Submission

Like many of the un-published writers posting to this blog, this is my first blog post. I struggled to develop an idea for a post. Okay, that’s not quite true. I pursued three separate ideas, but the resulting pieces left me uninspired. So I scrapped them. They were all based on good ideas, but upon reflection, the execution of each was lacking and the weaving of my words resulted in knots or holes.

If I want to submit anything, even a post such as this, I want it to be worth reading. I think that is what most writers want, isn’t it? To create something worth reading?

So, what to write? What is worthy topic for my first piece of writing available for public consumption?

The submission process.

Creating a piece is easy. Words flow, ideas merge and multiply and within a few moments, I have a beginning, middle, and an end.   

Then the challenge arrives – how to take the jumbled flow of thoughts and ideas and create a flow, magic; something worth reading.

Editing, as I have learned, is time consuming.  Reading, reviewing, and re-writing – these are my three R’s. Before I became serious about learning the art of writing, I thought editing was simple. All I had to do was check for spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, and perhaps a missing word.  Now I have a much clearer perspective. Editing is polish; a chance to work out the kinks, to add a line, or remove several others. Some writers have only one or two revisions during this process. I tend to have many more, but I believe it is a good sign. I take care to review a piece of work and ensure that it is what it needs to be.   

After editing, I let my piece sit. I leave it be and after a few days or maybe a week or two I read it over one last time.

Then it is time to submit. The submission email is compiled, followed by one final check, to make sure that the grammar and spelling are perfect. With that, everything is complete and all that remains is the simple press of a button to send an email or, as in the case of a blog, post the piece to cyberspace.

However, if you are like me, pressing the button is the hardest part. Heartbeats increase in number and a well of excitement rises in your body. Then the nerves appear and doubt follows soon after. Is it good enough?  Will the submission be worthy of consideration? Did I forget anything? What if no-one reads it?

Or worse, what if no-one likes it?

That is the moment to press send. When the nerves are high, but before you ‘chicken out’.Remind yourself  of every bit of work that you have done to get to this point.

Submission. 

The piece needs nothing else. It is good enough. Someone will read it and someone will like it. In fact, someone will love it.

After submitting, the wait comes. Though I am not above checking my email repeatedly for a response, I would like to think that I’d use my time productively and work on a new project. But I really want to receive a response, to see one word in particular.

Accepted.

So here it is – my first Happy Authors Guild submission. Tomorrow, I am preparing my first submission to a publication and I guarantee that I will be reviewing that email several times before I finally press send.  I may even check my email frequently in the weeks to come.

I have to include a short biography with my piece. It may look something like this:

Polly J. Brown manages money and people, both at work and at home. She resides on Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore with her husband, three children, and a geriatric beagle. She is currently working on her first novel-length piece.

Cheers,

PJB

Five Firsts.

This is my first blog, my first online presence. Not a unique situation I know, but I am a very private person and prefer to remain under the radar.  However as a writer in the 21st century, published or otherwise, we communicate and this is an admirable, if not desirable thing. For me, however, it is a bitter sweet experience. Bitter because I will be putting myself out there, sweet because the wonder of technology provides us with the opportunity, and I get to interact with lovely people from all over the world.

So that got me thinking about other bitter and/or sweet first experiences of my life.

My First Self-Administered Injection

Administering a sub cutaneous injection is not that difficult. You pinch up some fatty skin and jab it in fast. Easy, I thought, seriously what was all the fuss about?
I connected the needle to the plunger, withdrew the liquid from the vial, and swiped the alcohol wipe across my thigh. I was good to go, just had to stab myself in the skin. But my hand wasn’t getting the message from my brain and remained frozen mid-air. It took twenty heart-pounding minutes to persuade my hand that it was a good idea to attack myself with a two-inch needle. It was over in seconds and by the time of my final injection twelve months later I was a pro.

My First James Bond Film

For some reason this is an event many of us remember. For me it was Live and Let Die, starring Roger Moore at the Liverpool ABC Cinema in 1974. The cinema is no more, but a powerful fictional hero will live on and there will always be something reassuring about the consistency and predictability of a good Bond film. (Favourite James Bond actors anyone?) 

My First (and only) Radio Broadcast.

Fresh out of university and unemployed, I started helping out in an administrative capacity at a local hospital radio station. One of my jobs was to do ward rounds and collect song requests. I took a bundle up to the broadcasting studio one evening and found the presenter had stepped out on a bathroom break during the 8-minute long Stairway to Heaven. I got talking with the volunteer Tech Guy and we were suddenly aware of silence. The record had ended and the presenter hadn’t returned. 
A microphone was pushed in front of my mouth. I grabbed the first slip of paper I could find and stuttered out a request for Sailing by Rod Stewart while Tech Guy cued up Hello by Lionel Richie. Two songs later an unwell presenter returned and valiantly finished his slot.

My First Paying Job

Potato picking. This involved getting up at the crack of dawn on a cold October morning and trundling off to the farmer’s field to meet up with other village inhabitants of all ages. A tractor ploughed the field to bring the potatoes up to the surface, and we lumbered through the heavy, cloying mud in our wellies, bucket in hand to pluck the potatoes from the ground.
Aged 14, mud had long since lost its entertainment value, and I gave up after 2 laborious days having earned the princely sum of £6.

My First Blog

This brings me full circle. All that’s left is to hit the send button and hope my hand doesn’t freeze above the keyboard. Then it’s done and I have finally put myself out there.
Or have I?
One of the above is fictional.
I’ll leave you to figure out which one.