(a la Betsy Lerner, because reading her blog always makes me feel better)
Lately, every time I come across this word, my heart does a little herky-jerk: Submission. As in the thing a writer has to do if she ever wants to get published. As in laying down and rolling over to expose your tender bits. As in serving yourself up on a silver platter: naked and dripping, with an apple in your mouth. As in surrender.
Now I’m rarely one to shy away from losing a little control. At the party, I’ll always be the one dancing the bossa nova with a bottle of wine. Sure, I like roller coasters and joy rides and really loud music. I will inhale deeply. I will jump.
But let’s face it: In life if you lift your proverbial skirt you usually get a little something in return, but that’s not how things work in the publishing world. There, your inquiries will elicit nothing but silence and submissions feel like being held under in a pool of ice. Sometimes they’ll even charge you a fee and you’ll pay it, like the silly masochist hog-tied and duct-taped to the bed; you’ll get nothing but you’ll say thank you, you’ll remember to smile.
So here’s a little salute to all the people out there who, like me, are just standing there with your skirt (or your bathrobe) over your head. Hey, there, my friend! Looking mighty fine! You make this look easy! You have the tenacity and stamina of a pitbull on Viagra and the courage of a kindergarten class on PCP! Keep it up!
What price have you paid to play this game? What’s the one thing you refuse to do?
By the way, it’s been almost a year since my first post! I said I’d give it a year, and I’m almost there!