First impressions

Your submission might be read thoroughly, from start to finish, by someone in a great mood, with nothing else on their mind, who will give you the benefit of the doubt should you err in any way and view all your materials in the most generous light possible. But it might not be! To be safe, you should assume exactly the opposite: that you're being judged by someone who is essentially looking for any excuse to reject you. Don't give them one. Pretend they're going to put your work down as soon as they get bored or confused or indifferent, and put your most exciting stuff first. Grab them. Make them want to keep reading!

Read your poems over—chances are, there are some that "stand on their own" better and some that benefit more from the context of the rest of your work, or contrast from it in some way that's not super obvious to someone who isn't familiar with your writing (for example, that one poem that makes excellent use of end-stops, when most of the rest of your stuff is heavily enjambed). Put the "stand on their own" things first.

Many amazing opportunities have far more impressive, qualified, “deserving” applicants than available spaces. This means that, all things being equal, one applicant may be chosen over another in the final selection for relatively arbitrary reasons; it also means that readers need to “cull” whichever applications they can as early as possible to make the selection process easier. Give your work its best shot by presenting it well. Typos, broken links, empty form fields, a ridiculous-looking email address you made when you were twelve—none of these things should matter, but they very well might. Fix them.

When to submit

Note that I am not repeating the common advice to "put your strongest work first"—if there's that much of a difference in the "strength" of your work, you may simply want to wait until you're excited about everything you're submitting. Remember that your responsibility is to honor the work and follow it where it takes you; there is no obligation, and certainly no rush, to submit to anything, publish anything, apply to anything, or to show anyone what you're doing unless you're ready.

Another common piece of advice is to look at the folks who have achieved the thing you want to achieve and apply when you are "at their level". For example, if all the people with Fellowship X have MFAs, and you just finished your BA, to wait until after your MFA to apply. This is sensible advice, I guess, but honestly, I would say you should absolutely apply to anything at all that interests and excites you if you can afford it (in terms of application fees, but also in terms of time / opportunity cost—you don't want to half-ass applications if you can help it, and full-assing an application takes some time, especially early on or for complex things—time you could spend... actually making your work, or taking a snooze, or volunteering, or doing any number of more worthwhile things). I have had so many amazing experiences as a result of trying for something I thought there was zero chance I'd achieve. Just try. The worst they'll say is no. Hell, assume they'll say no. Submit/apply anyway. When someone says yes you will be so glad you did!

It can help to simply schedule time to submit stuff—last Sunday of every month, or whatever—so that you always have something "in the pipe" & never get overwhelmed, & also just get used to a flow of rejections as a matter of course. But the important thing, imo, is to strictly separate your work from anything that has to do with publicly sharing your work. Do not submit a poem right after you write it. Do not think about applying to a book contest when you are arranging your manuscript. Do not disturb, tiny grass is dreaming.

Throughout my career I have regularly submitted to totally inappropriate stuff. For example: I graduated from college in 2013 with a BA in Psychology and a couple years of DIY editorial experience and applied to be editor of Poetry Magazine. Is that absurd and embarrassing? I guess. But I'm glad I did it. It's poetry! Harness the societal marginalization of your art form, realize how low the stakes are, and shoot for the fucking moon, I say. Be as ambitious as possible with your work & then be as ambitious as possible when you send it out (the worst that'll happen is you'll be rejected & can submit somewhere else).

At the same time, be true to YOUR ambitions. Don't let "careerism" guide your decisions. When my first book was accepted by a small and pretty punk independent press (Write Bloody) in 2013, I was 21, and one good friend advised me to hold off, because maybe I would win a first book prize that would come with way more cash, a bigger marketing push, wider distribution, etc. But I didn't want to wait; I was graduating from college and wanted to clear my desk of this early work and make something that honestly represented what I was working on at that time. There are so many hierarchies in poetry and most of them are silly. Do what's right for you and don't worry too much about following the "right path." My path clearly did not interfere with my success in a significant way, and I genuinely think if I had jealously hoarded my manuscript in search of the most Elite way to release it, I would have either burned out from the failure or been spiritually crushed by the success.

Where and how to submit

Go to the library, read magazines, pick the ones you like.

Go online, read magazines, pick the ones you like.

See where authors you like have published.

I have occasionally written a poem specifically for a themed call, using the call as a prompt. Try it!

