Just when you think you know everything about something, reality rears its head and laughs at you.

I thought I knew everything about writing, editing, and submitting fiction. After about 40 stories published in print around the world, co-editing two anthologies, and writing and editing for a newspaper every day for four years, I had plenty of well-rounded experience.

So I decided to wrestle a major bear in the world of fiction: I’d teach a creative-writing class, despite the standard maxim that those who can write do; those who cannot write teach writing classes. Luckily, I was comfortable with my skills and wanted to help others avoid having to learn the hard way.

The course goals were to help students write stories, edit and re-edit their work, polish it until it gleamed, and ultimately publish them in a local-interest anthology. Even with only four students the first semester, the class was a rousing success. But I needed another semester to have enough stories to constitute an anthology.

Nobody signed up the next semester. And one student decided not to go through the edit-hard and polish-bright stages, which happened over several months following the class. Three stories don’t make an anthology, but I felt a responsibility to publish these three stories—plus, they were all great reads.

But with a fantasy story, a sci-fi tale, and a mainstream piece, there was no obvious common thread to weave them into one anthology. I mulled it over and realized that all three could represent different facets of magic. The fantasy story featured magic spells. The sci-fi tale had technology as magic. The mainstream piece was metaphorical magic. I was onto something, but I needed more stories—and a plan.

First, I briefed the students. I offered to submit a short story of my own, wherein they would act as editors; they had to unanimously accept it, or it wouldn’t go. (I think they enjoyed editing me for a change; they were merciless. For the record, two didn’t like it and one loved it, but all agreed it fit the mix.)

Second, I solicited stories from two well-published colleagues. Although the other stories were excellent, I knew these veterans’ names would lend professional credence to the anthology—and probably help it be successful.

Third, I solicited two more stories from other newcomers. One writer hadn’t been published before. The other had one fiction credit to her name, but, like me, made her living as a newspaper writer.

Layout was the easy part. But I overestimated how quickly people would sign contracts and get changes back to me—and a host of other problems that seemed to come out of nowhere. Murphy’s Law kicked me around soundly during the final stages of this project, when I was hopelessly beyond the outer limits of my knowledge. I often joked that every time I was ready for the next step, gremlins jumped out of the shadows and screamed “Boogah boogah!” I pressed forward, ignoring the ego bruises and dodging frustrations. At that point, I had no choice but to learn on the fly.

The final culmination is Enchantments: The Many Facets of Magic. What began as a local anthology in Bangor, Maine, USA has become a project with a life of its own, published through the print-on-demand (POD) service Lulu.com. Sure, sometimes people who can’t get their dreadful work published anywhere else resort to a POD. But the publishing world is probably moving toward POD, and the fact is, these eight stories aren’t dreadful. I’d worked to ensure that they were polished and streamlined, and the anthology has something in it for everyone.

But I’ve learned along the way—boy, have I learned. The next class will be smoother, with predefined guidelines. For example, I’ll announce the anthology title on Day One and tell the students that their stories must reflect that title in some way. That should alleviate any surprise crunches of having a stack of stories with no obvious genre themes. (I’m a slow learner, but I catch on.)

If you want to write, write. If you’ve honed your craft, don’t hesitate to teach others what you know, even if you have to endure the snickers of your colleagues when you teach a class. And don’t be afraid to learn new things along the way—and you will, trust me. You’ll be stalked by more gremlins than you can imagine.

The next time, I’ll be ready for those gremlins. I’ve certainly learned that I don’t half as much as I think I do. But since I want to know twice as much as I’ll ever know, I’ll never let a little thing like inexperience get in the way.

After all, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

If you’re interested in the anthology, visit www.fitz42.net/magic.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Brewer, Maine, whose 40 short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies in the U.S., U.K., and Canada. By day, he's a Special Sections writer for the Bangor Daily News.
Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.