From Polished to Published: the editor's side

I was originally going to write an emotionally meaningful post tonight, but I did my ecology volunteering this morning, so I've been up since 4:45 a.m. And my family is in town. So emotional post next time, polishing post tonight.

I haven't had a ton of story publications, but I have been reading slush for a professional fiction market for... um... six years now. As such, I'm bringing all my tips from that angle.

(Since the category is polished, I'm going to assume you've proofread. Don't be that writer with the otherwise awesome story with a typo in their very first paragraph. This actually happened this month, and almost every slush reader mentioned that in their comment. It's not the kind of thing that really makes a difference between publishing and not... but it looks bad.)

1. Read the guidelines, and follow them. It seems like I shouldn't have to say this. And yet, there are a startling number of people who don't do it. I know some of it is accidental, such as uploading the wrong file. And sometimes you're uploading the story at 10 pm at night when the baby has been screaming all day long because she's teething, and you can't remember your own name, let alone how many words your story is. Unfortunately, that situation is impossible to see from my end, and we see so many blatant disregards of our rules. I think it feels to me like a lack of respect. If you don't respect us enough to follow your guidelines, why should we give you the respect of paying you professional rates for your story?


2. Be professional in your demeanor. Writing is art. Publishing is art with a side of business. It ends up sometimes as this messy collision between insecure artists (aren't we all?) and people trying to make enough money to keep their publication afloat so they can keep publishing good stories. It astonishes me the number of people who put down their work, or who try to make jokes in their cover letters, or who say "this is something I wrote in an hour last weekend." I don't even know what that last one means; does it mean you haven't proofread it yet? Is the worth of a story really determined by the amount of time it took you to write? Just pretend your story is going out on a job interview. You wouldn't make jokes or insult yourself in a job interview, so don't do it in a cover letter for your story.



Those two will get you consideration without being kicked out. But actually getting published? That's much tougher to pin down. Some of the biggest mistakes I see, especially for us, is stories that are the wrong size for their current word count, either too large or two small. And every story needs a beginning, middle, and end. It makes a difference.

There is one thing that seems to matter more than the others, so I'll quote a previous post by an authority on the subject*:

3. Don't worry about trends. Write what matters to you. It's hard to set hard and firm rules about what stories or trends I hate. Because every time I do so, someone comes along with an exception to the rule, and I have to shut my mouth all over again. Sheer originality is a good thing too, but an old idea well-told can be a glorious thing.
The real kicker is a good tale combined with good emotion. One of my slushers has been complaining lately about the number of stories featuring difficult situations faced by wide-eyed children. It's something we see often – where the writer has gone for the biggest emotional punch possible. Sort of like, "It'd be sad if the main character had cancer, but it would be EVEN SADDER if he got the cancer while rescuing puppies from communists!" (You see this type of thing in anime all the time too – all the characters have to have a horrifically tragic backstory). The instinct is understandable. Emotion is what attaches us to the stories we read. However, I'm beginning to think that it's not the amount of the emotion that matters. Rather, it's the truth of that emotion, and how well the writer projects it.


Hopefully those thoughts are of use to at least some of you! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sleep for hours and hours and hours.





*Me, from a few months back ;)

Secret Writing Weapons - Sabrina

When we decided on the topic of our secret weapons as writers, my first instinct was to go for the Ten Things brainstorming tip. But I've blogged about that before, so I can hardly consider it a secret weapon at this point. And just last week I blogged about the magic of ordinary things, and unusual places. 

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons license, and user DarkDay on Flickr.

So the writing weapon I'm going to discuss today is... publishing. No, not getting my stories published (though that's pretty helpful all on its own!), but being on the other side of the writer/publisher fence. See, I'm one of those writers who has constant confidence issues. Rejections used to be crushing, because I felt like a rejection of my story was a rejection of me, because I'd put my whole heart into the story. I felt that the publisher had both hated the story like nothing they'd hated before, and that clearly they were just missing how wonderful it was.

