the best fit, most natural submissions, but from works that I wrote or submitted as a bit of fun, a breath of fresh air, a spirit of What the heck, let's see what happens. Go figure.

A Drumroll, Please

Welcome to being an author accepted for publication. It's mostly no big deal for a short fiction or electronic publication, you get an acknowledgement, the piece is printed or posted and you get any payment, copies or links that come with that process, plus bragging rights.

A week ago, I was notified that my short cozy mystery "Death by Misadventure" was picked up by Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. I think I can say that, though I will not receive the contract until its publication is scheduled. If you know the mystery market, this is getting your cup of coffee in The Show: A contract, a pay scale per word, and a bio item that will get attention for your next piece.

I was bowled over. A toast of single malt with my spouse. A warm glow.

Three days later, I saw an email in my inbox about a contract for Distant Thunder, and at first misread it, thinking, "Oh, EQMM is ready to go with the story." But then I re-read the title in the subject line, and realized that this was about my historical fiction manuscript. Opening the email, I saw that a UK epub press specializing in launching debut authors was ready to green-light this novel that I've been submitting to a bleak historical fiction market for the last four years.

If we shared a tipple over a story acceptance, this would be good for a fresh bottle, right?

And yet I found myself immediately going into business mode. That is, I thought about this press, its offer, read and commented on a template contract, considered where I had submitted Distant Thunder that I now needed to notify (my database tracks that too). I thought about editing, marketing, the possible cost of securing a box of print-on-demand volumes for book signings and review copies. I contacted my dev editor to see if she was available for a full publication project.

One of my favorite film scenes comes at the end of an old political satire called The Candidate. [Spoiler alert follows.] An attractive sacrificial lamb candidate played by Robert Redford, through plodding ahead with political operators and a series of missteps by his incumbent opponent, finds on election night that he has won the Senate seat. We leave him with a panicked expression, silently asking his campaign team receding from the hubbub, What do I do now?

Some of this, I know, has to do with having a more mature appreciation of the work entailed in the publishing process. I can thank Writers Digest, the Atlanta Writers Club, the Mystery Writers of America and Historical Fiction Society for helping to demystify that process for me.

Then there's the other part: this dream is real now. There will be a work out there with an ISBN number and my name on it. I will now have responsibility for getting this product of my research and imagination into the minds of readers. That is, to say the least, an arresting thought.

I will be reporting on making my way through this process as faithfully as I have tried to present the aspects of my publishing journey to date. Meanwhile, I'm taking next week off for a road trip and a little reflection before this flume ride pushes off.

Keep on,

Andy