The Shitter

Every workplace has one in residence. So I would think. We certainly have one and his name is Michael. He’s the Shitter in the office. Michael arrives at work his usual way – with a work car – and parks within our workplace premises, locks the four-wheeled modern transport unit, and then enters the door at ground level before ascending the stairs to the second floor. He settles at his desk.

I also work on the second floor. I like Michael. But I keep getting stung. He’s always shitting and I keep getting hit with it. It’s like innocently walking along before abruptly slamming into an unseen elephant. In I go to the bathroom to wee and POW! I breathe the gut wrenching stench into my soul. What ensues is a life-or-death situation where I try to hold my breath while having a wee, but to finish and exit the death chamber before sucking in my next breath. Not easy.

Michael’s always have a particularly bad signature smell. Like that of a long-undiscovered dead rodent invisibly lodged within a wall cavity in your house. Decomposition has already commenced. Hardly ever do we have many people on our floor, so I know Michael is the guy. Whenever I do the forensic piecing-together in my head from my wobbly office chair with no wheels, Michael’s absences invariably correlate with the timing of the event and subsequent lavatorial fallout.

Sometimes I would have already been to wee, as I do drink a lot of water during the day, and I’ll have noticed the bottom of the toilet was sans skiddies. I always urinate into the bowl, so I know this to be the case. You see, over the years I have calculated that standing over any bowl, anywhere, should lessen the chance of me standing in another male’s piss – their little drips and misses. This is because mostly when a male is using the bowl, it’s for a number two. When a male uses the actual urinal, he can’t help – or won’t care – splashing the floor in his immediate vicinity with sparkling gold. And I don’t want to stand in it. Anyway, the next time I’ve gone to wee, this time the bowl is avec skiddies – and of course I’ve already face-planted into the elephant come this moment.

My vision of each day is Michael undertaking daily tasks in front of a PC, participating in some telephone calls and getting up to take a shit, or that he is returning from the bathroom having just taken a shit.

Morning, Michael, how are you?

Good, how are you?

Good, thanks.

He sits down: Work work work. Discuss discuss. A bit more work.

He’s gotten up and gone to the bathroom: Shit Shit.

I get up some time later to use the bathroom myself: Oh, GOD!!! He got me again. That really STINKKKS…

Both of us: Work work work. Discuss discuss. The day passes.

See you tomorrow, Michael.

Yeah see ya, mate.

Somehow I consistently fail to remember Michael’s foul-bowel activities. So I forget that I could be making use of the downstairs bathroom. Although, I do congratulate and thank myself for at least taking some preventative measures. You see, another scary truth revealed to me during my office years is that so many men don’t wash their hands with soap and water after a number two. Accordingly, I now automatically make contact with any door handles, taps, toilet flush buttons, soap dispensers, or anything else, behind the safety barrier of a folded paper towel. This is mandatory. I also mandatorily wash my hands if circumstances force me to shake hands with any male. While this is action taken after the event, I can’t exactly ask the person to wait while I slip on a latex glove before gripping their potentially bio-hazardous appendage. Pleased to meet you…

Where was I? Oh, yes. Concerning Michael, I’d make good use of a gas mask, you know, like the ones issued to civilians after some madman has unleashed the power inherent in biological weaponry. Only that would be all too obvious. Besides, I still like Michael despite his eau de rotting rodent.

Phone Call on a Bus between Him and Her

Ring ring…Ring ring…Ring ring… 

She fidgets in order to locate the phone from her bone-coloured handbag, which overflows with all manner of things, including a practicing circus, a spare car and Doctor Who’s original TARDIS –  I think I just spotted a kitchen sink. She answers the call in a big loud voice. The big loud voice continues. It’s a public broadcast on the bus. It’s a public broadcast about her private life. No one else on the bus is talking – and evidently she’s fine with spilling a general broadcast in front of everyone, who, I might add, have zero options for any escape from what ensues. I’d welcome the Daleks, instead, at this point… 

Her: Hi, you okay? 

Christ, here we go. 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, good. I’m just on the bus now – going over the Harbour Bridge. 

(Him) 

Her: It was good. Busy. How was your day? 

(Him) 

Her: Oh, good. Cool! 

(Him) 

Her: I missed you, too. 

(Him) 

Her: Okay. We could. 

(Him) 

Her: I dunno, I like the one with mushroom better, you know? 

(Him) 

Her: Oh, yeah. Yeah. 

(Him) 

Her: Well, I can just give her a call tonight…I know, she has to realize it’ll take some time. 

