The Submission Process--Part I

Aim High When You Submit Your Work

There is one great truth in writing for publication. You will not be published if you don’t submit your work. Submitting is step one. Sounds easy, doesn’t it, but in reality a writer must have a few items in her internal tote bag to help in the process.

First and foremost, she’ll need the courage to send her work to an editor. And don’t kid yourself--it does take courage to send your baby out into the publishing sea. The waters are deep, and the sharks numerous. Other authors have sent their precious words to the same editor. Which one is going to survive? There’s no way to tell, but if you don’t submit, you’ll never know if your words will be the ones to swim right into the publication process. Take a chance and send your work along with whatever is required in the writers’ guidelines. The rejections may outweigh the acceptances, but that’s what this business is all about. Statistics tell us that writers receive more rejections than acceptances, so toughen your hide and send your work to an appropriate publication. If it comes back, send it to another publication.

The best way to match your story, essay, or article with the right magazine, newspaper or ezine is to study market guides. There are several guides published annually that offer complete information about hundreds of publications. They list address, phone numbers, editors’ names, requirements, payment and sometimes list current needs. Guides exist for novel writers, magazines, playwrights, poets, and song lyric writers. It is to the writer’s advantage to study the guide that pertains to her particular type of work. Most library reference sections have copies of the market guides. A writer can spend hours in the library taking notes but can also go online to find market guides or websites of specific publications, or visit a bookstore and purchase a copy. Keep in mind that they become outdated in a hurry. This is one reason why I've switched to doing almost all my searching online. 

It’s also possible to use an internet search engine for writers’ guidelines. Use keywords to narrow the search. If you have written an article about building a backyard pond, look for garden magazines or How-To publications. If there is a particular magazine that interests you, put the name in a search engine and look for the guidelines. Ask yourself if your article, story or essay would be a good fit. It’s a waste of time to submit to them if you feel your work is way off base for that publication.

Part II will be on tomorrow's blog.

Why Publish?

There are various reasons a person writes. A few people do it strictly for personal satisfaction, would never want the world to see what they've written. Nothing wrong with that. The mere act of writing soothes the soul for some, and for others, a lack of self-confidence keeps them from submitting their work for publication. But the majority of writers strive to publish for various reasons, some of which overlap.

Chief among them is cash, either needed or desired. Let’s be honest. There must be very few writers who wouldn’t welcome a check in exchange for words written. That old adage “Time is money” holds true for writers. They deserve compensation for the great amount of time it takes to ponder over an idea, to write, and then revise a piece. They offer knowledge and/or entertainment in exchange for money.

For others, the byline is important. Seeing your name on a story that is available for the world to read gives one a sense of pride and a feeling of accomplishment. I once knew an obstetrician who claimed he received a thrill with every baby he delivered. Writers might feel the same with every new story, essay or article created. Each one comes close to the joy that the doctor experienced with every newborn he held in his skilled hands.

Publication provides a way of touching the lives of others with the words written and printed in a magazine, newspaper or ezine. A writer often derives satisfaction in the hope that he/she has made a difference in someone’s life. The sad part is that the writer seldom knows who, or how many, his/her words have touched. Occasionally though, a reader will respond with a letter, phone call, or a comment via a website to tell the author how her words have made a difference, how they taught a lesson, or perhaps touched a heart. What could be a better inspiration to continue writing?


Perhaps some write to fill a need to produce something worthwhile. They hope to leave something personal, a legacy of a kind. Long after a writer dies, his/her words can still be read by and touch succeeding generations. Even writers who don’t achieve great fame and fortune can be reasonably assured that their work will be passed down through the family for generations to come. 

Perhaps some writers have a passion to share their knowledge or life experiences with others so feel driven to achieve publication. 

Whatever your reason for pursuing publication for your writing, use some of that patience and perseverance we so often mention here. It doesn't always happen in a hurry.

This and That On A Cold Friday

It's the end of a cold and snowy week so today I'm going to post a little of this and a bit of that. Let's begin with the entrancing photo below.

