Submitting Poetry: Better the Second Time Around

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From January 2021

By Sara Palmer

As a childhood and teenage poet, I dreamed of becoming a “real” writer. But as a young adult, I was not a risk-taker. Writing as a hobby was safe; writing as a profession, terrifying. I wanted a secure career, not one where I would have to struggle to make ends meet. So, in college, I majored in psychology and went on to get my PhD. As a researcher and psychotherapist, I was able to explore from another angle what I loved most in literature—the complexities of human character. And I did plenty of writing, albeit mostly professional articles and books.

I continued writing poetry on the side, inspired by my clients’ lives, my own experiences, and my love of nature. While taking an adult education poetry class, I had my first how-to lesson in submitting to journals. This was back in the pre-Internet age. There were fewer journals, and the competition was fierce. Submissions had to be typed and mailed with a formal cover letter and a stamped, self-addressed envelope (SSAE), for the return of poems not chosen for publication. Serious submitters kept stacks of envelopes addressed to multiple journals, with the cover letters and SSAEs already tucked inside; as each freshly rejected submission was returned, they would slip the poems into the next envelope in the stack and send it off again.

I lasted about a year at this game before buckling under the deluge of rejections. The silence of editors pushed my anxiety through the roof—there was no way to tell if my poems were simply not a good fit for a particular journal, or if they were total trash. With no external input, my mind raced around a groove of self-doubt and self-criticism, quashing my creativity. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I put away my envelopes and called it quits.

I didn’t take another poetry class for many years, but I never stopped writing. I charmed my friends and family with personalized rhyming poems, which were read aloud at parties to oohs and ahs and treasured by their recipients. And I wrote “serious” poems about love, loss, nature, family, and illness, which were read aloud once to my husband or a close friend, then shoved into a file cabinet, never to be seen again.

But in recent years, after retiring from my psychology career, I’ve reinvested myself in my poetry. I’ve discovered some forgotten gems in my neglected file cabinet, dusted them off and polished them up. And I’ve written many new ones. I’ve taken poetry classes, joined a writers’ group, and participated in a poetry reading. Through these experiences I’ve learned that my poems can stimulate memories, elicit emotions, and offer novel viewpoints—they are effective and worthy. Am I Emily Dickinson? No way. Sylvia Plath? Not hardly. But that’s OK, because as a 60-something, still-emerging poet, I no longer want to let perfection stand in the way of goodness—my goodness. And so, many years after quitting the submissions game, I’ve picked up my virtual envelopes and started over.

In my youth, I measured success by the kudos I received from experts and authority figures. Acceptance by an editor was as—or maybe more—important to me than whether ordinary readers would read and enjoy my work. Self-publishing was not an option—though I knew of remarkable self-published chapbooks, deep down in my approval-seeking soul, I saw this as a last resort for losers. Looking back, I’m ashamed of my addiction to external approval. I’m ashamed of my cowardice, letting fears of rejection keep me from submitting my work. Thankfully, I’ve matured now, and grown a tougher hide. I don’t worry about the judgment of editors. I don’t agonize over whether my poetry meets an elusive standard of artistic worth. My goals are simply to hone my craft, try my best, and get my poems out into the world for people to hear and read. And that’s incredibly liberating.

So, how do I do it? Well, electronic submission has simplified the process these days, but the number of journals is overwhelming. Since my primary goal is to get my poems out to readers, I’ve devised a simple starter strategy: find journals with an issue theme (I use Duotrope’s calendar for this), find poems in my collection (or write new ones) that fit the theme, edit or rework as needed, and hit submit! Then sit back, relax, and wait for the rejections to roll in!

Over the past year, I’ve submitted 19 poems to 11 journals and poetry contests. I’ve had 12 rejections and one publication—and six poems are still out for review. The joy of seeing one of my poems printed in a journal was indescribable. As for the rejections—let’s call them nonacceptances—I felt no pain. I’ve adjusted my expectations and changed my labels. I know that at most journals, most of the time, it’s most likely that the editors will not accept my poems. But this is not the same as rejecting them. And it’s certainly not the same as rejecting me.

Now I imagine the editor like the judge in a baking contest. She tastes hundreds of treats; each is unique, all are sweet. She can only give a prize to the one most pleasing to her palate. I submit poems of many flavors and trust that a few will be so delicious to the taster that she’ll grant them a place on her table. My inbox will no doubt remain filled with rejected confections. But I will be filled with the sweetness of (self-)acceptance, with the joy of sharing my work, and with pride in myself for sticking with it the second time around.


Sara Palmer wrote her first poem in second grade, and since then, poetry has been her vehicle for self-expression, healing, and enjoyment. During her career as a psychologist, Sara specialized in emotional and social aspects of disability, chronic illness, and caregiving. She published articles and chapters for professionals and several books for patients and families, most recently Living with HHT: Understanding and Managing Your Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia (2017). Now retired from psychology, she devotes more time to creative writing and volunteer work. Sara is on the Boards of Cure HHT and Yellow Arrow Publishing. She lives in Baltimore with her husband and dog and enjoys close ties with her adult children, two young grandchildren, and numerous friends.

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Yellow Arrow Publishing is a nonprofit supporting women writers through publication and access to the literary arts. Thank you for supporting independent publishing.

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