I've just been sorting through my mess of admin, how I keep track of submissions, what poems I've written, where they've been published. This mostly consists of trying to organise and rearrange a file full of columns and poem and magazine names. It's not even a proper spreadsheet as that would make too much sense to my cluttered mind. I've hurt my knee again so sorting through this and the rugby are a good excuse to sit on the couch and rest it.
In the midst of copying and pasting, moving things around, I realised I never posted my stats for 2025. Not that anyone but me cares.
This year I even have been wondering why I keep trying. I've lost my enthusiasm for all things writing, except the actual writing. I've barely tried to get published, picking publications and press that I have a connection with or that I really want to get into, mostly through sheer bloody-mindedness of getting rejections year after year. I'm determined that eventually I'll find one they like.
My poetry collection that was accepted in 2019, and delayed and delayed, will never be published, at least by that press as it is closing this year. The editor had long gone silent to my queries, so I stopped trying. I continue to occasionally send out that collection and my others to different editors, more out of habit than with any hope.
Mostly now, I think of my collections as a record of my life and thoughts that will never really be shared until I'm gone, like my writing notebooks and my diaries, just a bit more thematically organised. And the thought of not publishing them doesn't really bother me.
So to my stats: in 2025 I submitted to 24 journals and 5 book publishers last year, much lower than previously. I used to have a goal of 100 submissions in a year, but that has been steadily dropping the past few years. I had 8 acceptances in magazines only and was declined by 27 magazine and 4 book publishers. Some of these were submitted in 2024 which explains the discrepancy in numbers. So if I've done my maths right that's a 28% acceptance rate. Not bad for such a small amount of submissions.
I've also had 12 journals or anthologies publish my work in 2025, totaling in 27 poems. Again some roll-over from previous years' acceptances. This and my acceptance rate are about average for the past few years, even though I've submitted less.
Thanks to Hillfire Press, City of Poets, Helsinki Writers, Sixty Odd Poets, Hame-ish, The Brussels Review, Clarion Poetry, The Storms, Pushing Out the Boat, The Belfast Review and Broken Spine for publishing my work. I really appreciate all the hard work the editors, staff and volunteers put in to create their anthologies and journals.
On the non-submission front: I wrote or finished 73 poems in 2025 which is higher than average for me, as most were written for a specific collection that will probably never be published. I've had an urge to write unusual love poems, so I've just gone with it. I think it's complete, but as is my way, I will continue to tinker with it for a long while yet.
My new writing practice routines means I'm writing regularly, even if only just a few notes or scribbles. I try and draft out at least one poem a week, not necessarily a good one, but it's a nice feeling on Sunday to have something typed into my drafts file.
I was recently in Scotland to get out of the snow and cold and this was my view every morning to write. A slow start as my kids slept in was perfect. I think it matches my acceptance of not being focused on publishing so much. I've gone back to the process, what I love about writing, the slow accumulation of ideas, words on the page.
I don't even really share much of my work with my writing group anymore. My poems this year have felt more personal, a bit exposed, so not submitting them to scrutiny of my writing group and editors seems right. I'm not sure if they're suffering for it, being too caught up in my head as my poems often are, but that's where I'm living currently, so again, it seems right.
Maybe it's the menopausal, Gen X not-giving-a-fuck attitude that has seeped into my writing life, but here I am, just writing. There's so much else to focus and stress over that I'm content with having just that be simple and for me.
I hope spring is coming to you soon. We're still buried in a half-meter of snow here.
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