I got published (and I think you can too)
An essay about a unibrow, a kill fee I welcomed with open arms, and lessons from both sides of the coin
Before the start of this year, I had no idea how anyone got an essay, article, or other piece of writing published. I assumed most authors were on contract or had relationships with magazines or were just already known in the world, and that you needed to have a breadth of writing and connections to even be considered for a byline.
“What’s the LinkedIn for writers?” I remember asking Google. Nothing came up. I assumed that there was some secret, underground network of freelance writers, only accessible when you’ve had a number of bylines featured in various big-named publications. But I couldn’t tell you for sure. Right place, right time, maybe? A parent who works for the New York Times? It felt like a big mystery, and all I had were guesses.
I am sure that can be the truth, and is how some people end up getting published. But I quickly learned it doesn’t have to be.
Because yes, I got published. My essay I Forget I Have a Unibrow Until It’s Too Late was featured in Motley Bloom, a publication focused on sharing Neurodivergent stories and experiences. It was an essay I was really excited to write, and I feel like it landed in the right hands.
I learned a lot throughout this process, and while I do think the idea I pitched is a good one, I also think most writers are capable of having their work published. While I don’t want to take any credit away from me and my work, I also think I got lucky. I stumbled upon a publication and topic that felt really aligned with a story I wanted to tell, and I found it early on in my pitching journey.
But how did I even get here? How did I find myself with a “pitching journey” to begin with?
Here’s what I learned. Magazines, newspapers, and other publications (both in print and online) will share ‘pitch calls’ — details about what type of essays or writing they’re looking for, what perspectives they want to publish, and any other relevant details.
If you’re hoping there’s a reputable pitching ‘network,’ or job board that is universally accepted and used amongst this population, where publications enter their pitches and writers read through them, you’re (and I was) sorely mistaken.
I then found myself having a coffee chat with someone who did have work published and I asked about how they did it. Did they have a friend in publishing? An agent? A secret society?
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Instead, she recommended a few places1 that publish open pitch calls and other writing opportunities. I followed a few, and after browsing a bunch of pitch calls published all over the internet, I finally started to understand how this all works.
As I mentioned, pitch calls aren’t published in a central location or familiar job board, but rather editors and other representatives of publications will post their own pitch call on their favorite social media — I see a lot on Twitter, some on BlueSky, and a few on Threads and LinkedIn.
Sometimes, you’re asked to follow a link and fill out a form, sometimes it’s a blind email to a specific inbox with a specific subject line.
They all ask for slightly different information, but for the most part, publications want you to share a brief blurb about your idea, an estimated word count, and some sample works.
For this particular essay, which ended up being about a unibrow, I answered a pitch call that originated on LinkedIn. The pitch asked for stories about how neurodivergent traits intersect with self-care and beauty. I looked down at my keyboard and glanced at my picked-at cuticles and started writing a pitch about a lifelong nailbiting habit.
My pitch wasn’t quite landing (I didn’t really know how to write a pitch, after all), but I knew I could tell a story about something. I took a break, went to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror while washing my hands.
Jeez, I thought. I need to pluck my eyebrows. How’d I miss that again? But instead of running to grab my tweezers, I ran back to my computer, deleted everything I’d written so far, and started writing.
I continued to pitch other articles after I sent this off, keeping them in a folder in my inbox to reference. I thought to myself, if I get an email acknowledging my pitch and it’s a rejection, that’ll be a win. That means an editor read my idea.
A month after I submitted this pitch to Motley Bloom, I received a response, while giving my son a bath — they liked my idea and wanted to commission an essay for an upcoming publication. I spent the next 40 minutes crafting my response in my head, and finally, after I put my son to bed, was able to fire off my enthusiastic “YES”.
This pitch was the third I’d sent out, the first accepted, and after the experience, I can wholeheartedly say I’d do it again.
But this pitch wasn’t the only one that was accepted.
Less than 24 hours after my unibrow idea was commissioned, I received another answer to a pitch I’d sent — this time, from a smaller zine, liking one of the two ideas I sent in and also wanting to commission and publish it in an upcoming issue.
I found myself working on two pieces at once. I turned in the unibrow essay first and worked closely with the editor — shoutout to Lauren — who was thoughtful, collaborative, and always kept my voice intact. It was one of the best first editing experiences I could’ve asked for.
After a few rounds of edits, we landed on something we mutually felt great about, I sent the publication an invoice, and a week later, my byline was up on their site.
The second piece took longer. We went through a few rounds of edits, and as time passed, I started to feel like the version we were shaping wasn’t quite what I had pitched. Still, I trusted the process and kept revising, even though I had a few moments where I wanted to gracefully bow out and reclaim my time and voice.
Then, after sending back a tighter, shorter draft, an email came through my inbox a few days later. Due to increasing costs in the printing world, this particular issue was going to need to be shorter than they expected, and my piece was cut. They offered (and paid) a full kill fee, which was unexpected and generous.
Reading that email, I was honestly relieved. I wasn’t terribly happy with the last draft I’d sent — deviating from my initial thesis and much shorter than we’d originally thought (again, due to space constraints). I was proud for showing up and trusting the process, and in this case, it actually (and literally) paid off.
Getting published still feels like a huge deal. Every now and then, I’ll visit my unibrow essay just to take a peek at it and my byline, making sure they’re both doing well in their new home.
Getting cut also feels important. I’m grateful that my idea was enough to take a chance on — that’s an achievement in itself. And I think it was a great lesson for me to learn.
In a weird way, both taught me the same thing — pitching and getting published is all about telling the stories I want to tell and finding the right home for them. At the end of the day, they’re still my stories. Stories that I’m choosing to send elsewhere.
You don’t need a platform, a parent in publishing, or even a perfectly polished pitch to send your stories off. In my experience. I found that having something you care about, a willingness to share it, and a good home is what’s most important.
More often than not, it’ll end in an unanswered email. Sometimes those unanswered emails stick out in your mind, and become essays you want to write anyway and so the pitch served its purpose — almost like a writing prompt to get the idea off the ground, even if you just publish the essays on your own Substack2.
But sometimes, an email will get answered, and the story could end in a byline. Or a kill fee. Or, in my case, both.
I’m still early in all of this, but reading through pitch calls is something that I’ve built into my routine. It’s fun to browse them and dream up what I could write about a particular topic. I’ve also learned a lot from the ones I decide not to respond to. Having an idea and having an idea I’m excited about really are two different things.
And if you’re wondering whether it’s something you could do — I really think you could.
The ones I currently use most frequently are
and — I recommend them both.
LOVE this. This is so informative and insightful, congrats on the publication! Running to read it now 🏃♀️
Go Julie! I love this - and big congrats to you. You're doing the thing! ❤️