To anyone who isn’t a writer, that statement might not make sense.
Publishing has changed so much in the last two decades. Once upon a time, the only way to send manuscripts and queries was by hardcopy: formatted a certain way, in a certain family of fonts, and flat in a box or envelope. With either enough postage to return the poor rejected item or (if it was a ‘disposable submission’) a self-addressed stamped envelope for the rejection/acceptance letter from the editor or agent of your choice.
This got to be fairly expensive. It also took forever. The etiquette of manuscript submissions to major magazines and publishers meant sending out that query, short story, or manuscript to one place at a time. Multiple submissions could end up in ruffled feathers and withdrawals of publishing offers. (Still can.)
The internet wiped much of that upfront cost and delay aside with email queries. Sure, we still wait forever to hear judgment on our work. And we either suffer through dial-up or pay for faster access. But writers can now send a query or mms by email (depending on the publisher’s guidelines). I give preference to places that allow e-queries, and push the hardcopy places way down the list.
There are two exceptions. My agent likes a hardcopy to read as well as a digital file. Two or three major science fiction magazines still ask for hardcopy as part of the initial story submission.
I’ve made the tactical decision to delay self-publishing Singer in Rhunshan for yet another two months, while I submit a paper copy to one of those top-tier markets. Even though I’ve never sent this story to that market, the chances of acceptance are slim. But the potential payout in money and publishing credit is worth the attempt. In my wildest dreams, I doubt that Singer would make as much in its first two months, if I self-published this week. Or get as much notice.
So why is there a picture of a fancy letter opener alongside this post?
In 1990, when I still had no idea of what I really wanted to write, much less how to write it or sell it, I found the bone section of this letter opener in an antique mall. I was poor, but the letter opener was cheap because its handle was broken, and it looked like it could use a home.
As bad as things can seem for me now, the early 1990’s were worse.
The carving along the blade I did myself, in a private motif that still has meaning for me. The sphere in the handle once held a miniature scene behind a glass peephole – I filled that empty spot with a piece of black coral. I made the silver chain, filigree stations, and the bail for the rock crystal pendant. Later, a flattened round bead of purple-black rainbow obsidian proved the perfect addition. All the silver has been blackened with a sulfur patina.
I made this letter opener with the idea that I’d be opening my future rejection and acceptance letters with it. Perhaps it would be an elegant accompaniment as the latter gradually outnumbered the former. Didn’t happen. My first real sale came ten years later. By the time I was sending out work more seriously, I did almost all of it by email.
But I scanned the letter opener tonight for this blog post, knowing that in a month or two, I’ll probably have another rejection letter to open with it. Upon that occasion, the letter opener will get retired – or sold, or given away. Singer in Rhunshan will be self-published, for better or worse. And I will have started a new part of my writing life.