I've never looked at magazines or even book publishers and tried to find where my work would be "a good fit." I don't really think this is necessary. If your writing is good and you have good taste and you submit to places you think publish good stuff, you can't really go wrong.

Look for "submission guidelines" or something similar and follow their rules; this may be near the About page or the Masthead or the Contact page. A lot of places use Submittable and I recommend making a free submitter account there. Keep track of your submissions (see Staying organized). Support small presses. Share your work and the work of others you love.

Make a pool of a dozen places you'd love to be published, and a dozen poems you're 1000% ready to share with the world irrevocably forever.

If some of the magazines on your list are harder to get into (bigger names attached, bigger distribution, if they pay, if they've been around for a long time, all clues of a more exclusive outlet), or if you're dying to be accepted by them, I recommend submitting to those first.

Put together little packets of 3-5 poems or whatever each publication asks for. Your goal is for each of your dozen poems to be "pending" at ~3-4 journals at once. I often send (roughly) the same packet to a few places, but you can mix them up as much as you want. See "Staying organized."

Rejection (or, why to submit)

Submitting involves attempting to succeed at some goal you have in mind (getting a fellowship, doing a residency, publishing with a certain journal, etc.) and getting rejected over and over. One way to cope with this, beyond the not-particularly-helpful adage "grow a thick skin," is to think of your submissions as some combination of a) a necessary chore, and b) a chance to develop your thinking and your philosophy about your work.

The chore part is easy, and more applicable to straightforward, administrativey stuff like journal submissions: you know you want to publish poem X, so include poem X in 5 submissions. Get it done, note down that you did it (see Staying organized), and forget about it.

As for philosophy: when you're applying to something like a grant, a fellowship, or an academic program, take their requested materials (artist's statement, project proposal, etc.) as an opportunity to meditate on what you truly care about, where your priorities and concerns are, and why you're really doing what you're doing. What is your work about? Why does it matter to you? Why should it matter to anyone else? Is your work about identity (which identity)? Ecological precarity? Persona and the malleability of history?

You don't have to box yourself in, but thinking about things like this will help you be more self-aware (for you) and articulate (for others). If you're having trouble, try looking at a "representative" sample of your work and see if there's stuff that seems to form a through-line: is it mostly in second person? are you using classical forms? do you rhyme or not? how do your titles connect to each other? is your language formal, chatty, subdued? do you use a lot of sensory detail (which sense(s)?)? do you address your reader or use dialogue? who do you imagine your reader is when you're writing, if you imagine anyone at all? etc. etc. etc. etc.

For a long time, I had no idea how to talk about this stuff, and it's actually Applying to Stuff that helped me develop a much deeper understanding of my own work. Sometimes we're so close to our obsessions—the core themes of our life, our very outlooks—that we can't even see them. Take a step back and you may discover something that'll not only strengthen your application, but guide you as you move forward with the work itself. Likewise, project proposals are a great chance to dream, brainstorm, and imagine. Being forced to write down something specific will help you confront areas you haven't given enough thought to. And remember: in many proposals, and especially for something open-ended (like most residencies) and not results-driven (like a commission), you can always change your focus later if you need to.

Read the rules

Double-check the submission requirements and make sure you have everything arranged appropriately. For example: do you have the right file format (.doc, .pdf, etc.)? Did you name your files appropriately? If it’s an email submission, did you include the requested subject line? Did you omit your name or leave it on (different applications have different requirements)?

Buddy system

It is most strategic to never tell your community what you are applying for or submitting to because they are also your competition. JUST KIDDING. Tell your friends about cool stuff. Ask me about cool stuff and I will tell you. Buddy up with someone who's applying to the same thing as you, swap proposals, and help each other improve. If you know something someone else in your community doesn't (like what to put in a cover letter for a journal, or what fellowships are available to people without an MFA, or a great first book prize, or the usual freelance fee or salary for something, or what kinds of book contract clauses are standard), share it! If everyone did this the world would be a way nicer place.

Styling/aesthetics

I am of the opinion that strong work will speak for itself without needing to be "dressed up" with design—and actually, when I read submissions, I usually suspect that entries that are too designed—a packet of poems in a "pretty" font, for example—are overcompensating for something. My rule for aesthetics: simple, clean, easy to read, not distracting. 1" margins, Times New Roman or Arial, 12pt font. Black text on a white background.