What working for a magazine has given me oodles of perspective. I think we as writers do ourselves a disservice when we divide publishers and writers into us and them, because it lets us relax and become complacent rather than challenging our own writing and constantly improving. 

Another thing publishing has taught me is how to critically evaluate a story. Yeah, high school sort of did that too, but those classes were less about quality and more about metaphor and symbolism. The constant dissection of why a story works or doesn't - and why a story works for me and not someone else - has been extraordinarily edifying and useful for me. That's also helped soften the sting of my own stories being rejected. Sometimes, a story just really isn't right for a publication. It doesn't mean it's a bad story - not always, anyway. 

I'm not sure how helpful this tip will be for others; I know editing and slushing isn't right for everyone. It certainly has its soul-crushing moments. But it's taught me far more than it's taken away, and it's been invaluable to me.

Learning through Editing

I don't remember exactly why I joined Hatrack. I think it was because I had a story to send out, and I had the vague impression that I should get feedback on it in order to help myself get published. And I picked Hatrack because Orson Scott Card ('nuff said). But that turned out to be the single smartest decision I made for my development as a writer, because it introduced me to a wonderful community of writers – and because it taught me how much you can learn by editing/reading someone else's work.

Specifically, though, I want to talk about the type of editing that puts me on the other side of the writer/publisher relationship – my time as a Managing Editor at Flash Fiction Online. It constantly amazes me how much I learn from reading, and from the discussions our staff has about what stories to publish. That time – known as winnowing – is everyone's favorite. We argue. We cajole. We learn how to present detailed arguments to support why a story should be published.

And so, here are some of the main things I've learned from being an editor. None of these are particularly mind-blowing. So maybe I should say, here are some of the common pieces of advice that editing has helped me to understand the rationale behind them.

1. Pretty words are not a story

This is the newest, and one of the hardest things I've had to learn. Some of my favorite books (Heart of Darkness, The Last Unicorn, everything by Patricia McKillip) have gorgeous, lyrical prose. But increasingly I find myself frustrated at the word salad I have to slog through in order to get to the heart of a story. I still love imagery and pretty language, but sometimes I wish people would put away the thesaurus and tell the story in simple, plain terms.

In my own writing, I'm still trying to figure out the line. I don't think I'm going to stop using imagery, but I'm certainly going to be more ruthless about how much I let myself keep in the final drafts.

2. Emotional honesty is a rare and precious thing

One of my slushers has been complaining lately about the number of stories featuring difficult situations faced by wide-eyed children. It's something we see often – where the writer has gone for the biggest emotional punch possible. Sort of like, "It'd be sad if the main character had cancer, but it would be EVEN SADDER if he got the cancer while rescuing puppies from communists!" (You see this type of thing in anime all the time too – all the characters have to have a horrifically tragic backstory). The instinct is understandable. Emotion is what attaches us to the stories we read. However, I'm beginning to think that it's not the amount of the emotion that matters. Rather, it's the truth of that emotion, and how well the writer projects it.

This one is harder to apply to my own writing. As it is, I worry I have something of a tendency toward melodrama. I think it also has to do with the delicate balance between showing, and making sure the emotion comes across.

3. There are no new ideas – and that's okay

We see patterns of stories. Sometimes it's more obvious where they come from – I think it was about a year ago that someone must have had a Red Riding Hood anthology. I got very tired of those stories quickly. There are other phases that have less obvious of a rationale. I'm very glad we are out of the 'Husband randomly kills nagging wife' or vice-versa phase. Right now, serial killers are more popular than ever. And don't talk to me about second person POV.

The problem is, it's hard to set hard and firm rules about what stories or trends I hate. Because every time I do so, someone comes along with an exception to the rule, and I have to shut my mouth all over again. In my opinion, what separates out the good stories from the thousands of similar ones is connected to #2: emotional honesty. Sheer originality is a good thing too, but an old idea well-told can be a glorious thing.

This is the easiest one to follow: write what you want, as long as you believe in it.