(Him) 

Her: And Auntie wants to know if this Friday is okay. 

No, it won’t be okay because I’m going to kill you. Right here on the bus. 

(Him) 

Her: Hello, are you there? ...Can you hear me? Hello, oh…how ‘bout now? 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, sorry, the Bridge is always a bit weird at the end. 

(Him) 

Her: Anyway, is Friday okay? 

(Him) 

Her: Well, we could take two cars. Yep. 

(Him) 

Her: Alright, we’ll see. No worries. 

(Him) 

Her: I know I can’t wait to see them! So cute – yeah, Flopsy is the cutest. How’s her ear look today? 

(Him) 

Her: Okay. Oh, well. Yeah, I can give them a call if you like when I get home. 

(Him) 

Her: I don’t think it really matters, they’re all good. And Cameron is also good with smaller animals. 

I bet he could surgically remove your voice box, too. That’d shut you up. 

(Him) 

Her: Alright. 

(Him) 

Her: Tomorrow night? Um, yeah, we could meet them at dad’s first if that suits them. 

(Him) 

Her: No, I think I’ll be alright. I thought I was going to be so sore! Oh, yeah, and then don’t forget tonight I’ll have to leave by 6.30pm! Do you think my pants will be dry? 

(Him) 

Her: No, the other ones. 

(Him) 

Her: Blue? Oh, you mean the light blue ones? 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, I suppose so. Okay, sure. I don’t think they’ll clash. 

(Him) 

Her: Something like that. 

(Him) 

Her: I thought we were having that tonight as well? Alright, well just put it in the freezer for now. 

(Him) 

Her: No, I don’t mind. 

(Him) 

Her: Thanks. 

(Him) 

Her: I know. He’s got no savings of his own and expects Auntie to lend him the whole lot.

(Him) 

Her: It is a lot of money, I know! And he’s living the high life, too! He goes to that restaurant in the city every weekend. 

(Him) 

Her: No, not that one with the long pony tail, the other guy who spits all over the food when he talks. 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, on TV. British chef. 

(Him) 

Her: …yeah, and now he also wants to go on that European trip. That’s not right. 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, so, and now he’s looking at places worth a million. 

(Him) 

Her: Well, where he was looking it was around 600 thousand. Now he thinks he can go higher and get a bigger mortgage because auntie’s helping him. Poor Auntie. 

(Him) 

Her: And he keeps living the high life. 

(Him) 

Her: Exactly, at least we had some savings. We weren’t trying to live the high life. 

(Him) 

Her: Auntie has been so generous with all of them. 

(Him) 

Her: Exactly, at least she’s trying. 

(Him) 

Her: I know. 

(Him) 

Her: And he’s living the high life. 

So you keep saying. Anyway, it’s Auntie’s choice. 

(Him) 

Her: Yeah, those restaurants aren’t cheap! 

(Him) 

Her: Okay, sweetie. Better go. See you in about 10 minutes. 

(Him) 

Her: No, I said I’d better go. Hello…sweetie? Hang on…okay… 

(Him) 

Her: I said I’d better go now. Yeah, we just went through that other bad patch. So, I’ll be home in a few minutes.

(Him) 

Her: Okay, we’ll catch up on what’s been happening when I’m home. 

(Him) 

Her: Love you, too. Bye. 

Exterminate! Exterminate! ...

Fish

Somehow I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a fish theme lately. Not sure why but there you have it. 

What I wanted to say cryptically about fish this week was, that no matter its depicted size or relative position any fish is always to scale. That's it.

By the way, ever notice how it’s called fishing and not catching fish? Simply because we don’t always catch anything. Often, in fact.

Hey!

Fishing Day!

A very short play about the time I caught something.

The Setting

Here I stand on a long, wind-swept jetty holding a fishing rod over the choppy ocean. Patches of frothy foam meander with the sea’s whimsical movements – occasionally slapping up against the jetty’s steadfast poles. Some jellyfish bob along trying to find their niche in life – or perhaps looking for somewhere to just sit and rest and untangle their tentacles for a change. Squashed, sun-dried green prawns lie scattered around my feet. The rest of the jetty is a giant join-the-dots marked out by the splatterings of seagulls. Two kids run up and down the length of the jetty, yelling out to each other and plotting simple games. A couple strolls by.  

