Submisson Fees, Response Times & Other Poet Pet Peeves
Why Presses Charge Fees and Why They Take So Long To Get Back to Writers
Dear Writer,
First of all, I would like to thank those of you who have subscribed to my Substack. If you have any questions or suggestions for topics you’d like me to cover in future posts, please reach out to me by commenting on this post or messaging me. Thanks!
Now, on to this week’s topic: poets’ pet peeves about submitting their manuscripts.
I remember when I was shopping around my first poetry manuscript. I had been writing poetry for twenty years and had finally managed to figure out how to structure a manuscript (that will be a topic for a different letter). I sent it in to every contest I could find, and it felt like I would go broke doing it. I had infant twins, an underemployed husband and four other kids to feed, a full-time job, and the Great Recession was in full swing. I got into extreme couponing, and every dollar I saved I put towards submitting my work. And I kept getting rejected. My manuscript didn’t even get into a finalist round of any contest I entered.
I remember feeling angry. I felt like it was a big racket and I didn’t understand why these presses were just raking in the money. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t the one they wanted to publish. I also hated that I sometimes waited six months or more just to get a form rejection. It felt inhumane.
Maybe you’re seeing yourself in some of my story. I hope you are, actually. Because now that I’m on the other side of things, I can tell you why small presses have to charge fees and why it takes so long to hear back, and it has nothing to do with a lack of empathy on the part of the presses. It has to do with resources.
Money and time. The two things that I lacked as a poet submitting my manuscript are the exact same things that small presses lack, especially if they publish literary poetry.
I grew up on a farm in southeastern Minnesota. Right after I published my first book, I did a reading in my hometown, and lots of old friends showed up. One said, “You must really be famous now.” My reply was to ask her a question. “How many poetry books by living authors do you own?” Her answer: “One, and I just bought it from you.” And I said, “Right. The only famous poets are dead.”
OK, that was not quite true, but had my friend heard of Jericho Brown, Sharon Olds, or Natasha Trethewey? No. These people walk through airports without being recognized on the regular. Anonymity is a perk of being a poet.
The average person doesn’t buy poetry collections. Poetry collections are bought by other poets and by the few people who like to read poetry but don’t write it. Most people who buy poetry collections do so because they know the poet or they know someone who knows the poet and has recommended the book. It’s a rare poetry book that rises to the level where people buy it who have never met the poet. I’m guessing if you look at your poetry bookshelf, the books by living people you don’t know or have never met will be in the minority, too, unless you’ve cultivated a process to buy your books for other reasons.
Reading fees are necessary because, in the end, it costs a lot to produce a book of poetry. We need money to pay the judges; to pay the award amount; to pay the editors; to pay the typesetter; to pay the cover designer; to pay for marketing and advertising. Most poetry books don’t sell more than 200 copies, but in order to break even, a book needs to sell more than 300 copies — sometimes 500, depending on the production costs. Fiction and nonfiction regularly sell more than 500 copies, and often break 1000 copies, and people regularly buy fiction or nonfiction by people they have never met and do not expect to ever meet. If a publisher knows that a book will sell that well, the publisher doesn’t have to charge a fee to make sure they break even. Poetry publishers rarely see those kinds of sales numbers on a regular enough basis to ensure press stability. Hence, the submission fees.
As for the time frame for response, because most presses can’t afford to pay readers, we rely on volunteers to help us find the manuscripts we will publish. While some are speedy readers, some are not — and most of us, poets included, would prefer that people take their time and read carefully, so that we find the very best manuscripts to publish.
So, the reason we charge reading fees is so we can continue to produce the kinds of poetry books that inspire readers and not go bankrupt and close up shop. We understand that it’s hard to afford reading fees sometimes, so at Trio House Press, we offer an open reading period where people who make under $50K per year can enter for free. Many other publishers offer options that are fee-free as well, but unless literary poetry somehow suddenly gains a larger readership, most presses will have to charge fees.
Back when I was submitting my first book, a publisher friend told me this: “If everyone who entered our contests bought two or three books a year from us, we could probably stop charging reading fees, because we would have enough sales to pay for the books we publish.”
Now that I’m a publisher, I can tell you - he was right. At the time, I didn’t feel like I could afford to buy lots of poetry books, but there were other ways I could support small presses - and I did. I put in requests to my local library and college library, asking them to buy copies of specific small press books I loved; I used my professional development funds at my college to buy small press books; I require books published by indie presses for my classes and teach those books to students; I volunteered for a small press, and still do — I don’t earn a salary for my work at Trio House Press; I donate small amounts during fund drives each year to presses I adore. I want them to thrive and keep publishing awesome books, and to do that, they need sales. Period.
It’s understandable if you hate reading fees and wait times, but feeling helpless isn’t a great state of mind to inhabit. If you love writing and reading poetry and want to make sure small presses thrive and survive so they can continue to publish poetry books, do what I did: find a few small presses who publish work you love and find a way to contribute money or time — your own or someone else’s. If you can’t afford more than a few reading fees, choose the contests that charge reading fees carefully, and enter the open reading periods with no fees (there are several great lists of these here on Substack and on the internet).
Poets and small presses are in the poetry publishing business for the love of poetry, not for the money. It’s OK to dislike reading fees and wait times, but maybe they will make more sense now that you know why they are necessary to the survival of small presses that publish poetry. And maybe you can work with us to expand the readership of poetry collections and the sustainability of small presses. Every little bit helps.
With gratitude,
Kris
Thank you for this cogent explanation of what it takes to make a small press sustainable. And thank you, Trio House Press, and other presses that have found ways to have free periods, discounts based on income and other factors, and other offsets to make the submission process accessible to the most writers possible.