Slush reading, long form

I’ve already told you about how much I love Kickstarter, the crowdfunding platform that allows independent writers, designers, artists, chefs (and the occasional film star) to fund passion projects. I really need to do a better job of keeping up with the publishing area of Kickstarter, because there are a lot of authors and publishers putting out really awesome projects (whether or not crowdfunding is the best route to publication is a whole other question we won’t talk about tonight).

Almost a year ago now (how time flies!), I noticed that editor Mike Allen had put up a campaign to fund his next Clockwork Phoenix anthology. I have wanted to be published in Clockwork Phoenix for ages, ever since I heard that Tannith Lee always contributes, and especially after I read the description of the anthology on Duotrope:

“Clockwork Phoenix is a home for stories that sidestep expectations in beautiful and unsettling ways, that surprise with their settings and startle with the ways they cross genre boundaries, that aren't afraid to experiment with storytelling techniques. But experimentation is not a requirement: the stories in the anthology must be more than gimmicks, and should appeal to genuine emotions, suspense, fear, sorrow, delight, wonder… bring something new and genuine to the equation, whether it's a touch of literary erudition, playful whimsy, extravagant style, or mind-blowing philosophical speculation and insight. Though stories can be set in this world, settings at least a hair or more askew are preferred. I hope to see prose that is poetic but not opaque. I hope to see stories that will lead the reader into unfamiliar territory, there to find shock and delight.”

 That’s the kind of thing I want to write! But alas, nothing I had written at the time was right for the anthology. I went ahead and pledged to the Kickstarter anyway, so I could read the new volume when it came out. The campaign got over twice its goal, and every so often, we as the bakers would receive updates about the project.

And then came one email with the casual line, “And I’m going to need to find from slush readers.”

I immediately perked up at that. I’m a slush reader. I know how to slush. But I’ve only ever read stories 1,000 words or shorter, and I’d always wanted to read longer stories, but I certainly didn’t want to commit to reading for two magazines full-time. An anthology with a limited submission period, however……

I sent Mike an email, and amazingly enough, he told me he’d be happy to have me as one of two slush readers.

It was really, really, really fun. The setup was very different to what I’m used to at FFO. I did decline to read any flash-length stories to avoid conflict of interest. And, of course, I learned a few things along the way.

1) There IS such at thing as spending too much time on the computer

This might seem blindingly obvious. However, I’m a homebody and am computer-oriented by nature. I write scientific documents for work. When I get home, I surf the internet, and later at night I read FFO slush on the computer, and try to work on my writing as much as possible.

In general, I should probably spend more time in the fresh air (that’s what gardening is for!) but I’ve never actually dreaded picking up the laptop before.  It was very odd, given all the above activities that I do on the internet on a constant basis.  Luckily, I have since recovered (let’s never fight again, laptop!”

2) Slush really is the same, regardless of story length.

 I always had this vague idea in my head that reading longer stories would be somehow different than reading flash-length fiction. It really wasn’t. I don’t even recall being annoyed by how long some stories were – it was pretty easy to tell right away which stories were quality and which were not appropriate for the magazine, or were not up to the quality standards of the anthology.

3) But the stories were very different

The one thing about flash is that it's not a length that works well for everyone. Neither is short story length, to be fair (I personally favor novelette length in my writing), but the field of people who can accomplish short story form is much broader. Plus, this project is proof positive that a cool anthology attracts cool stories. There wasn't room in the anthology for all of them, alas, but it was inspiring to read so much good fiction. For example, see "The Bees Her Heart, The Hive Her Belly" by Benjanun Sriduangkaew, one of the stories that did make it into the anthology, which features gorgeous prose and fantastic worldbuilding.

Clockwork Phoenix will be available for purchase in July, and is now available for pre-order at www.clockworkphoenix.com. Reviews are here, here and here.  And if you like what you've read about Mike's projects, he has a new Kickstarter for a short fiction magazine called Mythic Delirium. Check it out!

