By Danica Longair

“Cantonese Lessons for a Foreign Daughter-in-Law” originated as a flash piece. Cantonese is spoken a lot in my family, and though an English speaker, I once knew about 50 phrases. My mother-in-law, a native Cantonese speaker, had cancer. It struck me that my family used the same word in both languages: cancer.

Initially, I created a Cantonese vocabulary list with “cancer” among the terms. But I felt that wasn’t enough. So, it became a full hermit crab essay, using examples from my life for each Cantonese term and English translation.

I sent the original flash piece to Room, and it was rejected. In the years since then, I have worked on it, had many beta readers, including Cantonese speakers, and even hired an editor. I kept submitting it, and it was rejected a few times. Then, in 2022, it was shortlisted for The Fiddlehead’s Creative Nonfiction Contest. But it didn’t win, nor did The Fiddlehead accept it for publication, so back to submitting!

I chose The New Quarterly because it is a major, highly reputable journal, and the word count limits of the Edna Staebler Personal Essay Contest fit my piece. That’s really it. I am a busy, disabled mom of two young kiddos. I barely have time to write, let alone read for pleasure or research. So, embarrassingly, I had not read the journal. I do consider themes, if they are announced, for journals. And I do get excited about certain contest judges and submit for the opportunity for my work to be read by them. But I don’t believe in reading a journal to see if my work would “fit.” First of all, I can never tell if my work would fit; I don’t have the ability to step back and play matchmaker. Second, the tastes of the editing team and first readers could change entirely by the time a piece is ready, submitted, and in front of their eyes.

Every rejection stings, but I try to brush it off and carry on, getting back to my busy life. It gets better, the rejections. I have yet to receive feedback from journals. I keep revising my writing and working on it.

The editing process at TNQ was professional. They sent me edits that all made sense to me, just little things. And then they sent me proofs to view, which I did. It was a smooth process.

As I’m not good at celebrating anything, I haven’t cashed the cheque I got for this prize win yet. (I need to do that. My therapist says I should!)

I usually submit to contests over open calls. Writing instructor Nicole Breit advised me to do so early on, though I cannot recall her reasoning. I am more likely to submit if it’s a judge I admire. If it’s a judge whose work is vastly different from mine, I won’t submit. I look for word count limits to determine the piece I can fit within that number. I also use the submission deadlines as deadlines for me to complete the writing, which is helpful.

I’ve submitted to Room many times, Prairie Fire, Malahat Review, EVENT, PRISM, The Masters Review, CBC Literary Prizes, and many others. I started in 2017, and by 2022, I started appearing on long and short contest lists.

I only submit occasionally, often with year-long gaps between submissions. My first ever submission was to an anthology, and I was accepted so that gave me foolish hope going forward. I think that was pretty foundational. I knew from the get go that it was possible for my work to find a home, so I always keep going. I have a friend who submitted her book-length memoir over 100 times before it was accepted, and it is now a book. I keep that story in mind.

I have innate determination. And I know that just because one person doesn’t like my piece doesn’t mean anything. Another reader will or will not like it.

Workshopping has helped me find beta readers and encouraged me. It reminds me I am not alone in this game.

My advice to writers? Keep going, keep writing, keep editing, and keep believing in the work. Remember Stephen King’s famous spike on his wall where he kept his early rejection letters. Rejection is part of this life, any life, but it becomes literal for writers. The process varies from journal to journal. Keep improving your craft—it’s a never-ending journey—and just keep going.

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Danica Longair is a disabled writer and mother living on unceded territories in what is now called Vancouver, BC, Canada. She writes whatever comes to mind, and has too many ideas and unfinished works, including children’s picture book manuscripts, maybe-poems, CNF essays, flash pieces, and short fiction. She is a graduate/survivor of Simon Fraser University’s The Writer’s Studio during the Pandemic Year (class of 2020). She identifies as tired, a phrase she stole from Hannah Gadsby. She has been trying to figure out a novel about mental illness stigma with dystopian elements for five years now. She does her best.