I have a standing submission date every Friday from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m.
In my old-school paper planner, I use a felt pen in a seasonally appropriate color (orange in October, lilac in April) to draw a box. I write SUBMIT in all caps. If I have an idea of what I want to send or where I want to submit, I make a bullet-pointed list below that instruction, using a separate seasonal color—I have to get my own attention.
Submitting then becomes a ceremony. A ritual.
Writers who want to submit consistently must create and commit to rituals, which isn’t always easy. But the devotion can be gratifying. If you have struggled to set up any kind of submission process for yourself, try what I’ve tried: Incentivize your own ritual for submitting work with something that’s meaningful to you. Include it in your submission process. More than likely, you’ll find yourself feeling good about your ability to avoid procrastination. It’s more than just setting and achieving goals; it's about feeling worthy and putting your work in front of readers.
For me, the incentive is wine. But we’ll uncork that in a minute. First, let’s get set up.
Choose your time
My submission date is once a week. Maybe it’s an hour every Monday morning before the work week takes off. Or the last Wednesday of the month, for the hour that the kids are in karate class. Maybe that’s unreasonable for your schedule, so you commit to once a month. The important thing is to pick a time when you can clear your calendar. Choose the frequency that fits the amount of work you’re trying to push out and the number of opportunities that fly into your inbox every week.
Choose a place
I am a restless sort, which means I’m often in a different place on any given Friday afternoon—sometimes, I might even be in another country. No matter where I am, the most necessary parts of my setup come with me: good pens, my submission spreadsheet, a wine opener, and my favorite water bottle. When I’m home, I’m at my desk in front of a window that could use a wash. I’m gently moving a cat off the computer keyboard. My phone is in another room, and silent. I’m able to sit down, and I lock in on the task at hand: submitting essays, poems, pitches, stories.
The consistency of time and place grounds us in the submission ritual, signaling to our brains and our bodies that it’s time to do this thing again. You might engage in your submission ritual in front of a fire, or on the patio, or at a picnic table in the sun, or from the comfort of your bed. Once you establish your sense of place, tap into what you need to feel so you know it’s time for submitting and only submitting. You’re not writing. You’re not editing. You’re not scrolling. You’re sending in work, and you’re doing it because it’s time.
Choose your totems or symbols
Once you’ve committed to the time and chosen the place, make it special. Light a scented candle. Play a specific sort of music or curate a playlist. Brew a cup of your favorite tea or pour a bowl of your most nostalgic kids’ cereal. Perhaps you’ll wear your lucky hat or say a prayer or sink into a five-minute meditation before you start.
My submission ritual includes a glass of wine.
Wine is special to me. It speaks of place and purpose. It makes me think of ripening fruit. The impact of wind on grapes. Hands in soil. Farming. The balance of sun and shade. I am in awe of the journey from vineyard to glass, and the mysterious alchemy that brings me the wine at my desk as I send my writing out into the world. I love wine the way I love writing, and so I am intentional. I choose carefully what I’ll drink every week while I submit. Making this a serious choice means my work is serious too.
Of course, I don’t recommend the wine ritual if you submit during your lunch hour on Tuesdays in the company break room. It probably won’t work if you commit to submitting every other Thursday at 6 a.m. But if you love wine like I do, and you can imagine it as part of your own ritual, cheers. Here are my favorite pairings.
- For when I’m chill: Beaujolais. If there’s a lot to send out or dozens of great journals and lit mags that are open to work, it’s almost a giddy feeling taking over when I sit down on Friday afternoons. I’m ready. The Beaujolais is light and fruity and does not require overthinking.
- For when I’m sending out poems: Pinot Noir. Lately, I’ve been into Pinots from Tasmania. They’re dark. Evocative. Like my verse.
- For when I’m sending out essays: Creative nonfiction is the love of my writing life, so if I’m focused on memoir essays and excerpts, I’ll drink either a Spanish Albariño for its lemon-zest on the palate and the wild bitterness at the finish, or a Sicilian Nero d’Avola. I swear you can taste the volcanic ash.
- For when I’m submitting fiction. This doesn’t happen a lot. But I do write some flash, and my writing group has been encouraging about a few short stories I finished. Submitting fiction, for me, requires something unusual but accessible. Maybe an orange wine made from Riesling or an ice wine from the Finger Lakes in New York. Surprising, but solid.
- For when I’m celebrating: If I’m basking in the glow of a recent publication, or when my memoir is finally finished and I’m sending out cover letters and synopses, it’s all about bubbles. Champagne isn’t exactly in my budget, but there’s Cava. Or Prosecco. My wine friends are raving about Cremant lately. It’s on my list.
Not a drinker? Many of my favorite authors and writing friends are sober. So, when they want to get in on this ritual with something non-alcoholic, I recommend any of the trendy alcohol-free wines that are now on the market. I like the Saint Viviana Sauvignon Blanc. It’s crisp and zesty. Dry and lively. Zero alcohol and, in my opinion, very writerly.
Wine pairs well with my submission ritual. I encourage you to find yours—and to submit.
Cari Oleskewicz is an American writer who spends most of her time abroad. Her chapbook "Ocala" won the YellowJacket Press Chapbook Competition in 2025. Poems and stories have been included in online and print journals such as Judith Magazine, Taos Journal of Poetry, Grub Street, little somethings press, Thimble Literary Magazine, Mom Egg Review, Literary Orphans, and The Collapsar. She writes about wine, travel, and 55+ housing for various brands, including her own at Sips & Sojourns. Cari was recently an Artist-in-Residence at the Atlantic Center for the Arts in New Smyrna Beach, Florida and at Casa Uno in Atenas, Costa Rica. She is currently at work on a memoir about horses.