Guest Proser Suzanne Vincent on Flash Fiction

I'm excited to introduce my guest proser this week. Her name is Suzanne Vincent, and she is the editor-in-chief of FFO, which you'll learn all sorts of cool things about momentarily. That's all she wanted me to say about her originally, but I sweet talked her into divulging a few more fun facts:

• I recently took the leap from crochet to knitting.  Knitting is WAY harder.
• I have three children and a fabulous hubby.  
• I homeschool--two high school graduates getting on with their lives and one still plugging away.
• At one time we had pets  in each of the five classes of vertebrates (all at once, mind you)--snakes,
   rogs, birds, fish, and various mammals.  Thankfully we're down to just birds and mammals now.
• We have more instruments than people in the house--4 times as many, actually.  I play in a little traditional Celtic music band with my two oldest kids and a few friends.  I play Bodhran, Mandolin, and vocals.

Thank you, Suzanne, for being my guest blogger this week! ~Melanie

I found this cute picture while searching
for a picture of knitting.  Plus, alpacas are
mammals. This photo is relevant in SO many ways.

Considering what I do, I thought it most appropriate to make an attempt at waxing philosophic about flash fiction.

Ten years ago who had heard of this thing called flash fiction?  No one.  Certainly not Robert Jordan of The Wheel of Time fame. But it’s been around as long as people have been writing things down.  Think ‘Aesop.’  Think ‘fables.’  Think ‘fairy tales’ and ‘legends.’

And from those beginnings we have a new and exciting prose form that many dabble in but few understand.  Why is that?  For starters, no one has established any hard and fast do’s and don’t’s for the form.  You can’t go to a book or website and have a neatly bulleted list of flash rules.

A flash...

Haiku?  Easy.  5-7-5.  (No, I don’t want to hear any poetry buffs rebuff that statement, because, yes, I know that Haiku has many different forms, 5-7-5 simply being the most commonly taught in public schools.)

Flash?  Not so easy.

Definitions of the form vary widely.  Stories with fewer than 1500 words, 1000 words, 500, 300, 100.  Stories of exactly so-and-so many words.  It might be called instant fiction, sudden fiction, immediate fiction, 5-minute fiction, short-short fiction, micro-fiction, all of which are correct, or not.

Confused? 

You should be.

But it’s not as bad as it once was.  After 4 years editing flash fiction, I’ve noticed a gradual settling of exactly what the form is, and I suspect Flash Fiction Online has had a role in that. 

For Flash Fiction Online’s purposes, flash fiction is a complete story of at least 500 words, but no more than 1000.  Why?  It’s all about money really.  Isn’t everything?  We pay $50 per story.  In order to qualify as a Science Fiction Writers of America pro-pay market, we have to pay a minimum of 5 cents per word, meaning a maximum of 1000 words.  But we also don’t want to overpay.  So we have this little narrow window that pays as little as 5c per word, but as much as 10c per word, depending on the length of the story.

In general, however, the form is most frequently defined as stories of 1000 words or fewer, with several popular sub-forms.  Microfiction, for example, is most frequently used for stories of 100 words or fewer, or stories of exactly 50 words.  Even exactly 69 words.  (Don’t ask me where that sub-form came from.  I don’t know, and I suspect it’s better that way.)

And the structure of flash fiction?  That depends on who you talk to as well.

But, for most, flash fiction is a complete story in short-short form, differentiating it from the vignette, which is something like a story in that there are usually/but not always characters/narrators doing/talking about something, but generally without plot development.  Naval-gazing we fondly call it. 

In terms of genre, flash fiction has no limits.  I’ve seen it all. Well, almost.  I have yet to read a flash Western.  The rest?  Done it.  Even, much to my chagrin, erotica and gore, and WAY too many romantic vampire stories, usually within weeks of the release of each Twilight book/movie.  One more reason to detest Stephanie Meyer.

So why is flash fiction relevant?  Good question! 