To my right, closer towards the elusive horizon stands an eastern European man with a concentrated look and grey scraggly hair, probably in his late 60s or a little older. He assiduously fishes while a half-smoked cigarette dangles precariously from his thin lips. He’s bow-legged with light brown baggy shorts hanging from his waist. The sun beats down on his bare upper torso, but his skin is not burnt one bit. It is tough and olive. Before when I was establishing my fishing spot, our eyes had met. He had looked at me with a squinting eye and reviewed my presence through a slightly frowning forehead.

Act 1, Scene 1

Nothing happens.

Act 1, Scene 2

Nothing happens.

Act 1, Scene 3

I scratch my balls. Nothing else happens.

Act 2, Scene 1

Nothing happens.

Act 2, Scene 2

Nothing happens.

Act 2, Scene 3

I wriggle a bit as the itch returns. Nothing else happens.

Final Act, Scene 1

I re-scratch my balls. Nothing else happens. But my face is displaying a degree of relief.

Final Act, Scene 2

Nothing happens.

Final Act, Scene 3

As the itch persists I reel my line in. I prepare to head off home. Uh-oh. Seems I’ve caught crabs and can’t stop scratching.

What do you think?

I need your opinion. Or, condemnation as you see fit.

I'm working on a memoir about me and my wife. It covers from when we first met, and continues recounting how our first seven years together were actually spent living apart in separate countries. Crazy, I know - SEVEN years. But, true. Anyway, so far I've given this story the title Together 7 Years Apart. It's possible I might also go with 2555 Days Is Up (i.e. 365 days a year multiplied by 7 years) or 364 Weeks (you guessed it - 52 weeks a year multiplied by 7 years. 2555 Days Is Up could be too lengthy as a title).

Your mission - should you be arsed thinking about it - is to report back to me with your valuable opinion of the above titles. You could just leave me a comment at the end of this post. You could broadcast your thoughts via any of Rupert Murdoch's reliable media outlets (sorry about that noise, a bunch of people suddenly burst out laughing - some are actually sobbing). So, thanks if you do! And, of course, no worries if you don't (I'll simply ignore you at the book signing).

Here's a little snippet of the story...

Russian Caravan tea

Some weeks ago I explained that I would stop posting snippets of my own work - fearing it counted against any efforts of mine to become seriously published anywhere. Well, things do change don't they? And we change our minds. At the moment I don't exactly find myself with  a huge following. So, to hell with it - I'm posting a snippet here. This one is taken from the memoir Together 7 Years Apart, a story about me and my wife. Do you have any similar stories as this one below?:

Erin and I did not get on like a house on fire. No. We got on like a whole row of houses up in flames. The fire burnt for a good two or so hours, abundantly fueled with relaxed conversation. I told Erin some boring story about how Russian Caravan tea had traditionally been taken with the addition of strawberry jam mixed in for sweetness. I shouldn’t have bothered but the words had irrevocably sprung forward from inside of me, and it would have appeared even lamer to have stopped myself mid-way. I was drinking Russian Caravan tea at the time and, with the jam, so at least I had the aid of distracting props. Some nights later Erin told me that she had actually found the little story quite endearing. She was putting me at ease so early in our relationship. Either that or I had a remarkable talent for utilizing table-sized props.

Slow down and hurry up about it

The bus pulled into its stop at the QueenVictoria Building like a pebble is pulled down a giant shoreline under the sucking force of the ocean. Modern life itself was the force dragging the bus toward the tyre-blackened kerb. The busy people with their schedules and their tasks, the complicit bus schedule pushing to deliver loads of shoppers and workers, the monotonous traffic lights blindly and unwittingly winking two and four-wheeled machines across overcrowded asphalt pathways and the blurry black and white buildings are all symptomatic of today’s everyday pace. The blurry black and white monuments – like Queen Victoria sitting quietly and perseveringly as if no one has remembered her reign. These buildings and monuments are blurry and black and white because everyone is much too rushed and tunnel-visioned to discern them. All that money and all those advertising ideas and the time spent to place all these signs scattered all over the cityscape, only to become merely a blur as well, rushing past and escaping our senses in a single streak. Look up in the sky! It’s a catchy slogan! It’s a distracting image! It’s a…sorry, you’ve lost me. I’m too busy to read your sign. 

