In today's market, there are two systems writers are supposed to (somehow) master: 1. Traditional Publishing and, 2. Self-Publishing. I've been trying to dip my toes into both pools and it's been a challenge to say the least.
Neither system is worth a damn as far as I can tell. You have pitfalls and bogus money-traps with both. Without a Masters in Literary Arts, I'm spinning my wheels with the Traditional Publishing world. Without tons of bought-and-paid exposure, I'm drowning in the Self-Publishing world.
I admit, I need to create some social media accounts devoted to getting my name and website recognized. Yet, it feels so entirely disingenuous. Am I the only one who feels this way? I don't give a shit what your kid is doing, or what your cat looks like, or what you had for lunch yesterday - so I choose not to participate on Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, Instagram, etc. Why would I expect anyone to stop thinking about themselves for a minute just to care about my writing? They wouldn't. That and I'm not offering some hand-crafted hipster-friendly art garbage, so you know, that rules me out of Etsy, Pinterest, etc.
But I guess this is what they call 'Building your platform', and everyone from agents to publishers wants you to participate. Then, of course, if you're a self-publisher, you have to participate anyway or else no one knows you exist.
I sent a story to Tin House back in September. Instead of submitting to their regular publication, I chose a story from Desperately Fashioned Steel called "Dock of the Bay" for their Spring Rejection-themed publication. The reading status has been 'In Progress' for some time now. I'm hoping that's a good sign. Usually, your story is 'In Progress' for a week or two before you get the canned rejection response. I'd enjoy being published in Tin House, and it would look nice on my inquiry letters to agents.
Or maybe I should just tell agents how often I've been rejected? That sounds good, doesn't it? The desperation of rejection on your breath like stale cigarette smoke and juice-cut gin. Everybody loves a loser. People love to watch other people burn to death. They push rewind on self-immolating monks.
Some drunk guy approached a friend and me this afternoon after lunch. He walked over all smooth, hammered out of his gourd, and tried to ask us for a dollar. My friend asked him if he could spare $10 so we could huff gasoline, and we'd give him a dollar back in change. The guy nearly fell over himself in the middle of the street trying to flip us off.
See...everyone likes a loser. We almost gave THAT guy money, and all he did was fall over himself drunk. I'm in the wrong line of business here, aren't I?