First, flash is growing in popularity due to an ever more frantic world.  I have one young friend—a student, writer, and avid reader—who rarely reads novels anymore.  She doesn’t have the time to allow herself that kind of immersion.  But she can read a flash story in five minutes while waiting for her bus.  Others read it because they simply lack the attention span for longer stories.  Flash readers are young and busy and the literature of the 21^st century will inevitably evolve—is evolving—to reflect that.

Second, flash is rightfully touted as a writing lesson in 1000 words.  Longtime flash fiction fan, supporter, and founder of Liberty Hall Writers flash fiction challenge, Mike Munsil, began the challenge for two reasons: first, to motivate writers to craft a submission-ready story in a short period of time; second, to give writers a venue to learn better writing technique from this unique form.

Flash fiction, above all else, teaches economy in writing.  It teaches the writer to use every single word wisely.  That’s a lesson that’s useful not just to short story writers, but to novelists as well.  Managing the length of a story has more to do with manipulating the number and complexity of characters, settings, conflicts, etc., rather than filling space with words.  Being aware of every word used to write a story, no matter the length, is, in my humble opinion, the highest form of literary skill.  In flash there is no time for lengthy descriptions, just effective ones.

Third, as mentioned above, flash gives writers the opportunity to have stories out there in the market with a minimum of work.  We always want our stories circulating the slushpiles—and the more the better.  A stable full of stories wandering from one venue to another, seeking a home, adding publishing credits to our resumes, establishing name recognition and respect and a network of fellow writers.  A flash story can be written—from idea to finished, edited story—in a few hours.  Mike Munsil’s flash challenge gives members 90 minutes to get the story on the page.  Editing comes later.  Through Mike’s site, thousands of stories have been written, hundreds published, many more developed into longer stories.

The real trick to writing flash fiction, though, is not being fooled into believing that writing a shorter story is easier than writing a longer one.  Mark Twain once said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”  There is much wisdom in that. 

What does that say about Robert Jordan? 

What does it say about me? 

Maybe I should take a writing vacation and restart that epic fantasy trilogy…

And, by the way, this blog post?  1000 words.  Exactly.

*sigh* 

I just can’t get away from it.

P.S. This is Melanie again. Liberty Hall is a members only writing group. If you are interested in joining, you can find membership request information here.

In defense of dark fiction

I started this series out of a sense of frustration. There were all these stories that were lovely, and dark, and haunting, and I couldn’t articulate very well why it was that I liked them. So I wrote about a whole variety of topics connected to the issue, all avoiding the main and most important question: why do I like dark fiction? And finally, as I first started to really think about this post, I came to a conclusion: that’s kind of a silly question.

If you follow the question all the way back to the start, it becomes way too broad. Why do we like anything? Is it indeed personality based? Life experience? What we read as kids? The alignment of the first full moon after the third Columbus Day after your birth? Maybe all, and maybe none.

Getting into the specifics isn't very helpful either. Maybe it's because I read some dark fiction as a child. Or maybe it's because of a wide variety of personal reasons - much to personal for the internet to read. 

In examining those broad and narrow reasons as to why I like what I like, I came across a more important question: why am I even writing this series? For one, I did just want to write about what I loved, and I wanted to explore my own interests. But perhaps there was another reason: I wanted to convince other people that they should be liking dark fiction more.

And that is the truly silly idea here.  Reading about why someone loves something is fun. Reading someone trying to convince you what to like is annoying. 

And so, why do I like dark fiction? Alas, I have to go with the same answer I gave at the beginning: because I do. Because I appreciate any story that can evoke emotion in me (sorrow is actually easier to evoke than joy, in my opinion). And because even dark fiction can be beautiful, in its own way.

To finish this series, I’ll share a few more of my favorite dark stories we published at FFO, because good stories speak for themselves. These are the truly dark ones, by the way, not to be read unless you’re willing to be more than a bit depressed.

Normalized Death, by Sue Burke 

I take a few steps into the room. Everyone said the hospice had a wonderful staff and a pleasant, normal setting because death is normal, completely normal. The reception area looks like a living room, with soft green sofas and house plants on the windowsill, decorated a with few small American flags. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July.

