My (Failed) Writing Resolutions

Finding Writing and Submitting Balance

Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world.

---

Every January I make a resolution to go through all the pieces I submitted the previous year which were not accepted, reevaluate them and revise accordingly. I believe this to be a sound, beneficial practice, and as I sit here with the end of the month looming, I have for the fifth year running, failed to open a single file. Instead, I find myself slipping into my regular submitting routine without a single reread. The best intentions, friends…

I fail in this resolution for all the usual reasons people end January without getting back to the gym or reorganizing the basement. There’s work or school or the endless Netflix queue. Groceries need to be bought, clothes washed, Wordles solved. And in the end, your existing routine is just too compelling. It works. It holds your life together. So what if there’s a bit of duct tape around the edges and it’s starting to peel?

Writers are often told to build a routine. There is no shortage of advice on how making dedicated time for your craft will improve your productivity. And for the most part, I agree. Carving out that half-hour to write every morning, or submitting one story for every load of laundry you do on Saturday can have a positive impact, both on a writer’s production and on their sense of control over the whole messy process. But this is in fact what makes it so difficult to take a needed step back from those hard-won routines and reassess.

There is a trap often talked about in physical fitness where the routine replaces the goal. This is why some experts discourage the use of FitBits or similar activity trackers. While such devices can help establish regular healthy habits, people can also become fixated on their numbers. In such cases, the FitBitter is no longer focused on the end goal of lowering their blood pressure or just feeling healthier. They’re focused on getting their steps in. No matter what. Even if they’ve pulled a muscle. Even if it means cutting short their sleep. Even if the house is on fire.

Well, maybe exceptions will be made for major conflagrations. But otherwise, they need to get their steps. To come up even a few short causes a feeling of failure to set in. This creates an unhealthy dependence on the activity. And I can’t help feeling I’ve developed a similar dependence on my submission routine. Regardless of blizzards, unexpected houseguests, or the needs of the work itself, I will meet my monthly submission goal. If I don’t, those creeping feelings of failure that writers are so prone to, come knocking.

The fact is, I’m afraid to let go of my routine. I’ve put no small amount of effort and consideration into it. It serves as a guard against the constant rejections we all face. That magazine doesn’t want my story? No worries, I’ve three new outlets lined up to try this month. My routine reminds me that I’m continually working at my writing life. It has motivated me to finish pieces I may have otherwise let languish for months.

But perhaps the biggest reason I cling to my routine is that it’s been successful. All those submissions have led to publications. Sometimes of pieces I may have given up on if not for the persistence forced on me by my routine. This makes me feel that the routine itself is not a problem, but rather that my unwavering adherence to it is.

So, we return to the athlete’s dilemma. How to tell if a rest is needed or if we just aren’t into leg day? I suspect, the answer is balance. The modern world’s most arcadian unicorn. I fail to follow through on my yearly revision resolution for the same reason I feel the need to conduct an annual overview of my writing in the first place. Both the resolution and my submission routine lack balance.

My routine doesn’t allow for the necessary rest when a piece has been out there working its literary muscles for months. And my resolution is a one-off solution to a continuous concern. Even if I actually carried it out, it’d be no more effective for my long-term writing health than only exercising in the month of January.

Rather than a resolution, I need an adjustment. This entails adding regular evaluation of my submission queue pieces to my routine. If this means my submission numbers decline, I will not panic. I will not convince myself that I’m failing at one of the most nebulous jobs in the world. I will remind myself that without balance, my routines are inevitably doing more harm than good.

How to decide when a piece needs revisiting is a question I’ll no doubt struggle with. How do you know if a piece is not working or if it simply hasn’t found the right audience yet? Twenty rejections? Fifty? When my gut says so? When that bag of candy hearts goes stale? Well, staler?

There’s probably no perfect answer. There rarely is. But I’ll continue to search. To adjust. To keep my goals ahead of my routines. If not, I’m merely repeating the same act over and over again, hoping for different results. That the different results are occasionally achieved, makes the act itself no less insane.

Of course, all writers accept a certain level of insanity. We know it’s inherent to almost every stage of the process. The key, I’m starting to believe, is learning when to recognize it as unproductive. To push back against our insulating routines and adjust. And so, I hope to gradually build a new, more balanced routine. One that makes resolutions unnecessary.  

---