Alice Buell Lawrence

I don’t know how it is for other writers. Maybe we’re all the same. But it’s really hard for me to put my work out there. No piece is ever truly done, you know? There’s always something I can adjust or change or edit. But, again, my dream one day is to hold a book I wrote in my hand, in a bookstore, published not by me. Really hard to do that if I’m too timid to get my work out the door, even if it means I get swatted down.

Look, the odds are against all of us when we submit our writing. I know that. But I still spend hours working a piece to ensure it meets the exact standards of a magazine or journal. It has to be right. It has to be the best it can be.

Tonight, as I write this, I’m editing up a piece I wrote last year, one that is kind of heavy and is written in a deliberately dense manner. It’s one of four that I’m hoping to submit this week. I already sent off seven submissions over the weekend. I’ve been sitting on a lot of stories for far too long.

I’m ready for rejections. I can handle those. I know I’m good at what I do: I need to find my market. And all of it will be worth it when some magic email shows up accepting something. I was expecting “Flats” to be published, the one I reposted earlier in the month. The rest of it? Well, let’s see.

The fear is that I am delusional in believing I’m good. That this is a hump I will never overcome. But that’s life right there. And this is the thing I do, the thing I’m naturally good at. I have to remind myself continuously, but I think it has the virtue of being true.

So, if you wish, please keep your fingers crossed for me. It’s time to go. I just don’t know where just yet.