What is a Submission Artist?
And why I started this Substack
Before I titled this Substack “publication”, I looked up whether there were any good definitions of “submission artist.”
I searched the internet for “submission artists.” I didn’t quite get what I was looking for in the way of definitions.
I tried out other search combinations like “Definition: submission artist,” “What is a submission artist?”
Even then, I could not find anything particularly substantial. I could get separate definitions for “submission” and “artist,” but nothing that got me a “whole is greater than the sum of its parts” kind of definition.
I found a lot of examples of people who were considered submission artists, but no such luck in explaining what one was.
This was a terrible and wonderful thing:
Terrible because it would be a whole lot easier to work with a good, existing definition and build this post from there.
Wonderful, because I would have to rely on myself to define what I believed a submission artist was, why I wanted to become one, and what this Substack would be all about.
When you look at the people who are listed as “submission artists” in mixed martial arts, they are people who are highly proficient at ending their matches by submission: getting the other person to “tap out” (either physically or verbally) and voluntarily surrender.
Personally, I think the concept can be broadened out beyond the cages and mats of combat sports:
I see submission artists as people who are so good at their craft that they make it look easy. They are dominant to the point of artistry in their practice, imposing the craft itself unto their will.
Submission artists are able to take their technical mastery and depth of understanding of their craft to higher ground, to a level in which they are capable of improvisation and of intensely unique expression. They’ve found a way to harness, marry, and harmonize their understanding of craft with a deeply personal understanding of themselves to create something inimitable.
Most importantly, these people could only become submission artists by way of being highly-committed, deliberately-practicing amateurs over a significant timeline. Once at the point of mastery, they manage to use their knowledge of the craft and of themselves to continuously improve and continuously evolve.
I realize this might sound very high-minded, aspirational, and fluffy. I also realize I’m still figuring out my own definition as I am writing about this.
I hope, a year from now, that I might revisit this post, poke a bunch of holes in my current perspective, and come to a clearer one. Until then, you get this recovering literature major’s highly-caffeinated ramble.
Going back to my initial search for definitions, maybe it’s the Internet knowing too much about me, but when I Googled items related to “submission artists,” the results fell into two categories:
Submissions in the martial arts: of getting an opponent to tap out.
Submissions in the creative arts: of assembling a pitch, a piece, or a portfolio of work to some organization in hopes of seeing it published, awarded, recognized or otherwise brought to life.
I found it very fitting, as these were the two things I wanted to bring together in this publication. I wanted a place to write more deeply about what I’ve learned (and continue to learn) about what it takes to become great at the two things I care about—writing and fighting. I wanted to share more stories about the roles that creativity and combat sports (or any intense physical practice, really) play in my life and in that of others.
My writing in other outlets and platforms wasn’t enabling me to do that as much as I wanted them to. When I did this kind of writing, it wasn’t especially shareable among friends or discoverable to people who didn’t know me.
My sincerest hope is that Substack solves for some of that given that it’s a platform focused on writers and readers. I don’t want my best work condensed to a character limit or buried in Instagram caption that only a few people read. I do not want to be at the mercy of an algorithm that prioritizes thirst-trap videos over good words.
I think that was true of a lot of my work in 2021 and 2022—that I put a lot of thought into my words, especially on my sabbatical road trip, but the words in the wrong place or was too shy to share them at all. Because of it, I wasn’t giving myself a great shot at sharing more widely what I felt was worth saying.
In 2023, I hope to change that.
If you know me, you know I am not I’m not currently a submission artist by my own definition (or any other). But it’s what I aspire to be, and is the intention behind this publication.
I want to be submitting my writing to as many places as I possibly can (including here), getting less hung up on the details, avoiding overthinking to the point of inertia, and doing whatever it takes to become the best possible writer I can become.
I want to be submitting people in jiu-jitsu, obviously. There are few things more satisfying that a technically-precise imposition of dominance. I want to cultivate my technical understanding of “the gentle art” that transcends a particular technique and can be applied in my game and my life on and off the mat.
Most of all, I want to be submitting to the process of both arts—creative and martial—not letting my ego get in the way of the spirit of improvement or commitment. Staying true to your values and staying the course in what you care about will make you great at anything you choose—or so I believe.
All the while, I know I will have to submit to life and whatever it demands of me. Life is the biggest challenger of all.
Closing out this first post, my twofold promise is this:
I’ll do my best to write only things worth reading here.
I’ll do my best to do so as often as I can.
I can’t quite tell you what you’ll see in this space on “The Submission Artist”, so I’ll simply tell you to watch it and see—and contribute to the conversation if you can.
Please comment with feedback on what you’d like to see (if anything comes to mind).
Until next time, thanks for joining me and happy, happy new year,
EZ