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Sketchy Replies

I’ve had a very interesting pattern develop in some of my rejections for Hurricane Baby–three of my six rejections have offered to publish my book in a self-publishing format. They want me to pay them a fee to print my book, edit it, and distribute it.
This kind of offer is sketchy for several reasons.
Each house that has done this advertises themselves as a traditional publishing house. That means if they take you on, they are making a commitment of their own money to the project and therefore, have a vested interest in recouping that investment.
Offering what are essentially vanity press services makes me think that maybe they weren’t on the up-and-up to begin with; maybe they never publish anyone with their own money and don’t pay royalties. It makes me think I dodged a bullet in dealing with them.
They try to make it sweeter by saying I can keep more of the profit off of each book sale under this arrangement. Well, if they have no money invested, they therefore don’t have any motivation to help me sell it; therefore, I am essentially the publisher, and they are simply a printing service. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t be sending it out to other publishers; I’d have already done it myself.
I am pointing these red flags out because so many of us are so desperate to get our work out there. We want to have our voices heard. But book publishing is not a charity endeavor–someone has to make money. I know my book needs someone’s expertise to get into bookstores, to be edited professionally, to be marketed effectively to readers.
Any publisher that offers a service where you pay them for any of these components needs to market themselves as what they are–a printing service for authors prepared to sell their books wholly by themselves. I’m not saying that is wrong–calling yourself a hybrid publisher or a for-fee publisher keeps your intentions aboveboard. To advertise yourself as anything else borders on the predatory. Writers live on hopes and dreams. Sometimes the hopes and dreams overcome our business sense.
All in all, you want someone who will champion your work–not simply collect a fee from you. I will not name the companies here–just warn you to do your due diligence in steering clear of anyone that might have your money flow to themselves instead of the other way around.
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Starting Again From Scratch (Almost)

So this afternoon I typed the first paragraph of my new linked short-story collection with a working title of “Strong. Southern. Women.” (periods are intentional) The story is about a widow who was left to raise three young daughters on her own. Each of the twenty stories currently planned is about how the girls grow up, leave home, and (because each has an individual fatal flaw) fall from grace, destroying their lives–they think. One goes to white-collar prison. One descends into opioid addiction. And one winds up in a battered women’s shelter with her young son.
But their mother, who is both the one who held them together and who instilled the seeds of their self-destruction, gives them space, after they make the hard decision to reorder their lives, to grow, to gather up the pieces, and to get back on their feet. It’s going to be Southern Gothic again, but much more inspirational and happy-ending than Hurricane Baby.
I have an outline of all the stories and the backstory, and I’ve so far finally gotten started. We will see where this writing journey takes me. Wish me well!
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Indie Publishing

So I have been scouting out small presses, university presses, and independent publishers for Hurricane Baby: Stories. You know what? The US has LOTS of them–and many take submissions directly from authors without need for an agent. So what criteria am I using in selecting the people I send my manuscript to?
Number 1) I am looking for established presses. Presses that have been around for a while. Presses that know what they are doing. Presses that have a process for what they do. I do not want a press that is a flying by the seat of its pants publishing my work. So I look at the history and mission of the press.
Number 2) I am looking for someone who is buying what I am selling. Not many presses deal in short-story collections. I am looking for information that says explicitly that they publish short-story collections.
Number 3) I am looking at presses that are located in my geographic area. Since I write Southern stories and characters, I look for Southern presses. I have sent to a few presses that are located outside of the American South, but not many. I want someone who can read in a Southern accent because that’s how I write.
Number 4) I look at presses that deal only in electric submissions. A few presses and prizes out there still require sending a paper copy of the manuscript. I judge them for this–it means, quite frankly, that they aren’t evolving with the times. It’s the 21st-century. Electronic submission is where it’s at.
Number 5) I am not ruling out presses that may require a submission fee, especially for contests. Lots of people won’t pay those fees out of principle, citing that the money is supposed to flow to the writer, not the press. I’m not doing it often, and there is a limit to what I plan to spend. But let’s not act like writers have never spent money to send off their manuscripts– postage and printing costs for sending in a finished paper manuscript was expensive, too.
Number 6) If I’m really on the fence about a particular publishing house, I look for something intangible that says, “We take your work seriously.” One press I have really been considering published two books by a professor of mine–but I just don’t like the tone of their website. I want a press that means business–in every sense of the word. So I’m not sending there.
Bottom line–publishing is a business. And I want a press that has an established track record publishing what I am offering that ultimately understands my work and has the means and the vision to do so. So far, so good. Thanks for reading!
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Work Vs. Play

So here’s an eternal question for you–how to balance the day job and the creative life.
I am finding that I am too tired from the day job to write creatively during the week.
I try to reserve my weekends for family. Especially my Sundays. I try to rest during the weekend and recharge.
But if I don’t write creatively on a regular basis, my mood goes south.
I don’t quite know what to do.
I’ve been avoiding my nonfiction project for about two weeks now: I spent yesterday with Bob going Christmas shopping and usually try to reserve my Sundays for rest and church.
But I know I don’t need to go very long without working on a creative project because a week’s delay turns into two weeks, then three, then a month, then before I know it, the New Year will be here, and I will be grumpy that I didn’t accomplish much creatively.
But I also know I need to make time for what is important to me. My family is important. My day job is important to me. Rest and recharging are essential as well. But somewhere I need to find the wherewithal to write.
I need to think on this and restructure my week somehow.
Again, an eternal question. I need to remember why I found work and why my writing is important to me as well. I will solve it. I just need to think harder about it instead of just letting time slip through my fingers.
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Facts About Planning to Write

I struggle with a particular problem whenever I start a new project–planning vs. writing.
Planning sounds good, right? We plan for trips, plan for our day, plan for retirement. Why is “planning to write” so deadly to some writers?
Because “planning” isn’t actually writing–and therein lies the rub.
I am by nature a planner. I planned out all the classes I would take for my MFA before I even embarked on the six years it took for me to finish my degree. I plan meals, workdays, life events. I don’t deal very much in serendipity–just seeing what happens when I don’t follow a plan.
But planning to write is not the same thing as actually writing. You can plan out what you want to write and how you’re going to write and when you are going to write, but when you’re done–what have you accomplished to the goal of writing your book (or article or term paper or life story)?
Nothing.
Whereas, if you just sit down with a blank page and start typing, that same amount of time planning could have been spent generating a page of prose (or poetry, whatever your flex is) however imperfect it might look to a trained eye.
That’s where I am right now with my nonfiction project. I have found myself reading the manuscript I already have and inserting scenes I PLAN to write to go in it. This tendency, along with my realization that I’m going to have to find a new entryway into my story since I won’t have the previous 200+ pages of exposition/description/action I now have in the work, I find myself nine days into October with nothing new actually written. And that’s not good.
How to get over it? For me, no other way works except jumping into the cold water of my manuscript and swimming for my life. If I just stick my toe in the manuscript, I will get scared and never get into it and make it all it can be.
So today I will write instead of plan. It’s the only way anything ever gets done. Write today.




