During my year of hanging out regularly with writerly-type folk, I have learned that not every person who pens words wants to share their work. Some compose to free their thoughts, others to say things they would never want anyone to read. Their work will forever remain locked in their dairies or the folders of stories and poems they create for personal enjoyment or release.
However, writers who desire an audience for their wordsmithing need to find some form of publishing. Options include creating a blog, uploading an Instagram post, reading their work out loud in a reel, or releasing a book. For any aspiring to have their work displayed on bookshop shelves, the biggest hurdle is finding someone to publish their work.
I have spent most of this year developing the skills I need to complete the draft I wrote in 2023. I’ve attended weekend workshops and writing courses to help me understand what my manuscript is missing and spent many hours sitting at my computer editing and updating. Most recently, I’ve been looking for information about what to expect while journeying toward publication. When I saw a workshop hosted by the Fellowship of Australian Writers WA (FAWWA) featuring a senior editor from Fremantle Arts Press, I couldn’t hit the ‘Buy Ticket’ button fast enough.
The presentation was informal but informative. I almost stopped breathing when the editor explained how few sentences were expected for a synopsis that is meant to cover everything you need to convey about your work. Four to six lines – that’s all you get to sell your heart and soul (and story) to whoever has been allocated your submission.
When the floor was opened for questions, I think I probably asked most of them, which wouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me. The back and forth between myself, the editor and a few brave or fast others went something like this:
“Can I add photos to my memoir?”
“If you feel you need them. Be prepared that your book would cost more to produce, so we might ask you to drop some of them.”
“How many submissions do you get a year?”
“About 800.”
“How many get published?”
“Around 5%.”
“Of those published, how many are debut authors?”
“20 – 25%.”
“Are you accepting poetry collections?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Is it true that your 2025 list is full, and you’re working on 2026?”
“Yes.”
I was impressed by the editor’s willingness to answer any and every question honestly. It was sobering stuff, but I appreciated the strong dose of reality.
After the presentation, I had a chance to speak to the Senior Editor and ask a few extra questions. As we were talking, I wondered whether I should tell her what my story was about. I mean, she was there, and I was there. When would I get that chance again? Perhaps if I gave her a quick rundown, she could let me know if my manuscript wasn’t what Fremantle Arts Press wanted, which would save everyone’s precious time from being wasted. I would then move on to my second choice of publishers.
I’ll admit to being something of an opportunist, and even though half of me was yelling, “Don’t you dare”, the other, louder half was egging me on.
As a creative thinker who constantly throws ideas at people, I’ve found the best strategy is to tell others they can say “No” to my suggestions without me feeling hurt. I summoned up all my bravery and spat out, “Shall I just tell you what it’s about? You can say no.” That poor editor. I was instantly glad I had asked first AND given her an out.
Her response was very gracious and respectful. She thought for a short while, then replied, “No … because you might not have your pitch perfected or your ideas ready, and then I might say not to bother based on what you tell me, whereas if I read the book when you submit it, my answer might be different.”
I thought that was an excellent answer. I wasn’t offended or hurt or even taken aback because it was clear she had my best interests at heart, and how could you be upset at that? Her reply made me want to submit to this company even more because if that’s how their editors respond to strangers to whom they owe absolutely nothing, it tells me only good things about how they work with their chosen authors.
And now I have a plan. Step 1. Finish reworking my current draft. Step 2. Get someone to read the completed manuscript and give me feedback. Step 3. Make any changes that benefit the story I’m telling. Step 4: Submit to Fremantle Arts Press in the correct cycle, as dictated by their website. Step 5: Hyperventilate for the next ten weeks while waiting for a response.
I have no idea how this journey will end, but I like knowing what my next steps will be. They won’t be fast, and I’m sure some won’t be pretty, but I am confident I’m on the right path.
A Glorious Mess 