This is an interesting topic and a wonderful blog
post: “The Benefits of Republishing
Your Work,” written by Kelly Martineau:
One particular thing for which I look, thanks to the advice of poet Denise Calvetti Michaels, is ways to republish or repurpose my essays. Why? Republication naturally occurs for more established writers as their work is reprinted in anthologies, writing guides, and textbooks. However, submitting for republication is great strategy for writers early in their career with a small body of finished work because it enables you to leverage that work for maximum outcome. Not only will you gain a publication credit and exposure to new readers, you may also garner payment, an award, or a unique benefit like a reading, a meeting with an editor, or participation in a juried workshop.
I’m not just making admiring sounds because my online journal Redux
is mentioned in the piece as a place that accepts (exclusively) previously
published literary work (open reading period coming this summer!), nor because I’m quoted in Kelly’s post…but because she’s absolutely right: Try to
maximize the ripples of your wonderful work! Don’t just assume that once it’s
published it can never see the light of day! I’m also thinking of blog posts
about more universal topics, that might be repurposed as republished (though
you must be upfront that the piece first appeared on a blog).
Read the rest for a list of places that will consider
previously published pieces: http://kellymartineau.com/2015/04/29/the-benefits-of-republishing/
And here is Kelly’s stunning essay “Bounty and Burden,” that
appeared first in Quiddity, and then in
Redux (which, I believe, means this is
a repurposed republishing of a republished piece, or something like that,
haha), and which may be on its way to somewhere else!
Excerpt:
HungerIn those days, when my parents were still married and we lived in the white colonial on a tree-lined street, I began curling my shoulders forward, wrapping my body so that my chest sagged and became a hollow. Once, when I was four, I wore a candy necklace—an elastic round punctuated by pastel beads that I could crack with my baby teeth. My father’s best friend bought the necklace at the grocery when he and my father escaped from their wives long enough to buy more beer on a muggy Saturday afternoon. Long after the candy was gone, the adults still emptied the cans….