Unique Library: What could be more appropriate for a large public library than to have a facade of books. Downton Kansas City, Miss*ouri is home to this perfectly gorgeous library. Once a bank building, the inside is just as impressive. Read more about it at this blog post. You might be surprised that the author of the posting loved this building so much, her wedding took place there.

Workshops for Writers: I'd love to list all the workshops for writers offered around the USA but there are far too many. There are national, regional, and local community workshops and/or conferences, as well as online. I received an email the other day from a representative of the Highlights Foundation who wanted to publicize the many workshops put on by the Highlights For Children Magazine. They are geared to those who write for children, held in Pennsylviani and I believe they have some scholarships to help with expenses. Learn more about these workshops here. Do a quick search via google or some other search engine to locate other workshops and conferences that are closer to your home area to help you assemble all the pieces of the puzzle of being a published writer. 

Calls for Submissions:  Accidents happen and some of them are quite beneficial. Yesterday, I accidentally found a website that is a treasure trove of help in marketing your stories, articles and poem. Believe me, I quickly bookmarked it. Check it out here. Spend some time on this website and return to check new additions on a regular basis. 

Revising and Editing:  I can't say it often enough. The revising and editing part of writing is of five star importance. Yes, * * * * * of them. The point came rushing at me this week as I've been writing a story for a new Chicken Soup book. One of the members of my critique group found many places in the first draft that needed work. I used many of her suggestions in revising and then popped it off to her in hopes she'd take a quick look to see if she thought it was improved enough to send on its way. She gave me far more than a 'quick look' and sent it back to me. And yes, it is going through another revision. Frustrating in some respects, but also extremely helpful. 

May of 1955 Brought Me Someone Special

May's Flower--Lily-of-the-Valley

Today, I'm posting my story that is published in Seasons of our Lives:  Spring, one of the volumes in the womens' memoir anthology published by Kendra Bonnett and Matilda Butler. This story happend in May of 1955--the era of poodle skirts, saddle shoes and the onset of rock and roll. It's about the birth of my third sibling, who is still pretty special to me. Have you written family stories about your siblings, both older and younger? 

A Special Sibling

By Nancy Julien Kopp

I still feel a thrill when I think about that glorious month of May in 1955, the year I turned sixteen. In late fall of the previous year, my mother and father informed me that a new baby would arrive in May, my own birth month.

I learned later that my parents worried about my reaction to the news that they were to have a fourth child. I would be halfway through high school by the time the baby arrived, but rather than being embarrassed, repulsed, or angry, I was elated. Finally, I would have the sister I’d always hoped for, even prayed for. I loved my two younger brothers, but the idea of a sister thrilled me. Mom and Dad’s faces visibly relaxed when I squealed “Really?” when they made the announcement.

The day my youngest sibling arrived is as clear as though it happened last week. A stack of books in my arms, saddle shoes on my feet, and a long circle skirt made me look like every other girl on the school bus that Friday. I hopped off in the neighborhood shopping area of our Chicago suburb, turning away from the fumes the bus belched as it moved on.

A display of strawberries in a mom and pop grocery window caught my eye. These were the first of the season, and only a few days earlier, my mother expressed a desperate desire for the sweet, juicy fruit. Not all pregnant women had teen-aged daughters who could fulfill their cravings, even if it meant using lunch money that was to last all week.

I raced the four blocks to our apartment building with the precious berries, plump and rosy-red in a small balsa-wood basket. A freight train rumbled by across the street, and I waved to the engineer, not waiting for him to return my greeting as usual. I ran up three flights of stairs shouting, “Mom, I found strawberries for you.” I couldn’t have been more excited if I’d brought her a dozen roses.

“You’ll have to eat them yourself,” Mom said. “I’m going to the hospital.” She rubbed the small of her back, and a frown creased her forehead.

After all the months we’d waited and prepared for this surprise addition to our family, her words stunned me. I didn’t know what to do, how to help, or what to say. Books clutched in one arm and strawberries in my other hand, I listened as my mother calmly instructed me what to feed my two younger brothers before I left to baby-sit for a neighbor. Dad arrived home, nervous as a cat facing two growling dogs. He helped Mom down the long three flights of stairs, carrying her small suitcase as I ran behind, only to stop at the top step.