Consistency is also important. If you use quotes in your poems, make them all single quotes or all double quotes (or have a reason if you're using both!). If you italicize one title and put three line breaks below it before starting the poem, do this for all of the poems in your packet. What you want to do is "control" for the variables you can (make everything standardized) so that the stuff you CHOOSE to vary—one poem with really spread-out lines, one in a prose block, one written entirely in all-caps—clearly reads as intentional and not accidental.

Page breaks

I almost always have only one poem per page, with page breaks in between (real page breaks, not hitting the return key a bunch of times—it's command+shift+B in Microsoft Word on a Mac). Even if all my poems only have five lines: still, one per page. (The smaller the poem, the more room it needs to breathe, anyway, imo!) I've heard that some folks like to retain page-breaks in the middle of a stanza so that the reader knows the poem "isn't over"—I personally find this confusing and hideous and always break at a stanza break if I can (e.g. for a poem in tercets that's 3 pages long, I'll try to break a page after one of them).

Page numbers

I never include these (or a table of contents, or a "title page", or even my name) unless they are specifically asked for in the submission guidelines. I think "blind reading" of submissions is the most fair (i.e. not knowing which materials are from which writers), and so I like to Create The World I Wish To See and leave my name off as a rule. I have been told to always include my name because maybe my poems will somehow get separated from it; I have no idea if this has ever happened and I simply ignore this advice*.

>*One writer recently told me, in response to this section: "If I read something great or intriguing, I want to know who wrote it. If I'm[...] reading applications, I download/print all the docs to read and want to know if I'm missing anyone's work/who to respond to." So maybe do include your name (unless it's explicitly prohibited or you're as neurotic as I am)!

Personal touches

If you can, I think it's nice to address your submission to SOMEONE or SOMETHING—whether it's an individual editor, a department, a magazine, an institute, etc. Sometimes I write "To the ______ team:". Editors' names are usually on a magazine's website/masthead. If I've submitted somewhere previously and received a personalized response, I might also mention that in a cover letter. Other than that, I have NO personal stuff in my submission. Keep it professional.

In something like an application (as opposed to a journal submission), I usually have letter-type opening/closing salutations (To X / Best,) in just one part—usually the cover letter if they ask for one—but don't include it in every document. For anything with a cover letter, I always like to thank the judge/committee/selection panel/whoever for their time and consideration, because reading applications is tons of work and I really do appreciate it.

Cover letters, project statements, etc.

For submitting to journals, I usually assume no one reads these or cares, and use a very short standard form:

Dear (Whoever),

Thank you for considering these three poems - A, B, and C - for (Journal Name).

Best, Annelyse Gelman

I might include a super-short, third-person bio (one or two sentences) below this. That's it.

For larger submissions, like a fellowship application, you need to be more strategic. Generally, you want to give an impression of a) who you are and what you're interested in right now, b) what you've done in the past, and c) what you're going to do if given this opportunity (i.e. why you're applying in the first place). Look at what they ask for and make a plan that'll cover all three of these things without too much overlap. For example, if an application asks for a CV and a 500-word project proposal, you don't need to spend a bunch of that proposal going over your past career achievements (it's in your CV!).

However! Keep in mind first impressions—if your proposal doesn't stand on its own, there's a chance the reader won't even get to your CV. This is a delicate balancing act; feel it out and read (or have a friend read) your stuff over as if you're a total stranger. Can you get a picture of who you are and what you're up to without any other context other than your proposal? Does your CV make sense by itself, and is it well-organized? (Do you need to see what a CV looks like? Here is a lovely example from poet and artist Jen Bervin.)

Naming digital files

When there are no stated guidelines for how to name files you submit, I usually use this convention, borrowed partly from filmmakers: "Lastname_Opportunity_Content". For example, for applying to the Michener Center's MFA program, I might name my poetry sample "Gelman_Michener_Sample.pdf" and my personal statement "Gelman_Michener_Statement.pdf". I usually write/format all my submissions in Word and then save/upload them as PDFs if there are no rules to the contrary (less chance the formatting will get screwed up). I also generally try to avoid having file names that are super long, or that use spaces or special characters. I have no idea how important this stuff is (it probably doesn't matter a lot for places that get hundreds of submissions and thus already hopefully have a great organizational system in place!), but that's what I do. Also, be aware that readers/judges may see your name in a filename (Gelman_Poetry_Submission.pdf) even if you've left it out of the document itself—if the guidelines state that something is being read "blind," I DON'T put my name in the file name, and instead name it something like "5_Poems_IowaReview.pdf".

