Not this minute, as it’s been sitting around and needs a vigorous overhaul. But later, at some undefined point in the future, when I’ve pulled it back together again. When you’re comfortable you know what I’m trying to do with my writing. When I’m comfortable you have the poetic gravitas this project demands ipso facto, when I’m comfortable with your understanding of my writing. When we’ve established that we can work productively together.
This is a concept I blogged about last month. With the dangers inherent in the poetry contest system (we’ve all been following the Stacy Lynn Brown/Cider Press story, which has generated thoughtful commentary here, here, here, here, here, here, and here) – not to mention the sheer numbers & probabilities mitigating against one in the system – and the dearth of open-reading-period venues to which an unpublished poet has access these days, it does behoove us to be creative with regard to publication.
Are contests and open submissions to established presses the only/best way to get publication traction? Of course not, they are just two ways – which sometimes work and sometimes don’t. A third way is to self-publish – and once again, there are both many failures and many happy results of self-publishing out there. People who either publish their own manuscripts via DIY publishing service such as Lulu; or those who establish their own micro-presses and publish their own and others’ work, usually also via a DIY publishing service. As I noted in my July post on this issue, the problem with self-publishing is that the poet acts as his/her own editor. The upside of getting picked up by a publisher is that you get an editor along with that — the extra pair (or pairs) of filtering eyes that essentially add their own “brand” to the poet’s work, so that what is being sold at the end of the process is both the work itself and the brand. But the problem with current models is that the only way to get an editor is either to enter poetry contests or submit your manuscript to presses open to unsolicited submissions. Which takes us back to square one.
Those are the established ways, each with its strengths and weaknesses. What’s the harm in coming up with new ways? I’m taking up Reb’s challenge – we need to be creative and take responsibility for our own prospects.
So here’s my situation. My first published poem came along in November 2006 (yay, Shit Creek Review!) and as of now I have close on 40 poems either published or accepted for publication (see online work here). I’d like to put out a chapbook or manuscript, but am not sold on the poetry contest model and the fact is that there aren’t that many presses that accept unsolicited manuscripts (see Seth’s post again). Although I’m a huge fan of micro-presses and love the concept, I don’t have the time, experience or desire to start my own press.
What’s your situation? You’re an established poet with that all-important poetic gravitas. You’re not a poetry press owner and I’m guessing you’re not interested in becoming one. You like my work and think I am someone you could work with in an editing context. So what am I asking you to do?
Basically, I’m asking you to work with me to shape and edit my manuscript and to put your name on it as editor. I’ll do everything else – all the footwork associated with publishing — design, promotion, logistics, etc. (That is, unless you actively want to run/participate in any of those processes, which would also be perfectly fine with me.) If any profits are made (and yes, I know, that’s a big “if”), we could split them in any number of ways, or we could agree from the beginning that they would go to some non-profit poetry cause.
What do I get out of this? A published collection — self-published but without the ‘what no editor?’ stigma that sometimes accompanies self-published work, so therefore probably not most accurately described as “self-published”.
What do you get out of this? You get the satisfaction of having given a leg-up to struggling aspiring poet in whose work you believe. You get that much more editing experience. You get the knowledge that should I ever acquire any poetic gravitas of my own in the future, I will definitely consider myself committed to volunteering to edit some other struggling, aspiring poet’s work in a similar fashion.
It’s a win-win! We’d be a one-publication nanopress, you and I. Email me at nic_sebastian (at) hotmail (dot) com if you’d like to start the process of exploring whether this is a model that could work for both of us.
Just realized I have never read either Agnes Grey or The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Not sure how that happened.
Thinking about this interesting post.
Heh. Freudian slip of the week: this afternoon while typing an i-Tunes Store search. Yes, I was looking for something out of Peer Gynt and no, it wasn’t In the Hall of the Mountain King (which is the creepiest freakiest piece of music ever and sounds like something out of Peter & the Wolf in the worst way) – it was Solveig’s Song, which mostly rocks.
I just sent out a pile of submissions and feel like I’ve been spring-cleaning. Looking askance at the ones that were nominally in the submission pile, but somehow always got left behind. Some of them have been out on numerous occasions and just keep coming back, I might add.
I’ve pretty much stopped workshopping as a way of gauging a piece’s “readiness,” but workshops are a good place to reality-check those pieces you thought were ready, but somehow just keep coming back.
Some ways I’ve found useful to get a fresh look at an old poem I can’t “feel” any more:
- Switch all the genders. Making a “she” do what you had initially written out as actions of a “he” and vice versa is often illuminating.
- Switch “I” to “he/she” or vice versa.
- Switch tenses. If your original piece is written in the past, put it in the future. Or get really daring and play with mood: use the subjunctive.
- Cut out the first stanza and either replace it or amend the poem to do without it completely.
Any other ‘get a fresh look’ ideas out there?