Hungry, by Tree Riesner

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. That’s what they keep saying while they pour each other drinks. They’re the grown-ups and they should know. But they say everybody at your new school really likes you, they’re just teasing the new kid, when you know everybody hates you to hell and it won’t ever stop until you’re dead.

Blood Willows, by Caroline M. Yoachim
The bleached-white cottonbones stretched up into the clouds. Scattered among them were the smaller blood willows, with branches sagging down to the ground instead of reaching to the sky. Bright red blossoms dotted the branches like a troupe of ladybugs.

“Will Mommy bloom too?” Natasha asked, noticing the flowers.

“We’ll see,” he answered.

When do sad endings work?

When I started this series, I got briefly distracted by talking about dark themes in fiction rather than what I’d originally intended to talk about: stories that are dark and depressing through and through, sad endings and all. For a lot of people, that sad ending is a deal breaker. I’m saving why it works for me to next week (partly because I’m still figuring it out). But for this week, I want to talk about when those sad endings can work.

There is an inherent difficulty in talking about endings in that it guarantees spoilers for those not familiar with the material. To at least minimize the spoilers, I’m discussing things that have been published/released more than ten years ago (except for the Flash Fiction Online stuff, but I’m not sure how much you all read the ‘zine anyway). Feel free to avoid this entirely if you don’t like any spoilers. I won’t be offended.

  

It’s not done for cheap emotional reasons

Of course, not all sad endings work for me. There are the ones that just seem to be done to provoke emotion in the reader. To prove a point, maybe. Like the theme of Cold Mountain, which is “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Okay, that’s great. I even agree with it. But by making that the theme of the story, it cheapens the hero’s journey. He went through all of that hardship, all of that struggle to reach his girl, just to get killed off. It seemed less like a natural outgrowth of the plot and more of the author twisting the story to get his point across. And speaking of twists…

It’s not a random twist ending

I can’t recall any examples of this at the moment. Perhaps because it’s something I mainly see in slush. You know, everything’s going hunky dory, the main character is suddenly struggling toward some goal, and then WHAM, car accident. Or serial killer, zombies, dragons, robots, sudden and inexplicable desire for suicide (not making that last one up). If you want to do a twist ending right, see MaryAnn’s excellent post from a while back.

It’s a natural outgrowth of the story

This, of course, is the opposite of the other two. It’s a natural direction the story takes, either by the skill of the author, or because of the theme of the story. For any of these, there is always hope of that the characters will prevail, but it’s clear from the subject matter that it’s likely that things will not end happily for the characters. For example, the film Requiem for a Dream is about drug addicts. It’s a wonderful, well done film that I’m not sure I’ll ever watch again. It ended rather poorly all around. I had hopes that the characters would escape their struggles, but I wasn’t shocked when they didn’t.  

And then there’s the internationally recognized Most Depressing Book Ever, “A Fine Balance,” by Rohinton Mistry.  I give it this label because I was talking to Sarah about this series, and I mentioned that I wanted to talk about the most depressing book ever, and she right away said, “Is it A Fine Balance?” and I said “HOW DID YOU KNOW???”  For me, it beats other depressing novels like 1984 and The Bell Jar, no contest.

Anyway, A Fine Balance works for much of the same reasons that Requiem for a Dream does: the quality of the prose, and the setup. The novel is never anything but bleak, though the ending chapters really do make you want to curl up in a corner because the world is a terrible, terrible place and there’s nothing you can do about it. (How I could possibly enjoy that book is again a subject for next week, though wild zombies couldn’t force me to ever read it again.)

Perhaps other people would find those to be the author trying to make a point, either about drug addiction or the casual cruelty of life. But for these two works, the quality of the presentation sets them above that, in my opinion.

There is beauty and wonder mixed in with the sorrow

I come across this story most often when I read for FFO. For example, take this absolutely gorgeous piece we published a little while back, and one of my all-time favorites. Go on, read it. It's fewer than 1000 words! And I promise it's not hideously depressing. Just a little sad.