Unless otherwise stated, submit/attach as few files as possible. If you're sending 5 poems, put them all in a single document (see page breaks); don't send 5 documents.

WARNING: Online applications/forms

Let me save you a giant headache: online applications are buggy as heck. ALWAYS WRITE AND STORE your application materials, statements, proposals, etc. OFFLINE, in a text editor, and then paste it into the web application when you are filling it out. Do NOT write your materials directly into a web application; if you do, I promise you will at some point find all of your materials disappear into a buggy hole and you will have to write all of them all over again from scratch. Learn from my mistakes!

Staying organized

You must must must keep your submissions organized. The earlier you start doing this, the better. MAKE A SYSTEM. The #1 reason? Magazines REALLY hate it when they send you an acceptance & you say "Oops, someone already took that one!" It's fine to simultaneously submit, but when a poem gets accepted you'll need to immediately withdraw it from everywhere else where it's under consideration: your System will make this easy. As an added bonus, your System will help you psychologically compartmentalize all this unavoidable administrative stuff.

I actually don't think this is a great system, but here's what I do: I have a Word document called SUBMISSIONS LOG. When I submit somewhere, I make an entry like this, in bold text:

Today's date
Name of Journal/Fellowship/Book Prize/Whatever
Poem Name, Poem Name, Poem Name (if a journal submission) / Name of Project/Book/Whatever
(Optionally: some note like "should hear back on X date")

That's it. When I make the next submission, I put it above that one, so the most recent submissions are always on top.

All "active" submissions (pending ones, that is) are in bold. A submission becomes inactive for one of 3 reasons: 1) I'm accepted, 2) I'm rejected, or 3) I have to presume I'm rejected because it's been two years or they announced the winner without letting me know or whatever. In all 3 cases, the first thing I do when something goes inactive is open up my document, un-bold the entry and make a note directly below it ("rejected", "accepted", "assumed rejected"). I add any helpful details ("rejected, but they asked me to submit again").

If it's a no, that's it, I'm done. If it's a yes, I "highlight" the note in yellow (this makes it easy to see where you've succeeded!) and then hit cmd+f to quickly see where I might need to withdraw poems (e.g. if a journal took Poem Y, I find every other instance of Poem Y and, if it's in a bold/active entry for a different submission, withdraw it from there & add a little note to that entry - "Withdrew X"). Then I save the document and close it and don't ever think about it until I need to update it again.

Spreadsheets maybe make more sense, but feel free to use my system if you want? It works for me.

I also keep all of my submission-related documents in a single folder (sometimes with sub-folders for submissions that have a lot of components to them) in case I want to refer to them later. Sometimes this has been very helpful! I recommend it.

Responding to rejection

No good can come from this.

Never, ever, EVER, EVER!!!! argue with a rejection. Just don't.

It is acceptable to thank the editor(s) for their time and consideration, especially in response to a personalized rejection. I never send thank-you notes in response to form rejections because I assume the editors are already swamped and these no's are already so impersonal, but it's not impolite to do so!

Usually magazines send out a "form rejection" with boilerplate language. Sometimes they send out "tiered" rejections, which I believe are just form rejections that are a little kinder or more encouraging. There are also "personalized" rejections where an editor says, "Loved X Y and Z but we couldn't take it because A and B." I've seen poets share rejections to igure out what "tier" they are on and where they (think they) stand... Listen. I think all this is a bunch of nonsense. I've received maaaaybe a couple of "personal" rejections over more than a decade. As far as I can tell there is no relationship between the type of rejection you get & your chances of being successful.

Money

Let me make up some math. 90% of journals are small and scrappy and run by volunteers and pay nothing. Of the remaining 10%, 90% pay very little ($50 or less). The absolute fanciest magazines in the US still mostly cap out around $500-600, though I'm sure there are exceptions for truly Famous™ poets. There are a few giant first book prizes (I find these a little creepy and avoided them on purpose, choosing a small independent press I liked for my first book and submitting it only to them, but they are Prestigious™ and a few come with lots of cash), like the Yale Younger Poets Prize.