I leaned over the hallway banister. “Call me at Leslie’s house as soon as it happens.” A shiver ran up my spine. I couldn’t wait to hear about the arrival of my sister. There was no doubt in my mind. God heard all prayers, and He’d heard my earnest pleas for a sister many times.

I learned that afternoon how slowly time moves. I kept busy fixing dinner for the three of us and being the bossy older sister. I told the boys, who were eight and twelve years old, they were to come inside when dark fell. It was a time when kids played outside alone, and no one gave it a second thought. The warmth of the May day meant the boys wanted to be outdoors until the first fireflies flitted through the air.

Leslie, the neighbor child I cared for that night, was dainty and petite with blonde curls and blue eyes. In my mind, my soon-to-be-born sister would be her twin. I waited for the phone call while I read books to three-year-old Leslie and put her to bed. When the phone finally rang, it startled me, and I jumped up to answer, my heart beating fast. Much to my disgust, my youngest brother’s voice whined through the receiver. “When’s Dad coming home? Is the baby borned yet?”

Leafing through every magazine I could find, I waited. And I waited some more. When I’d about given up, Dad called. “You’ve got a fine new brother,” he said. Tears threatened to spill over, and there was a lump in my throat. I’d been so sure I’d have a sister. My hand tightened on the phone as I said, “That’s great, Dad.”  Words that rang hollow, perhaps to both of us.

A week later, Dad took me along to pick up Mom and the new baby at the hospital. When we were ready to go home, I climbed in the backseat of the car, and Mom sat in the front on the passenger side. A nurse leaned over to place the blanket-wrapped infant in her arms. Dad told the nurse to give me the baby, but she refused. “It’s hospital policy that we hand the baby to its mother. And no one else.” She set her mouth and tightened her grasp.

My dad was not a big man, but he had a way of taking charge and convincing people with a steely look and a few choice words.

After a short, heated exchange between Dad and the nurse, she moved a few steps to the left and handed the baby to me, closed the car door with a slam, and marched into the hospital.

The blue bundle felt so soft and warm. I looked down into Jimmy’s face. His eyes were open, and his tiny hands curled into fists. In that instant, I fell in love with my new baby brother. God had heard my prayer and His answer now lay in my arms. I couldn’t wait to get home and show this baby boy to anyone willing to look.

Maybe being the only girl wouldn’t be so bad. I pulled my newest brother closer and kissed his brow, that sweet baby scent somehow softening my earlier disappointment. Not a May goes by that I don’t think about the year my baby sister turned out to be a brother who quickly worked his way into my heart.

Remembering A "Birth" Day

Forty-six years ago today, our son was born. That's not his picture above but looks very much like he did at that stage of life. The day was unseasonably warm for February in the Chicago area. I distinctly remember being grateful for the sunny, pleasant day as I could no longer button my winter coat when I went to my scheduled doctor appointment. Pull as I might, the buttons and buttonholes would not meet over the mound in my middle. It was 1968 and the baby was not due for another full week, but I'd had contractions off and on for days. False labor pains was the term used then.

That afternoon, the doctor told me the baby might come at any time. I drove home thinking that maybe tomorrow I should get a few things made ahead so Ken would have quick and easy meals while I was in the hospital. Women stayed 5 days not this one and out method of today. 

Ken normally went to a mens' service club dinner meeting on Monday nights but those little twinges had started up again, so I suggested he skip it on this particular night. We had stuffed peppers for dinner that evening, a favorite of mine. The twinges I'd had were getting stronger and more regular. I'd take a bite, then put my fork down and wait. I knew that you shouldn't eat once labor started. But I wanted that stuffed pepper in the worst way. I'd take another bite, then lay the fork on the plate again. I finally quit eating but reluctantly. We watched one of the big shows on TV at the time--Laugh-In. By the time the show was over at 8 o'clock, I told Ken we'd better go to the hospital. I'd packed a bag earlier in the day so it didn't take us long to be on our way. 

