Eat Me Cake.

Do you remember that scene in Alice in Wonderland where Alice eats the cake and puts her hand on top of her head to measure her growth? Naturally, she ends up exclaiming she hasn't grown at all.

Sometimes I feel like that. I feel like I haven't improved in my writing, or that I'm no closer to pro-sale level than I was before. That's when my wife points out exactly how much I've achieved in the past couple of years.

OK, so I've made a few sales. But how close am I to the big ones? Does that personal rejection I received from a pro-market mean I will soon be selling there? And if I do, will it be regularly? (or at least more than once?) Am I like Topanga Canyon, or simply living in hope?

I think I'm improving. People I trust tell me I am. I can look back at my earlier pieces and see the flaws more obviously. And I try not to make those same mistakes again.

Sometimes I read stories in magazines and anthologies, and have trouble seeing why they were accepted in the first place. Then I wonder why my pieces were rejected from those same markets. Surely my piece was better than the ones they published.

Oh well, my day will come. We write, we submit, we write more.

(Gitte Christensen wrote a response to my Topanga Canyon post. This post started out as a comment to her.)

A Tale Of Caution.

Apparently Dean Wesley Smith, amongst others, tells the story of a writer who was submitting to a whole lot of magazines over the period of a few years. Smith refers to this man as Topanga Canyon, as that was where the writer lived. The writer was submitting good work and was regularly receiving personal rejections. The editors, in fact, all knew his name and were watching to see who would be the first to buy his work. Even agents knew his name. He was really close.

And then for no apparent reason in 1991 he stopped submitting and was never heard from again.

Until now.

This story was mentioned briefly on a forum I visit, and one of my fellow frequenters, Preston Dennett, read the story and thought it sounded like it could have been about him. He used to live in Topanga Canyon, he was subbing around that time, and he gave up because he didn't think he was getting anywhere and his non-fiction writing was starting to take off. So he shot off a quick email to Dean Wesley Smith, and sure enough, Preston was Topanga Canyon.

Part of him is elated that he was known by editors and agents, and oh so close. The other part of him is devastated. I know I'd be wondering what might have been.

I don't know how those personal rejections were worded, but maybe a few extra words - something that could have helped him realise just how close he was - might have made all the difference. He's started writing fiction again, and this time he's planning on success.

Don't give up. And if an editor asks to see more of your work, believe it.