More often than not, to get published; you’d need an agent unless the magazine is freelance or even self-publishing your own work outside of things like NaNoWriMo.
However: Do not lose hope, my friend.
Here are some links from various writing blogs on being published professionally (as well as a link a few links to self publishing sites; trust me, all these links I’m giving you are extremely important):
My advice and words of encouragement: MAKE SURE YOU RESEARCH! Always weigh your pros and cons with anything you do. You may find you’ll do better with self publishing than being professionally published. Or you might find an agent and publisher that has your best interest.
No matter what, always remember: it’s your baby that’s being put out. And be proud that you created something from your own head and through your vision for others to read!
Good luck, my friend! And I wish you the best!
Charles twists the valve on the top of the tank with a soft hiss, turning it all the way open before giving it one half-turn back. He leans down to check the pressure gauge clipped to his buoyancy control device, watching as the little red arm swings all the way over to 3200 psi. He grabs the main regulator, clearing it a couple times in two harsh bursts of air, testing to make sure there are no leaks in the hose, and grabs the BCD inflator and gives that a couple presses as well, filling the jacket’s air pockets a third of the way.
It’s a beautiful day, the air warm and salty, the breeze only blowing at five knots out of the southeast, making the red and white dive flag flap softly overhead. The water is crystal clear and pool blue, almost neon where white sand covers the bottom and turquoise where the reef begins, small silver flashes indicating the presence of fish. Here and there on the surface orange clumps of sargasso float past on the current, and Charles makes a mental note to scoop some up in a net to dump in a bucket before they leave, if only because it’s fun to examine the tiny shrimps and fishes, and if they’re lucky, a seahorse or two, that live amongst the spindly stalks and leaves.
The boat bobs gently up and down, riding the short swells of waves and unbalancing him a little as he struggles into his wetsuit, the fabric dragging against his legs as he yanks it up. It won’t be any easier getting it off later after the dive—if anything, it’ll cling more once it’s wet. He overcompensates and has to catch himself on the edge of the boat’s gunwale with a yelp, grabbing onto his tank too before he knocks it over.
It can be argued that everything about scuba diving is a struggle, but in the end the hassle is more than worth it.