My Writing Year: Self Addressed Stamped Envelope

My goal last year for Rosh Hashanah was to let go of the things that no longer served me. My blog posts detailed how that included sifting through excess in boxes and digital files. I redistributed the pages that remained in repurposed containers and folders, one of which holds only writing materials and memories. Its content includes a true throwback, the self addressed stamped envelope. 

When I was a teenager, I looked up publishers directly and sent out pages. At that time, you were required to include a self addressed stamped envelope. These manila envelopes and their slimmer, white companions are a nostalgic reminder of an era that expected a response, and that this response should say something. Receiving mail addressed by my own hand always evokes an unsettled feeling, including my eye appointment postcard or the dog license. The immediate sensation is one of mistaken identity, that I couldn’t possibly be the recipient when I was the sender. These returned envelopes from publishers mean something the same, but different, because I don’t want to be the recipient of words that originated with me. 

What does the self addressed envelope say about the mindset of self-determination, both confidence to act and the context that interferes in that self-confidence? 

An SASE is an artifact of action. It’s movement, my movement, not always forward, but always next. Trust the process. Choose the addressee wisely. Use the correct conventions. Keep using them. Identify yourself accurately for the return address. Pay for your own stamps. Accept that ultimately you may need to deliver the envelope yourself, identifying and navigating pathways and knocking on doors. From query letters to style guides, it is my responsibility to understand the expectations of the industry and what I expect from myself. The information inside a SASE isn’t new information, but it's still new because it's next. I expect Friedman’s chapters that follow to deepen my understanding of those rules. 

Last year, I shifted, fewer writing submissions but an increase in ‘acceptance’ for publishing opportunities. The pieces of writing I submitted to opportunities for publishing were to establish a personal writing resume. The writing I submitted to publishing opportunities was to build a professional writer’s resume. In the last six months, I became a voluntary reader, an assistant editor, a paid copywriter, and a volunteer for a writing organization. More than a success, I felt like a writer. 

Jewish holidays feature mountains as places to receive instruction and demonstrate humility.  I look forward from My Jewish Year spent with Abigail Pogrebin to my writing year with Jane Friedman. With Pogrebin I learned the value of the act of doing before you understand completely. Friedman, echoes the importance of doing more than being in her opening epigraph from Ta-Nehisi Coates.

Friedman says, “It’s unlikely that every piece of writing you do, or every opportunity you pursue, will advance artistic, monetary, and readership goals. Commonly you can get two of the three. Sometimes you’ll pursue projects with only one of these factors in play. You get to decide based on your priorities at a given point in time.” She further cautions, citing Paul Graham and his analysis of prestige as “a powerful magnet that warps even your beliefs about what you enjoy. It causes you to work not on what you like but what you’d like to like” (12). 

This year on Roshanah, I stand on the metaphorical mountainside, between two Jewish women, appreciating the different reasons why we are still here. 

My writing year’s goal? Stay on the mountain. I lived on remote mountainsides in Guatemala. Though the address looks a little different, even the most remote areas receive mail. And stamps? I no longer have to lick them. Still, the future, a ‘maybe’ sweetness, I can taste it. 

The Business of Being a Writer by Jane Friedman