By Molly Freedenberg

Sometimes, I have a story I want to write and am trying to find the right place to publish it. Other times, the publication comes first, and the magazine’s specific container inspires the story. The process of “Unmasked” was the latter.

As soon as I saw the submission guidelines for Five Minutes, I felt inspired to write something tailored to them. The specific constraints—100 words, about five minutes in a life—helped cut through my decision anxiety. The task felt doable, and the stakes seemed low enough for someone like me, whose disability requires careful monitoring and management of energy expenditure.

Choosing my topic was easy. Despite being housebound, I have plenty to write about. However, my sister’s visit last winter was the most eventful part of my year. The most poignant moment of that visit was the afternoon I wrote about—specifically, the five minutes I consciously spent appreciating it. I even have a photograph capturing that moment.

The writing process was very fast and might have been my first draft. I composed the piece directly in the Submittable box, then copied and pasted it into Paper to check word counts, make a few tweaks, and then transferred it back to Submittable. I’d be surprised if the entire process took over an hour or two.

Not every submission process goes this smoothly or is this intuitive, but I find that most of my successful pitches actually do. The last time I had something published was for Dipp, an online pop culture and TV magazine. The way I got that piece accepted was that I replied (at 3 a.m.) to a thread where I was trying to unsubscribe and even complained about how complicated the process was, with an off-the-cuff story idea I’d been mulling for a week (not for them—just in general). They accepted it within a week.

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this particular approach for obvious reasons. Still, there seems to be something about trusting my instincts and methods, being confident and casual, and not overthinking that works for me.

After submitting “Unmasked” to Five Minutes, I promptly forgot about it until I received the acceptance two months later. I hadn’t tried to write this story for anyone else, though I might have eventually. I wonder if I should have aimed higher and sent it as a “Tiny Love Story” to the NYT, which publishes reader-submitted stories of 100 words. However, I might have buckled—writing less well or freely—under the pressure of the Grey Lady’s prestige. I suspect I need to rebuild my confidence and comfort with pitching and publishing so that I can bring the same casual, confident energy to a higher-tier publication as I do to one with a higher acceptance rate.

I can’t quite remember how I chose Five Minutes; it was either because I clicked a link from Rachel Thompson’s newsletter about someone else who had published there, because I saw an Instagram post from them that I clicked through, or because they were listed in a Memoir Monday Substack edition. Either way, I first heard of them from Rachel Thompson’s course on Flash Fiction. They’re also on my list of possible pubs I made in Rachel’s Lit Mag Love course. While not at the top, I confirmed they are on my list. Following what I learned in Lit Mag Love, I checked out their reputation and vibe on Chill Subs.

I didn’t choose them for their editorial preferences, but I did consider that they’re listed as middle tier—not the Paris Review, but not “will take anything” either. I also read some of their stories, though I don’t read their site regularly. On the other hand, I have been trying to write a “Tiny Love Story” for nearly a year, and I read that section occasionally, so I’ve spent time learning and thinking about what works in the 100-word format.

Though this piece was accepted on the first submission, I have received rejections for three or four stories I’ve tried to publish over the last couple of years. The rejections didn’t have a significant immediate emotional impact; the effect was more of taking the wind out of my sails. Each time, I felt a bit discouraged and overwhelmed with the prospect of what it would take to fix whatever I had done wrong. Each time, it took me months to try again, and always with a different story.

I now see those stories as embarrassing failures and can’t even look at them. I had a similar reaction nearly a decade ago when I got detailed feedback on a rejection from Bust, which I still regret not taking action on. The editor was so generous with her expertise and wisdom, and I could have parlayed that into an ongoing relationship and possibly many future published pieces, but my shame and disappointment were so great that I doubt I even responded to her email. What a missed opportunity.

Of course, I’m aware that this is the exact opposite of the approach I should be taking. I’m actually working on this trauma response in therapy. I’m also hoping that this latest little win will help me build some momentum (and resilience) towards actually putting to work the principles I learned in Rachel’s Revision Love and Lit Mag Love courses and as a journalist many years ago.

When I received the acceptance from Five Minutes, I first felt the tiniest bit of pride and excitement before, sadly, a feeling of panic and something like shyness took me over, and I could barely even read the whole email. It was almost as though I had to read it out of the corner of my eye and skim it. Then I put it away and didn’t look at it again for four days, though in the background, this news subtly boosted my mood and outlook on life and my career. I realize now that this was one of those cases where even good emotions were outside of my window of tolerance, and so what I was doing, unconsciously, was taking a step back to titrate my exposure to the news for easier and slower absorption. (And yes, I am working on this in therapy, too, LOL.)

I later realized that it was sad and a shame that I couldn’t just fully embrace and enjoy this accomplishment. But maybe even more importantly, I realized that being unable to do so might be a very important insight into what holds me back from revising, submitting, and publishing more often and more confidently. If I can’t tolerate rejection and I can’t tolerate acceptance, no wonder I’m not publishing as much as I think I want to. The whole process makes me feel bad! So, I’m actively working on changing how I respond to each step.

