Recycling

 

What do you do when things haven’t worked out as you originally planned?

We recycle.

Last week, Black Cat Weekly ran my story, "Fifteen Minutes from Fame." Initially, I'd sent it to Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, but they passed. Keeping the universe balanced, AHMM ran my story, “The Angler’s Guide to Walleye Ice Fishing,” in the current March/April issue. In 2022, I submitted that story for the Minneapolis Bouchercon anthology. The Minnesota committee ultimately decided it wasn't one they'd include. I got a nice email of decline.

Like every other member of humanity, I never like getting rejected. But like everyone who submits stories, I accept it as part of the process. I try to find the positive. It means I’m producing and sticking myself out there. We can’t win if we don’t play.

And I really like it when a resubmission is accepted. It validates my belief that the story was worthwhile.

We all recycle. Blogs get repurposed. And stories take too much effort to write. We can't be one and done. 

To be clear, I don’t resubmit to the same publication. If an editor says no, I treat it as firm and move on. I don't want to damage my credibility with the small world of publishers by making a few cosmetic changes, giving the story a new title, and running it back in the hope that it'll sneak by this time. (The only exceptions are those rare times when a story is returned with a qualified rejection—the editor’s email told me that the story would likely be accepted if some changes were made.)

But that doesn’t mean that I give up on the other stories either.

Michael, Barb, and other folks who regularly make editorial decisions have discussed on different blogs why stories might get rejected. They've taught me that rejection does not always mean I've written a bad story. They've emphasized the subjective element of acceptance/rejection. I take my editors at face value. Success or failure may turn on factors over which I have no control. If they've accepted a story with a theme like mine recently, my story may not have a chance, regardless of its strength. I may be the victim of poor timing or bad luck.

Or I might have submitted a stinker.

Before recycling a story, I hope I use the rejection as an opportunity for reflection. I’ll reread my submission critically. Should I have ever sent it off to begin with? Assuming I come away from the reread convinced that the story has merit, I will invariably see ways that a rewrite might make it better. 

Occasionally, an editor’s rejection email points out what they didn't like about the story. I incorporate those comments into my review. But even if a rejection supplies no reason, its quick splash of cold water makes it easier to look at the story with an eye toward finding its flaws. After polishing it further, I'm reading to get this story back in the game. 

Before resubmitting, I need to ask whether I’m sending the story to an appropriate publication. I don’t want to throw my work time after time at calls that don't fit. Is this story right for the prompt? If I have to tilt my head and squint to see the connection, I should save the story for another day. If I have a dog story and the call is for a cat anthology, I can’t simply do a ‘find and replace’ and resubmit. I don’t need the rejection, and the editors don’t need the timewasters. As a writer, I need to maintain my credibility as someone who submits serious stories. That doesn’t involve depending on random chance.

I also like to wait before resubmitting. A bit of distance makes my self-examination more effective. It also separates me from the competition. I have no doubt that in the days after the Minneapolis anthology rejections went out, Ellery Queen and Alfred Hitchcock were inundated with stories set in the upper Midwest. The two-year pause before my submission, I believe, let that wave pass. Hitchcock may have recognized it for what it was, but enough time had lapsed for them to be ready for a midwestern story again.  

We can't give up on the stories we've written—well, not most of them. They need to be recycled. Take heart from the words attributed to humorist Stephen Leacock. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no point in being a damn fool about it." 

Until next time.

I'm traveling on the day this blog posts. Apologies in advance if I don't respond promptly to replies.