I wrote this essay on a lot of drugs

On pursuing joy and pitching Shondaland

This is part of a monthly series called Path to Publication.

In it, I will unpack the story behind my stories. These reflections are part process, part strategy.

There will be clear takeaways for your own creative work. I will include sample pitches, along with editors’ names and rates (at the time my published pieces went live). I’m sharing the intel I’ve gathered in the hope that it can help you place your own work.

At the beginning of 2022, I had, essentially, zero bylines. Since then (in the span of two years), I’ve published nearly 50 short essays. It’s not like I became particularly prolific. I’ve always been a writer. I just became serious about learning the tips and tricks for placing a piece in a popular outlet. And that’s what I’m looking forward to sharing with you.

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It was the beginning of spring break from my teaching job. I was at a Mexican restaurant ordering burrito bowls with my sons when I got the email from Derrik Lang, the lifestyle editor at Shondaland.

“Hi again Anna. I’d like to commission this one from you. I can do a rate of $600 …”

I nearly jumped out of my seat. I’d never been paid that much to write in my entire life. All of my pitching (you’ll notice he said, “hi again” — I’d been trying to break into Shondaland for some time) finally paid off.

He gave me a deadline (a reasonable one, several weeks away) and a word count of between 1,000-1,500 words. Now I knew how I’d be spending my holiday — and I was thrilled. I cleared my throat and continued to eat dinner with my kids.

Photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash

The next day, our whole family woke up complaining of sore throats. Then we developed fevers. We visited an urgent care, took some tests, and were all diagnosed with strep.

Easy, I thought. We’ll get antibiotics and start feeling better after a day.

And for my sons, this was true. But for me, the infection lingered. I began feeling dizzy. I had difficulty swallowing and breathing.

After about a week of this, I woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. It felt like someone had their hands around my neck and was squeezing it tight. I drove myself to the ER. After some tests, I learned I’d developed a cyst right at the opening of my airway. Epiglottitis. Very rare. The way (I learned after a quick Google search) George Washington had died. The survival rate (this same search told me) was 95%.

Which meant there was a 5% chance I could die.

I was rushed to surgery and intubated within half an hour.

Just before I was intubated, I had many thoughts (will I live to raise my sons? Will my husband try to publish my book if I die? Does my life have meaning? I need to email my boss to get someone to cover my committee work).

Then, I had another one: what if I miss my deadline for Shondaland?

Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash

I made it, as you can see. And I made my deadline, too. But I wrote the essay under the influence of a lot of medication. I had hallucinations after surgery, beautiful ones. I saw Miss Piggy in the sky, the Olsen twins, my not-yet-conceived daughter standing by the shore, waving at me.

And this was the mental state I was in as I wrote an essay about playing piano (badly) to heal from perfectionism.

Prior to pitching Shondaland, my friend Kim Kelly Stamp had graciously shared some tips and the pitch that helped her place this beautiful piece.

I’d also purchased Derrik Lang’s session with UPOD Academy, and I listened to it while driving my sons to soccer practice.

Here were some takeaways that helped me land a piece in Shondaland. They are not interested in trauma narratives unless those narratives focus on how something bad helped you, ultimately, pursue joy.

Photo by Storiès on Unsplash

They also wanted pitches, not full essays. This meant that I needed to give a sample of my writing in the email itself.

A full pitch usually includes several components: an attention-grabbing intro that shows off your style, the piece’s argument, a headline, and answers to the questions why you, why now, and why them.

Here’s the pitch that I sent:

Dear Derrik Lang,

I hope you're well! I love Shondaland. I was so grateful for the recent session you gave for UPOD Academy. I hope you'll consider my 1,000-word Lifestyle essay tentatively titled, "Playing piano (badly) relieved me of perfectionism." In this essay, I will argue that finding a hobby that I enjoyed and was bad at was critical for my mental health. 

Just before the pandemic began, my baby was admitted to the ICU for a two-week stay. Following his discharge, I became convinced that his life was contingent upon my perfect behavior. I dealt with intrusive thoughts about his near-death experience. To manage my mental health, I found an outlet that helped me achieve a flow state. 

While running and writing were also immersive hobbies for me, they were part of my identity -- I considered myself adept at them, and I often found myself judging the outcome and process. 

I was terrible at piano, though! I had no aspirations of greatness. Because of this, it became my primary relief from perfectionism. 

My creative work has appeared in the New York Times, Slate, Salon, Electric Literature, NBCNews THINK, HuffPost Personal, Newsweek, Insider, and other outlets. I am a faculty member in the English department at Marshall University, and I live in Huntington, West Virginia with my husband and two young sons.

Thank you for your time and consideration of my work. I look forward to hearing from you.

So, I wrote this essay about finding joy after medical trauma while I was contending with new medical trauma. I wrote the essay exhausted and euphoric. When I finally finished (closer to the deadline than I felt comfortable with — I’m not someone who waits until the last minute for work-related tasks), I wasn’t sure if it was wonderful or awful. I was still not healthy, and I was still on a lot of drugs.

The piece went live two months later: Playing Piano (Badly) Relieved Me of Perfectionism

Photo by David Pisnoy on Unsplash

I was so grateful (and relieved!) to receive a message from Derrik telling me that it was just the sort of essay he wanted to publish more of at Shondaland. He noted he liked that it didn’t feature sex or death, for what it’s worth.

And that summer, I went on to write two more pieces for the publication (one on the Olsen twins and another on closing my eyes for 20 minutes each day).

So, ask me in the comments: what questions do you have about my experiences writing for Shondaland?