A lot of writers spent 2019 trying to figure out what it makes sense to say – what needs to be said, and what’s just noise. I thought about that stuff fair bit last year. At the same time, I found myself appointed co-manager of a wonderful, intensive project: the parenting of a 6 month old child. And then there was the matter of earning a living. For parts of the year, writing didn’t get much of a look-in.
What I wrote
Output in 2019 was low by my standards. That 1 manuscript is a bit of a fudge – what I really did was to pull together a substantially revised short story collection, and write half of a first draft of a novel. I’m rounding that effort up to 1 full-length work, & I will not be taking questions at this time.
More often than not, I felt anxious about how little I was writing. And, of course, that was counter-productive, because it made me feel stressed when I did find time to sit down at the keyboard.
On the other hand, 3 of the short stories that I wrote came sizzling out of my brain. They were a joy to transcribe, and after subsequent rounds of edits, I’m really satisfied with how they’ve turned out. So I take some comfort in the idea that the capacity is still there, even if quantity has declined.
Up until the end of June (leaving aside a semi-bitter rant I penned for the Meanjin blog), I didn’t have a single acceptance to my name. It was beginning to look like 2019 would be an annus horribilus (which I believe is Latin for horrible anus) of a year. It was only from July that I got some momentum.
Of 30 submissions last year, I received 7 acceptances. I am happy with that strike rate! I also got published by some journals I admire and love to read, like Griffith Review, Overland and Southerly (hash tag CareerGoals). Because of the speed with which publishing moves, most of the things I had published last year were based on acceptances received in 2018. Similarly, a few pieces that were accepted last year will likely see the light of day in the first half of 2020. You can bet I’ll be self-promoting the sh-it out of those when the time comes! 🙂
A shout-out to Westerly, who followed up a rejection that with some insightful feedback that I’ve used to improve one of my stories. Providing that kind of guidance is way above and beyond the call of duty for a resource-constrained, volunteer-dependent Australian lit journal. But when it occurs, it’s hugely appreciated.
In 2019, I earned about $1,200 from writing, made up of publication fees and workshop fees. This is down by about 2/3 from 2018, because it did not include any sweet, sweet grant money.
Year by year
This is the third time I’ve done a year-in-review post, which means I have 3 years of data points, and can make this:
Speaks for itself, really – submissions and rejections (and hence writing admin workload) reduced in 2019, but acceptances have held up OK!
Last year I decided to keep a longer work and a short story collection on the go at all times. Highly, highly recommended as a way of reading. Highlights were Claire G Coleman’s Terra Nullius, Nic Low’s Arms Race, and Josephine Rowe’s Here Until August.
Someone on twitter – it might have been Justine Hyde? – wrote that this year they’d be concentrating on reading books by IRL friends and online/twitter buddies. And I think that’s a great idea! For me, that will include works by Patrick Allington (Rise and Shine), Wayne Marshall (Shirl), Elizabeth Tan (Smart Ovens for Lonely People), Rose Hartley (Maggie’s Going Nowhere) – I’m sure I am forgetting some people here.
In 2019 I felt my share of frustrated, ugly, self-centred, graspy-type thoughts about writing, and success or the lack of it. But for right now, I’m feeling less pressure to get publication results, land a book deal, etc etc. I want to write things that I enjoy, that are right at the edge of what I’m capable of making. The other stuff will either come to pass, or not.