I slow down and take it all in. I purposely slow down and observe the details in the buildings, this window arch here and that appealing detail there. Hello, Queen Victoria. I am looking at her and acknowledge her expression and the staff she is holding, the tilt of her head and cold expression in her fixed eyes. What are you pondering? Is it sadness for what has become? I slow it all down. I saw her move. I have turned the slow cooker dial to the on position, I’ve jettisoned the Big Mac and now properly seep in the details of life and actually absorb all that is around me. I am in notice-mode now, but you are too hastened to notice my notice-mode. Nature skips out from its lonely corners to greet me with a smile – the sun’s golden hues, an infiltrating breeze and the newly painted sky embrace me and I’m at one with this trio in a brief moment of worship, the bus seat my pew. 

I slow it all down.  

I should slow it all down quickly, though, as I have to get off at the next bus stop and hurry to work or risk arriving late.

Where are you?

Steve: Hello, are you there?

Steph: No, I’m here. How about you? Are you there?

Steve: No, I’m here, too.

Steph: Well, someone has to be there. We can’t both be here, because that would mean both of us are at the same place at the same time – and clearly we are not. Why can’t your here be there and my here still be here?

Steve: Because my here is not there, it’s here. If I was there I wouldn’t be here. But, I am here so it has to be here. Why can’t your here be there?

Steph: Because I’m still here, too. So, I can’t be there either.

Steve: What about if I combined my here with your here? Then we could both be here at the same time – we could have a sort of shared super here.

Steph: But, how would you get here to join your here with mine?

Steve: I wasn’t going to. I thought you could come here.

Steph: Okay. But if I leave here what will become of my here? What should I call it, what will it be?

Steve: Well, we could call it past here, somewhere else, previous here or not here.

Steph: No, those suggestions don’t sound too good to me. Somewhere else is not bad, but… I don’t know… a little vague perhaps?

Steve: Hang on a minute – I know! What about everywhere? If here is everywhere then we wouldn’t need to combine your here with mine. We could both be here at the same time because here would be everywhere.

Steph: If I was everywhere, I know I’d still be here but how would I know if you’re here, too, if I can’t see you? And you couldn’t see me?

Steve: It’s an abstract everywhere. You know. Like social media. Everyone is here together, they are everywhere. But no one is really there with anyone else.

Steph: Oh… 

Come back 'forenoon'

Whatever happened to the word forenoon? Where has it gone? Why don't we use it? Why did it go?

I think it's sad that this lovely word seems to have disappeared. We still use the word afternoon all the time, so why is forenoon not good enough now? I think afternoon is a bit lonely and overburdened. I think its head is spinning.

I know all languages change - and should change for their own good, for their own survival - still, what does forenoon's disappearance say about us? About how we live our lives? Have we all lost half our day, has it been consumed by modernity's sucking whirlpool and cracking pace and complexity? Is the time between dawn and midday, noon, twelve post meridiem just a blur these days, a haze of unrecognizable minutes? Is this first half of the day worthless and predetermined so by our fantastic culture and advanced civilization?

I might be a distant and feeble voice in the back of the room, but I miss you forenoon. I believe in you and wish you were back with us. And afternoon misses you, too, it misses its other half. The afternoon can only come if the forenoon precedes it. And the forenoon can only exist when the afternoon has once again passed. They need each other and offer us balance.

Here's one of my favorite quotes with a mention of the word forenoon. It's by Henry Thoreau, and I have a feeling he thought of and wrote down this quote some time between the sun rising and midday...in the forenoon you could say...

“If I should sell my forenoons and afternoons to society, as most appear to do, I am sure that for me there would be nothing left worth living for.”

                                         

I've Decided

I've decided to relegate work - that is paid work, my job - to the category of 'optional'. As I solicitously cleaned my teeth tonight, I cleverly thought that from now on I'll just work when I feel like it. Turn up when it suits me, if ever. So that any other day I can now begin spending more time writing, and could write for longer. And write late at night, into the small hours - when I write my best - without caring about feeling too tired the next day. This way, I'll finish my two stories much quicker, thus allowing me to become a wealthy author (that assumes a lot) - in turn I could  then truly write for a living for the rest of my life.

The only thing I haven't fathomed is how to earn a decent living in the meantime.

Paula Deen - herself - now available at your local supermarket

Paula Deen story:  http://bit.ly/15v837x

After 11 years with the Food Network, Paula Deen has instructed you to take a 'cup of owwwul' and 'a stick of butter' for the last time.

The heavies at Food Network have told PD to POQ (Piss Off Quick). Apparently for racial slurs. The story also asserts that possibly an assortment of other touchy subjects for the Network have been simmering in Paula's pot for a while. Things are rarely simple in life, right?

