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Submit, Submit, Submit

I’m heading into the heat of summer, but not because the mercury is rising.

With two young kids at home, my days quickly fill up with outside activities and play dates. Writing takes the back burner more often than not. So far, I’ve managed to get a little writing done here and there, but pulling all those bits and pieces together into a substantial story takes more time and energy than I have during daylight hours.

So, for a little motivation, I took some time this morning to research a few writing contests, as well as other places that accept either summer or year round submissions. If you, too, face crunched writing times and need one more reason to tighten up that story and practice the art of following guidelines and writing the cover letter, check out these magazines and sites.

If you’re feeling daring…Narrative Magazine is sponsoring their  Spring 2010 Story Contest. The submission fee is $20, the deadline July 31st, and submission guidelines are online (sim subs are okay). Narrative Magazine is a long shot for me, as they tend to publish works from established authors. But, then again, nothing is gained if I never try. I may be crying about that rejection notice later, but today I’m all about optimism.

Another great lit journal is American Short Fiction. American Short Fiction publishes established and lesser-known writers. They are open for submissions now, but they do offer a short story contest in the fall – rewrite and refine that winning story this summer and save it for September. Their fee for regular submissions is only $2, and they do accept simultaneous subs.

The Adirondack Review is hosting their Fulton Prize for Short Fiction. Their fee is $10, deadline July 31st, and sim subs are okay. The Adirondack Review is a quarterly online magazine and publish works from emerging writers.

Rosebud Magazine is a lit magazine edited by Roderick Clark, of Wisconsin. They only accept hard copy manuscripts for essays or fiction, but poetry can be submitted via email. Also, their reading fee is a mere $1. Rosebud was the first place I submitted any of my work, and I received one of the nicest rejection letters ever. Rosebud is not exclusive to publishing only established writers, in fact – to quote Mr. Clark’s Letter from the Editor:

Even in the most humble submissions, I see a hunger for expression in language, the desire to push words out and pull them in. In this new American voice which I find in every envelope I open is a hunger for a literary culture which is neither exclusive nor simplistic…[a] voice which has a genuine chance to evolve and improve itself on the basis of hearing and being heard. It is Rosebud’s purpose to respond to this need.

If you’re new to the art of submissions, Rosebud is a great place to start.

And, if these few literary journals and magazines don’t fit your tastes or your story, check out NewPages.com and Duotrope’s Digest. These two sites provide a long list of literary journals and magazines, complete with submission information. Duotrope’s Digest will even tell you – right in your search – if you’ll get paid for publication.

So, no more excuses (for you or me)! Get to writing, and submit those stories out into the world! To write is to take risks.
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Honorable Mention, I’ll take that!

I submitted a story a while back to the “Family Matters” contest for the the literary journal, Glimmer Train.

Most of the time, I submit to journals simply for the exercise of doing so: for the practice of writing a cover letter and the toughening up of my skin when the reply is “No thank you.” I’ve read the statistics for getting published, so I tend to expect a decline sooner than an acceptance.

But, last night I received an email saying my story had worked its way through the judging process up to the “top 5% of over a thousand entries.”

My story was awarded an Honorable Mention (!).

There’s even a formal Glimmer Train document listing my name as proof — my own proof, since I ogled over it, while pinching myself at the same time, to ensure myself this wasn’t some alternative reality.

The names are in alphabetical order, and – lucky for me – my last name begins with a “C.” I’m listed dangerously close to the top, so if you see me driving around town, waving my hand like I was just crowned homecoming queen, you’ll know it’s gone to my head.

But, still…Woo!

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Off Kilter and Out of Season

Every Wednesday, on Writing Under Pressure, you’ll find a post based on Today’s Word (from Wordsmith.org). Past essays, poems, or flash fiction pieces can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.

Today’s word:

El Niño. noun. A weather phenomenon characterized by unusually warm ocean temperatures in the Equatorial Pacific.

Check out Wordsmith.org’s theme this week – words related to weather. They each make for some challenging prompts!

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Off Kilter and Out of Season

Delores drove to the grocery store with her windows down.

“Mmm.” She shook her head. “In the middle of May.”

In her seventy-two years, she had never known such a hot day this time of year in Minnesota. The weather seemed to flip flop more often than not: hot when it was supposed to be cool and cool when it was supposed to be hot. Just last summer, the rose buds popped out too early and froze before they reached full bloom. The tomatoes didn’t plump up until late September, and they never turned red — at least not until she dropped them in a paper bag with a banana and rolled it up tight.

She showed the bag trick to Amanda next door, the young woman who moved here from the city early last year. Amanda was desperate to grow tomatoes, “so excited to be living out in the country, now!” she’d said. But, she didn’t know the first thing about gardening. She planted the seedlings on the north side of the house, in the shade. The plants still produced, to Delores’s amazement, but then Amanda pulled the fruit before it even had a chance to ripen.

Amanda stood at Delores’s front door one Sunday afternoon in early October – in tears – with a handful of hard tomatoes, sobbing and saying nothing was working out like it was supposed to. Delores wondered if Amanda was upset about more than just the tomatoes.

“Patience,” Delores had told Amanda over a cup of coffee and a box of Kleenex. “These things take time.” Delores patted Amanda’s hand. “You can’t expect everything to work out perfectly in the first season.”

Standing in the grocery store, though, Delores wondered if she were wrong. She gripped the cart as she rolled past mounds of vegetables and fruits picked before their prime, some bigger than her fist. She realized that neither patience nor the weather had anything do with cultivating and harvesting these days. She could buy what she wanted whenever she wanted. But, while the fruits all looked pretty, she wondered about the taste.

When her husband Ed was still alive, he grew his own vegetables out back. He weeded around the cantelope with a gentle hand, taking care not to damage the vines. The melon always felt rough and looked ugly, but it melted in her mouth. He grew cucumbers from seed, which wasn’t easy. There were plenty of seasons when too much rain ruined the first crop. But, Ed was patient and persistent. Even his kohlrabi grew in juicy and sweet.

Surrounded by all those fruits and vegetables, Delores missed Ed. After fifty-three years together, she had grown accustomed to his mood swings. She was fond of the curve in his back, as she nestled up to him in bed. It had taken a long time for her settle – completely – into their relationship.

Years, in fact.

Delores thought of Amanda. She hadn’t seen much of her in the last few months. Delores rolled her cart around the potatoes and onions and back out the door. She stopped off at a bakery and picked up a rhubarb pie: in season, just right. When she got home, she knocked on Amanda’s door and offered warm pie and a little conversation.
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