Brass Canaries

For this sort of story, the ending is sad, but the imagery and the prose are so lovely that I can't help but fall in love with it.  As another example, this story has less of the lovely imagery, but is still emotionally compelling. I have to say, I think it'd be even better without that last paragraph, but I'm picky like that.

The Times that Bleed Together

Best of all, these stories have impact. Even though they're short, they stick with you - not like pine sap that never washes off your hand no matter how much soap you use, but something that stays with you emotionally, that makes you think. And that, in any category of fiction, is something worth reading.

And does anyone have another entry for the Internationally Recognized Most Depressing Book Ever?

On Cover Letters

First of all, Happy almost Mother's Day to my mom! I don't have any writing related stories to share about her, but she's always been my number one fan, and 100 percent supportive of me and my writing. Love you, Mom.

Okay, on to cover letters.

There's quite a bit of guidance out there about stories and perfecting technique, but somewhat less about tips for submitting your stories. And since I'm a slush editor for Flash Fiction Online, this topic is constantly on my mind. Particularly for cover letters, since I look at hundreds of them every month.

In some ways, cover letters aren't a big deal. Does the cover letter affect the overall chances of your story? Probably not. At FFO, we read the cover letters last. But I see such a wide variety of formats and content for cover letters – and few posts on the internet about cover letters for short stories (as opposed to cover letters for agents) – so I thought I'd give a few of my thoughts on the topic.

Short story cover letters can be very brief

More often than not, you're sending an email, so length doesn't matter. And when you submit a short story, the story should be front and center. You don't need a bio unless the market asks for it. A summary of the story is also unnecessary. Let the story and your writing speak for themselves.

Don't be afraid to ask questions or note where your story has deviated from the guidelines

Often, unless a website says so, you don't have to query with short fiction. But if you do deviate, definitely mention that in your cover letter, so we know you're paying attention.

Never, ever put yourself down

It's surprisingly common. Notes I've seen include the following:

-"I can do better."

-"I was too embarrassed to show it to my professor, so I'm sending it to you."

-"I'm just starting out, so I'm not very good yet."

It's a bad marketing strategy overall. Imagine an author's website saying, "Buy my book! Or not, because the plot's kind of weak and the villain is cardboard." Modesty is great, but remember, you're trying to sell your story here.

  

Asking for feedback is just fine… but don't be disappointed if you don't get it

Or if you only get something general. Since I don’t have time to be specific, I'll often say things like, "the plot wasn't strong enough," or "the narration was too distancing." I know that can, in itself, come off as terse, but we're not trying to be mean. It's not good strategy for a market to be rude to its submitters, because then they'll take their stories elsewhere.

Humor does not translate well through email

I think the person who wrote "Publish it or else!" was trying to be funny. But I wasn't impressed.

But I have one standard cover letter I like to send to save time

Fair enough, since I send out form rejections. But I at least like to think that you wrote the cover letter just for me after carefully considering our guidelines.

Like I said, these are just tips, and thoughts. Cover letters aren't the end of the world, unless you're rude or condescending. A short story market might not be looking for a long term relationship with the author like an agent has, but we do remember when someone is rude at any point in the process. 

And remember, for a lot of markets, the cover letter is the first impression they have of you. It never hurts to be polite and professional.

But don't just take MY word for it:.* 

Duotrope has a feature where they interview editors of each publication. You can sort by question – including the one where they ask what editors like in a cover letter.  Of course, with that many answers, there's no real theme – but I do note how many editors ask for little to nothing in a cover letter.

Any questions?

*(DID YOU GUYS SEE THIS? Reading Rainbow is BACK as an app!) 

Sorting through slush

I'm very proud to be a part of the editorial team over at Flash Fiction Online.  I'm a slush editor, which means that when stories are submitted, our editor-in-chief assigns half of them to me, and half to the other slush editor.  It's my job to check stories for compliance with our submission guidelines, assign them to slush readers, interpret/compile votes, and then pass the lucky few on to the winnowing process for final decisions.