Anyway, the title of this news story clearly states Paula has been "canned by Food Network". So, naturally we can only assume they have sliced 'n' diced PD and put her in a can to be available for sale on our supermarket shelves. The Food Network only hopes it will make as much money from Paula this way, as it did from her being on TV.

Open up and eat a can of Paula? Some might find her a little hard to digest - she could pass right through them. "From mah can to yerrrs"

Devastating news for America: Michele Bachmann won't be seeking re-election in 2014

Michele enlists the help of some friends to bury what she doesn't know about the American Constitution (look, here she is in the middle!).

They'll be digging for quite some time yet.

Oh, Michele. Pity you won't be running for re-election in 2014 - just like Sarah Palin before you, you generously gave the media so much to play with. You made it too easy.

And it's wonderful that Michele decided to write her memoir Core of Conviction (http://nyti.ms/168lfBC). Although, the only problem was that her editor (coincidentally also a Republican) missed a crucial spelling mistake. The title should have been Core of Convection --You see, Michele's original intention was a book  about her desire to share with America inspiring tips on how to maintain even oven temperatures in the act of being submissive to your husband, making him delicious home-cooked meals. I think Americans would've preferred to endure such basic tips, rather than a story about her life.

The Writing Process

Just write. Don't think too much. Dob't Don't correct, just write. Practice writing - keep practicing. Use and trust your own voice. Lose control when you're writing. Forget ego. Write even if you don't feel like it. Don't be abstract - write the real stuff; give details and be honest.

I think of something to write about and post on my writing blog as well as continue the two memoir stories I'm trying to write - with the time I haven't got. I draw and post my weekly (ok, sometimes it's not every week) cartoon. I log in to Twitter and Tweet my writing and cartoon blog posts, as if they are the most important and interesting Tweets in the world today. Spend some time "interacting" (isn't that what we do?) with others on Twitter. Look for and hope there's some activity about ME! Follow some people. Hope that my Followers number gets fatter and juicier. Do the same for Pinterest - although by "Pinning" and having a poke around.

OK.  How's my personal website looking? How can I improve it, make it more relevant and interesting to other people out there? It's still a freebie website. Should I take that leap and fork out for a paid one? Will that make me look more professional and accomplished?

Got to build this "writer's platform". Shit, I'll make this thing a huge bloody oil rig with the biggest platform pylons you've ever seen. A Texan-writer's platform.

Haven't had dinner yet and I'm getting hungry. At least my lame lunch for tomorrow - as every other day - of  a crunchy peanut butter and Nutella sandwich is made. Two pieces of fruit, a little ziplock bag (these bags never seem to lock in the easy "zip" action as promised - or am I just buying the crap brands?) of nuts and a yogurt join the sandwich sitting in a plastic shopping bag, lying in the refrigerator. I'll use this same shopping bag the whole week.

Better go prepare and eat dinner now.

I don't have a Facebook account. That's right, don't have one. Great, that's at least one "writing" thing I don't have to do tonight.

Pussycats and memoirs

Today's post was supposed to be the latest installment of a memoir I'm working on (one of two memoirs). But, this week's trawling and sifting of writing tips yielded the following advice, in a nutshell: Careful posting your unpublished work on your blog, because it might have an adverse impact on your having the writing published elsewhere down the track.

In other words, potential publishers might not want your work, or substantial portions of it, already having been published. Fair enough. Makes sense. Although snippets, they say, are okay to put up on a blog. Well, I think I've already indulged in enough snippet-ry so far. So, no more snippets for now.

Fine. But what about the pussycats?

Well, in the absence of yet another enthralling sample of my story, I wanted to clumsily type a few words about Sally. She's my pussycat - isn't she pretty?

Sally

Sally is the first cat I've had since I was a boy at home with my family. For as long as my boyhood memory stretches, we always had a cat roaming around the place. Whenever a cat died, dad would bury it in the same spot in our garden - then we'd get another cat. The cats kept coming and the cat bones kept accumulating in that spot in the front garden. Nothing sinister here. Just years of loving our cats.

And I'm loving having a pussycat now. Although, in this photo Sally looks like she could be saying:

"Take a photo of me again without my express permission - and I will claw the shit out of you. Got it?"

Still. She's a joy! Sally goes by a number of  nicknames. S-Alley Cat, Sally Smooch and Sally Fras - and of course she answers to none of these... because she's a cat!

What are you doing to build your reputation as a writer?