Poets are fortunate to have access to many paid residencies, fellowships, and grad schools other artists don't (try finding a fully-funded grad program as a cartoonist instead of a poet!). However, the U.S. offers an embarrassingly meager level of support to poets (and artists) at the local, state, and federal levels. There are NEA grants once every couple of years given to I think 25 people, the Ruth Lilly for younger poets, some state prizes, and, well... yeah. (I did not even realize other countries supported their artists until I left the U.S.)

Most poetry money in the U.S. as far as I know is attached to universities: either in the form of semester-long or tenured jobs/professorships, or in the form of short-term gigs, where a poet is paid to travel to a school and give a reading / seminar / workshop to students and/or the public. Poets who work heavily with performance can sometimes support their work by putting on shows at universities and clubs, a la rock stars, or can tie their work into other university activities (e.g. a multicultural center at a school might sponsor a show from an ensemble of BIPOC poets). The general stigma against "spoken word" is far less than it was in the 90s and 00s, and generally the line between "academic" poetry and "public" poetry is becoming much more blurred. If people can hear your work out loud, once, and get something out of it, chances are you will be able to figure out a way to do readings. As with bands trying to book shows and tours, organizing tours like this is a scrappy DIY endeavor for poets who are less visible.

Practically no poets make a living just publishing poetry. Good (decent-paying, secure, well-located, low-stress) teaching jobs are also extremely hard to come by. I think the best approach is to make your art and assume you won't make a cent. That way your work won't be corrupted by the market and if you do make some money, you can be happily surprised.

Diversity

Money and exploitation, opportunity and exclusivity, are thoroughly entangled. When choosing where to apply, I hope you will consider not only your own financial stability (which imo is far more important for your writing than any "opportunity" from an institution!), but also how accessible certain opportunities are to other folks, and whether they seem to be complicit in systems you may not want to support. For example, a space that offers one fully-funded slot but charges thousands to others may not be ideal for anyone—including the person who doesn't have to pay!—because the cost will make the space much less diverse. I talk about diversity not just as a matter of justice and equity (though it is), but also because diversity of all kinds—socioeconomic status, educational background, race, gender, sexuality, languages spoken, hobbies, abilities, age, nationality, etc.—breeds more fruitful and interesting encounters for everyone involved. We should be all work on making our physical and virtual spaces as accessible as possible, as a perpetual goal; I know I have lots of work to do on this front, too.

You get to decide how you want to relate to community and what your values are. My values mean I have never submitted to Narrative Magazine, which at the time of this edit (September 2023) charges $23 to submit a folio of 5 poems. Maybe I should really call this section "Ethics"—but of course that is a much larger discussion, and deserves its own essay. I'll just say: If you're the kind of poet I hope you are, then remember that this is a long game. No opportunity is worth sacrificing your ethics for. Art is a sacred space where you can practice being totally true to yourself, and actively choosing to prioritize that will help you avoid making decisions you regret. I have undoubtedly benefited from many forms of privilege, but please don't think you need to be anything other than yourself in order to succeed. You don't have to be rich or have connections. I got published in The New Yorker because I sent them my poetry through the (free!) public submissions portal that anyone can use, and I got form rejections by them for years before that. It sucks that some people have a leg up in certain ways, but I do believe that great work is eventually recognized, so keep at it! Plus, there's a benefit to being an outsider: When your work finds its place in the world, you won't have any doubt about why.

The MFA

There is already tons of great MFA-specific advice out there, but I'll echo what I think is the most important: go because you want time and space to fully focus on your work, and not because you think it's a necessary hoop to jump through or will benefit your "career" in some way; and do not take on debt to get an MFA. All the fully-funded programs are extremely selective; you're going there to do your work (writing), not to "learn how to write," although you will learn lots. For a list of the most helpful resources I found when I was applying to MFA programs, see my blog post here!

The MFA Creative Writing Handboook is super, super helpful; highly recommend you get the most recent edition or borrow it from a library when you are starting your search. Some factors you'll want to think about: how long of a program do you want (1, 2, or 3 years)? Do you want to teach? Where do you want to live? Who do you want to work with? How big of a class size is best for you? Do you want to study other stuff (English lit, papier-mache, anthropology) alongside your MFA, or just do writing workshops and lit seminars? How "hands-on" and time-intensive do you want your actual classes/curriculum to be vs. time that's just open for you to work and write? What kinds of students do you feel are likely to be your peers, and are there any you'd want to avoid? All of this stuff will determine where you apply, depending on how much each is a priority for you.