The same nurses were on duty as had been only 14 months earlier when our first baby was born with a serious birth defect. She lived only seven weeks. These wonderful women knew how special this birth would be for us. I felt confident that all would be well this time. My doctor had repeatedly said that the baby was a girl. "No, it's a boy," I'd respond each time. 

Two and a half hours after we arrived at the hospital Kirk made an appearance, crying lustily. When the doctor announced "It's a boy!" I immediately responded "I told you so!" No ultrasound testing in those days so the moment of arrival brought a surprise to parents. No husbands in the delivery room either. A nurse rushed out to relay the news of a healthy son to Ken. Our joy was so great that after Ken had gone home to call the grandparents, I lay awake all night, too excited to do something as mundane as sleep. I was flying high and couldn't come down off that cloud of elation. The window in my hospital room was raised a few inches and it suddenly got chilly in the room. I looked over to see snow piling up on the outer windowsill. Just then, a nurse came in and slammed the window shut. "End of yesterday's moment of spring," she said.

Mothers remember the birth day of each of their children. There is a theory that women don't remember the pain of labor once the birth has occurred. Maybe so, but all the rest stays with us, neatly filed away in our memory bank until something triggers it. Today, being our son's birthday, triggered these memories for me. 

If you have not written the story of your child's, children's, birth(s), do it soon. Put it in your Family Stories Book. Births, weddings, funerals--all of those deserve individual stories to be kept for generations to come. Your childrens' and grandchildrens' family history can only be detailed by you. Whether you are the mother or father, if you are the writer in the family, make sure there are pages that tell the story of these ever so important days. 

A Snowy Day--Perfect For A Writing Exercise and Other Stuff

We're having a snowy day here in mid-central Kansas with a prediction of ten inches by tonight. The snow started silently around 4 a.m. today while most of us were sleeping. We're not alone. The numerous snow and ice storms of this 2013-14 winter have spread over a vast area of the USA. It appears for some areas that no sooner do the people dig out and start normal life again that another storm blows its way across the mountains and plains up to the Great Lakes and on to the east coast. Spring seems light years away.

Snowstorms have the power to disrupt life as we know it. Schools close, businesses sometimes shut down, meetings are cancelled, travelers run into huge problems and grocery stores are a madhouse with shoppers stocking up prior to the big event. Depends on what part of the country you live in as to how panic-driven the shoppers are. 

I like to spend some time in the kitchen baking on snowy days like this. I've been wanting to try a couple new recipes and this is the perfect time. I have a story I've been working on so this afternoon would be an ideal time to continue. Of course, there are many books stacked up waiting for me to read. You may notice that housework is not among the things I've listed to do on a snowy day. Nope--gonna save that for a regular kind of day. 

Today is the perfect moment to use the pictures above to write a poem, a piece of fiction, or a creative nonfiction story that deals with a snowy day. What are some good adjectives to describe snow, or even a blizzard? Can you add tension to what you've written? Will you concentrate on sensory details? Can you convey either the beauty or the danger of a day like this? Can you go on a rant about the weather? Can you write a warm, fuzzy story? Did you ever experience a disaster during a snowstorm? There are so many different directions you can go. Study the pictures here, then search your memory bank before you begin to write. 

A Quiz for Writers

Do you like to take quizzes? I ran across one today that analyzes your answers, then tells you what kind of writer you are. Kind of interesting. If you'd like to try it, click on this link. My answers to the questions were first instinct ones which is probably the best way to go. Don't delve too deeply into the thought process when you answer.

I was surprised, yet not surprised, when my category turned out to be Poet. The description that came with it described me and my writing quite well. When these things turn out so correctly, I always wonder How did they do that? I'm sure there is some big scientific explanation but since I have no leanings in that world, I'd probably never understand it!

Bottom line for me is that it really doesn't matter what kind of writer I am. It matters that I am a writer and that I work at it on a consistent basis, that I aim to grow as a writer, and that I still enjoy the writing life.