One thing you can do is checkout this article reposted from Writer's Relief. Take advantage of these seven helpful tips – I am!

www.WritersRelief.com

Seven Ways To Build Your Reputation As A Creative Writer

By Writer's Relief Staff

It’s easy to label yourself a writer. Jot down a poem and call yourself a scribe. But building a reputation for yourself as a writer is the evidence others need to label you a writer. Whether good or bad, writers’ reputations follow them wherever they go, either paving the way for success or putting up roadblocks in the path to getting published or developing a readership. It’s essential that creative writers take into consideration the way their peers, literary agents, editors, and readers view not only the quality of their writing, but their credentials and career path as well. It’s far easier to create a solid, professional reputation than to undo the damage of a spotty record and poor public persona.

Creative writers can brand themselves in any number of ways, and successful writers use more than one self-marketing method.

1. Take advantage of social-networking sites. Competition in the writing world is fierce, and when a creative writer wants to generate interest in a novel, it takes more than word of mouth. Attending writers’ conferences and writers’ groups have always been good ways to connect with others in the industry, and now writers can also take advantage of online social-networking sites such as Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter to create a buzz about their work by shaping connections nationwide—even worldwide—quickly and efficiently.

Facebook, for example, offers the opportunity to create both a personal profile and a “fan page”—a space where artists and writers can highlight their work. (Check out the Writer’s Relief Facebook page!) Writers can connect with readers by sharing news, writing samples, photos, and links. MySpace also allows users to create extensive profiles, while Twitter is a simplified version of the two (check out our tweets about writing and publishing). Social networking online helps writers engage others in their work and melds well with more traditional marketing efforts like book reviews, book signings, and tours.

Read more: Networkup! Rubbing Elbows With Literary Agents and Editors Online

2. Join an association. If you are published, investigate joining a professional writing association, such as the Mystery Writers of America or the Horror Writers Association. It’s another opportunity to network, and belonging to an association of like-minded writers offers other benefits to your craft such as industry news, useful links, and discussion groups.

3. Create a Web presence. It’s important that someone doing an online search of your name is able to find a profile page that showcases you and your work. Many authors have websites in addition to user pages on social-networking sites to maximize their exposure. A profile page should feature your name, photo, and a brief biography. You can post your writing credentials, excerpts from your novel, poems and/or short stories, and favorable reviews. If you are a published author, your profile should link to a site where your books can be purchased. Be sure to use links to your profile at every opportunity—in email and forum signatures, on Facebook, MySpace, or other social-networking sites, and on business cards and stationery.

Read more:

How to Start an Author Website

What Is Considered Previously Published Writing?

4. Blog. It seems that everyone has a blog these days, but it is especially useful for writers to take advantage of this marketing strategy. Your entries are firsthand examples of your writing—so make them good and edit well—and this can generate interest in your other work. Update frequently and be creative in your blog; include helpful links, insights, even humor to keep readers interested. If you are published, make sure it’s easy for a reader to purchase your work with a handy link to Amazon.com, for example, and include links to any site that features your writing or reviews of your writing.

Another useful feature of blogging is that it is interactive and personal—readers can leave comments or suggestions, and you can respond to them directly. You can keep them informed of any book signings or works in progress and answer any questions. It’s best to update your blog as often as possible to keep it fresh and interesting. Be sure to use keywords in each post (title and text) to optimize search engine results. The Internet is an amazing tool for writers looking for exposure, so be sure to use it to its full potential.

5. Explore different genres. Working outside your usual genre can expand your writing palette and even improve your writing. If you’re working on a full-length novel, for example, you might also consider pitching some article ideas (about something you’re proficient in) to magazines. Not only will you be boosting your publication credits and exhibiting flexibility in your talents, but the things you learn in one genre can nourish your skills in another.

6. Exude personal professionalism. Whether you’re submitting query letters or have already secured an agent, it’s crucial that you handle yourself professionally and put forth your best efforts. Wrinkled, stained, misspelled query letters give a bad impression to a potential agent. For those who have agents, return their phone calls promptly, follow their instructions or requests conscientiously, and deliver materials on time. Develop a professional reputation with agents and editors, and remember that you’ll be judged for every piece of writing—this means not firing off a quick e-mail riddled with errors and Internet lingo.

7. Finally, stay current. Keep up with publishing trends and market preferences by reading industry magazines, newsletters, and articles. Take courses and seminars whenever possible to brush up on your writing skills, and practice the actual craft of writing at every opportunity.

Want help building your reputation as a writer? Writer’s Relief can help you make more submissions! Our clients are widely published and regularly nominated for significant awards.

Learn more!