I had a wonderful experience at my MFA program at the Michener Center and am extremely glad I went. Three years to focus entirely on your work is an unimaginably huge gift for any writer. I also met amazing people, adventured in Texas, fell in love, worked with great faculty (especially Roger Reeves, Joanna Klink, Lisa Olstein, Elizabeth McCracken, and Bret Anthony Johnston, plus lots of great visiting writers like Jane Miller & Carl Phillips), got to talk with editors and agents for the first time in my life, encountered tons of work I otherwise wouldn't have, started painting, wrote two books, recorded new music in UT Austin's Electronic Music Studio, made a VR video in a game lab with a grant, and more. I loved it. I also love school, work well independently, and generally don't mind having little-to-no structure in my life. It was a great fit for me; if you want to devote yourself to your writing, hunt around and you will probably find something that's a great fit for you, too.

Oh, and Michener waitlisted me the first time I applied. I left on the Fulbright (luck!) and applied again the next fall from Germany, telling them they were my dream school and that I'd say yes in a heartbeat if they did. Then they waitlisted me again! Then I got in at the last second before the decision deadline because someone else decided to go to a different school. Persistence is key.

Early education (college and high school)

There are tons of cool things you can apply to even as a high schooler. I went to an amazing summer arts program called CSSSA, held on the campus of CalArts (which inspired my second book, just published more than a decade later!). Hunt around and see if a teacher or librarian can help you. Many of these programs offer scholarships, especially for local or lower-income students.

As far as I can tell you do not need a BA related to writing, poetry, literature, English, journalism, or anything else in order to have a beautiful life and career as a poet. My undergrad degree is in psychology and cognitive science. I don't think a college degree is necessary at all to write poetry (and the fact that so many successful poets are highly-educated says more about the entanglement of the literary establishment & the university than it does about poetry itself).

I was recently listening to a podcast by the filmmaker Caveh Zahedi, and he said that he didn't major in filmmaking in college "because I didn't want to be influenced by anyone." I'm with Caveh here. Don't major in creative writing. Instead, cultivate an outside expertise, which will give you something to write about. You'll know when you are ready to let other people's voices and opinions in. Until then, keep on your own path. (If you are already making progress on your own, maybe don't fix what isn't broken. You'll know if you are "making progress" if your poems are generally getting better and better over time, even if you can't account for why.) The important discoveries are ones you will make on your own, through the act of making your work. One might even argue that "the canon" acts as a homogenizing and dulling force...

I find that approaching poetry from the "outside in"—cultivating mostly non-literary interests, then bringing that perspective and knowledge to my poetry—is infinitely fascinating, and approaching poetry from the "inside out" (mastering the canon and studying literary theory, then trying to write) bores me to death. Maybe you're the opposite. You do you. My "outside in" tendency has definitely contributed to some social alienation and imposter syndrome, but I would guess that it's one of the main reasons my work has stood out to editors.

Persistence

People will say no to you because your work isn't to their taste, because they haven't heard of you, because they have a tummy ache, because their kid stayed up all night crying, because they'd rather choose their friend, because of straight-up fucking bigotry and xenophobia, because they happened to get to your application later in the day when they were tired, because what you submitted happens to be too similar to (or too different from) what else they're accepting, and for billions of other reasons that have literally nothing to do with you or your work or your worthiness. I am fond of the notion of "situational" vs. "dispositional" attribution—that is, whether you attribute an experience to something circumstantial (the guy who just cut you off in traffic's daughter is bleeding out in the backseat) or to some permanent state of the world (the guy who just cut you off is an asshole and cuts everyone off always). In many cases, you have NO way to know whether a rejection is because of the quality of your work OR just because of some "situational" context. You can control the former; you can't control the latter. I encourage you, if you MUST decide there's a "reason" you've been rejected, to imagine that reason is because of a judge's tummy ache and not because you and your work are Bad. This trick is a little magical-thinking but also truly useful for me (I have a hard time believing in myself, maybe like you). Don't give up and keep putting your best work out there; that is truly all that you can do.

I am not a person who prays, but I do find one prayer helpful: "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." It works for twelve-step programs and it also works for poets! Give it a try.