Anyway, in hopes that my many, many, many hours of reading slush could be of some use to aspiring writers, I humbly offer my perspective on the slush process.  Since I could go on for pages and pages about slush in general and writing flash-fiction length stories in particular, I'll just stick to one topic.  Today: tips on submitting your stories, why not to worry about cover letters, and why it's important to always be respectful.

General disclaimers: these are all my opinions, and not necessarily representative of Flash Fiction Online or it's staff (except the part about reading the submission guidelines. I think we all agree on that.)

Tip #1:  Read the guidelines.  

Then read them again.  Finally, before you submit, check them one more time. I know how it is.  It's 10:30pm, you have a big meeting at work tomorrow, and you still need to shower, and you have ten minutes to figure out how to use this submission software and get your story in.  But please, take that extra few minutes to read the guidelines.  We helpfully summarized the most important tips at the end, and believe me, there are important reasons why we included each and every one of them. In the end, it's all about respect.  Do you respect us enough to take those extra few minutes to read the guidelines?

Tip #2. Yes, some guidelines are flexible. 

If you're not sure that your story meets the submission guidelines, send it anyway – but put a note in your cover letter.  This lets me know that you're paying attention, and didn't just completely skim the part of the guidelines that told you we only publish stories with a PG-13 rating.  Other guidelines are not flexible, by the way, but we make clear what those are (don't make me reject your 497 word story.  I know it seems nitpicky, but on the other hand, you couldn't think of three extra words?)

Tip #3: Don't sweat the cover letter.  

Submitting short stories is very different from submitting a novel to agents, for example. Do not include a summary of your story unless the magazine asks for it. Don't be overly chatty; think of this as a business transaction. Be polite. Be concise.  And for the love of all that's holy, do not degrade yourself or your story in the cover letter.  Saying things like "I can do better than this," or "I'm new at this so I'm sure it's terrible," does not make you sound like a professional.  Frankly, it's disrespectful.  We put a lot of time and effort into the 'zine; please do us the respect of sending us stories into which you've put time and effort.   

Tip #4: Proper manuscript format is your friend. 

Why? Because it's easy to read, and because it lets me know that you care enough about your craft to know what's important.  And yes, courier truly is easier to read. As a counter point, please don't be creative with font face or font size, or turn your page horizontal to make yourself look different.  It's annoying, not cute. I can't state enough that a good story stands out on its own. 

Tip #5: Being memorable can be a good thing.

When Sheena posted about her work as a slush reader, she brought up something I'd never heard before – that editors apparently remember authors of stories they hate. But in my case, there are only two things that make me remember an author:

            -they were extremely, unnecessarily rude

-they write a story that's so fantastically amazingly awesome that I fall in love with it.  I love it so much that I'm memorizing your name and watching for it in the submission queue.  It doesn't happen very often – I have… mmmm…. three or four names memorized right now.

Another thing - if you received a positive review from us before - particularly if one of your stories went to winnowing - let us know in your cover letter. It certainly won't hurt. 

Tip #6: Don't worry if you have no prior publications.  

No, seriously.  Really, seriously truly.  I've read thousands of stories and thousands of cover letters by this point (not exaggerating; I believe I'm close to 2000 at this point).  And here is one thing that I've found to be absolutely, positively true: prior professional publications or awards are not a good predictor of whether or not the submitted story is of good quality.

I have a few hypotheses as to why.   First, very few writers are 100 percent consistent in quality.  Second, I don't know when in the career a writer wrote this particular story.  Third, flash fiction is a difficult art.  And I'm not exaggerating – it's not easy to tell a concise, compelling story in 1000 words or fewer. 

Tip #7: Don't be upset by form rejections. 

A form rejection doesn't mean I hated your story.  It just means that it's 10:30 at night and I have a big meeting tomorrow and I haven't showered yet.   

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.  And if you have anything you'd like me to discuss in a future post, let me know in the comments.