In the end, I spread the news gradually. I posted an Instagram story a few days after the story went up. I also mentioned it to a few close friends and my sister, who were super happy for me and proud. That didn’t feel like quite enough celebration (or, frankly, marketing), so a few days after that, I sent a text to a group of writers I’ve taken classes with for almost two years, and they each wrote back a thoughtful congratulations, including reflections and positive feedback on the story itself. I felt so loved and celebrated and seen and validated. Getting that from people I trust and admire and who know my work well was profoundly reinforcing.

Next, I posted on Facebook and in an Instagram post, along with photos and a bit of a longer story about the context of the piece, which felt really good. I also directed people to comment on the website if they wanted, and each time someone did, I felt a little zing of pride and support from them and “You’re on the right path! Keep going!” from the universe. I’m really glad I asked specifically for those comments.

And then, finally, I posted on Slack to Rachel’s course community! I didn’t think of it at first since it’s been a while since our class, but I realized that’s exactly the place to celebrate this win since, for so many reasons, it wouldn’t have happened without this community or without Rachel. Seeing those little hearts and congratulations was the perfect cap on my victory lap, especially since this group has specifically been along for my publishing journey.

Working with the editors at Five Minutes was remarkably warm and easy. I would recommend working with Susanna Baird to anyone. She suggested a couple of edits to help me reach the word count (I was a little under); I wrote back with my preferred alternatives, and she accepted those easily. She also invited me (and any writer they publish) to be a reader in the future and forwarded me emails every time someone commented. I felt super supported and welcomed into her community immediately.

The Sun, Split Lip, Alien, and Bending Genres are other journals I have submitted in the last few years. Most of these submissions happened before I took Lit Mag Love, and since taking the course, I understand better why I was rejected. In most cases, I needed to do more editing. In a few cases, it just wasn’t the right story for the publication. I hadn’t learned yet to prioritize journals I like and whose vibe matches mine more than journals whose reputation I’m impressed by. I also feel like I tried to shoe-horn my writing into most of these magazines rather than genuinely feeling like they were the best fit for my story (or editing my story to be a better fit for them). None of these rejections were particularly memorable, except that I was very proud of my most recent rejection, only because the submission was such a huge long shot in the first place (the piece was deeply weird, and it felt very brave to send it).

I’m still figuring out the strategy that works best for me. Since my chronic illness is severe, my pace is slow, and I have to be very intentional about where I spend my energy. At this moment, I prefer targeting specific publications, especially ones where I have some connection.

As I mentioned, I struggle with balancing the emotional impact of rejection; again, this is where therapy comes in. I have found there are so many ways writing and therapy intertwine—something comes up in therapy that I write about, something comes up while writing that I bring to therapy, and now, too, I bring challenges about the process of writing or publishing to therapy. I’m trying to lean into the joy of the process itself, coming up with ideas, thinking deeply about them, and sharing them with people—to be less attached to outcomes and more in the fun of doing the work. Part of that is believing I am someone who deserves to be published and that I am already competent, capable, and good at my job, knowing this is just a game of finding the right puzzle for my puzzle piece. But most recently, I had to do some deep Somatic Experiencing Therapy work to be able to get there.

Although I was invited to give advice to writers in this article, I don’t know that I feel fully qualified, but I guess I’d say: keep reminding yourself why you do this. Fall in love with the art and act of writing over and over. Enjoy the work itself, including the work of submitting. If you’re not enjoying it, what even is the point? And do whatever you need to do to get out of your own way, whether that’s meditation, hiring a coach or editor, getting a therapist, or spending less time on your phone. Identify the obstacle and then take some action to remove it. Every day is a chance to turn your body a little bit more in the direction of what you want.

Writing community has been invaluable to me on so many levels. I have gone to colleagues for help with editing, feedback on what’s ready to submit, ideas about where to send a piece, cheerleading when I submit, commiseration and consolation when I’m rejected, celebration when I’m published. Writing is such a solitary pursuit, and there are so many ways to be a writer that it’s easy to forget you even are one, that writing is a real career, and that when you are a writer, you are part of the world of writers the same way that physicists are part of the world of physicists, or doctors are part of the world of other doctors. Being in community has helped make my writing better and has given me the confidence to continue when I feel doubt.

I am still learning how to celebrate my writing accomplishments. For now, I share them with loved ones and on social media and make a ritual of saving my clips. Lately, I have been trying to make a point to slow down, close my eyes, and feel the pride, excitement, and joy in my body. I record the feeling and really be present in it. The more I do that, the more capacity I will have to feel more of it.

Even though I always forget this, I know from my years in journalism that the only way you’ll ever get published is to pitch. The only way you’re going to get better is to write. The only way you’re ever going to grow is to take risks. Publishing is a numbers game—only a percentage of submissions get accepted, so the more you submit, the sooner your number will come up. It is also a process of improvement. Every time you submit, you get a little better at figuring out what works and what doesn’t. What you want and what you don’t. You can only get better at it by doing it. And the great news is you have literally nothing to lose. (Now, I will try to remind myself of all this.)

Molly Freedenberg (she/her) is a disabled writer and ME/CFS activist living on Chumash land in Southern California. She writes personal essays, creative nonfiction, and memoir about chronic illness, disability justice, trauma, pop culture, and her experiences as a dancer, artist, commune resident, pseudo-cult joiner, Burning Man devotee and then defector, and spiritual seeker. She is currently working on a memoir about her time living in an art monastery in Italy.