Tell a good story (and Fulbright for artists)

Many people think of Fulbright as a "scholarly" program, and it is, but the truth is that U.S. citizens who have a BA but don't have a PhD can receive a grant to go almost anywhere in the world to work on pretty much anything they want to for a year under the umbrella of "study-research grants." If you'd like to work abroad and haven't looked into this, you should! When I applied successfully in 2015, here's the strategy I used: first, I looked at the list of countries on Fulbright's list with two things in mind: where I'd like to go, and, crucially, where I could tell a compelling story about why I wanted to go there, now, for this specific work. The story is critical. I'd love to spend a year in Iceland, but I have no explicit connection to Iceland I can point to in my previous work, studies, personal history, or otherwise. It's harder to make a great case for why I must do my work there. In contrast, Germany, where I ultimately applied, was exciting to me and was a place I could tell a good story about: I'd already been making poetry-films independently for several years; Berlin is the world epicenter of poetry-films, with the largest festival dedicated to it and a great institution putting it on every two years; I'd already had a film in that festival and could reach out to them to ask if they might formally "host" me (Fulbright grants are attached to "host institutions" in the foreign country, usually schools, but not always). I'm not saying you MUST have a story, but remember that the people seeing your application are total strangers who (you should assume) don't know you or your work. The more you can justify why they should pick YOU, NOW, for THIS, the better. Once you have some countries in mind, you can narrow down your choice further by looking at country-specific requirements (some require foreign-language fluency you might or might not have; some only host certain kinds of work; etc.) and checking out the stats on acceptance rates (which will give you an idea of your odds—all things being equal, you have a better shot for a country that takes 20% of applicants than 2%).

Residencies

As with MFAs, I would strongly encourage you to find residencies that are fully-funded. They should not charge you money; ideally, they will provide a stipend for food, etc., house you at no cost, and cover your travel expenses. There are many residencies for all kinds of writers and artists all over the world, especially in Western Europe, and a good number in the U.S., too. Some of them simply invite you to send a portfolio and will host you if they like your work, and some ask for more specific project proposals; some are more interdisciplinary than others, too, or more collaborative, or more rural, etc., but they all involve leaving your home and living somewhere else for a while to do your work, which for me is EXTREMELY generative and inspiring. Some major U.S. residencies: MacDowell, Yaddo, Fine Arts Work Center, Djerassi, Millay Colony, etc. Googling multiple names like this at once will often yield lists like THIS ONE from Colorado State, with even MORE names and links. For international stuff, some of my favorite resources are On the Move, Res Artis, and Residency Unlimited. If you are a writer in any genre, I also cannot recommend the Jan Michalski Foundation's residency enough—it was simply one of my favorite places I've ever been and one of my favorite things I've ever done.

I am fortunate not to have many geographically-related obligations (my family lives in another country, I have no dependents) or other restrictions on travel due to jobs, health, national origin, etc. Any of these elements will present additional difficulties in coordinating a residency, but they are still possible—for example, there are residencies specifically for writers with children, for first-generation writers, etc. In general, the younger you are, the freer you may be to travel and do residencies without negatively impacting your family/job stability/etc.; I encourage you to do it while you can, if you can!

When I do a residency, I often: move out or sublet my apartment; get prescriptions (and make any in-person appointments) in advance; buy travel health insurance (if going abroad); cancel my car insurance; cancel my phone service (& usually have to get a new number when I return to the U.S.... there's probably a better way? [ETA: I started paying for a full-time phone number at 28]); hold my mail; recruit friends to water plants as necessary. It is a hassle but if you do it once and are organized, you'll have a nice checklist for the future.

In addition to writing / working on my proposed project at a residency, I like to: read, walk/hike, go for bike rides, explore the area, dance/move, play or compose music, draw or paint, meet people, eat well and try new foods, rest, make photos/videos, and generally take care of myself and make the most of being in a brand-new place with brand-new folks. Residencies are time/space to work but also to refresh your mind, encounter new and unexpected things, and to make friends (or even possible collaborators!) with other residents and locals. Try waking up early, try setting daily/weekly goals as well as a goal for your entire stay, and—my biggest piece of advice—go with the flow and say yes to things in the moment. Things will come up in your work, in your reading, in your conversations, that you were not expecting, and they may lead you in a direction that is different than what you said you'd be doing (in your application) or feel you "should" be doing. Follow these things! They are the whole point.