Because It Is My Name

Last night I watched the 1990s movie version of Arthur Miller's The Crucible. At the end John Proctor (played movingly by Daniel Day-Lewis) reluctantly signs his name to a confession of witchcraft that will allow him and his wife to go free. However, he recants when the judges insist on posting the confession on the church door for everyone to see. Why, he is asked. "Because it is my name. It is the only one I will have in this life."

It struck me how, though less dramatically, this applies to writers. We have a name, and even if we choose to use another one for our writing, it still represents us and, therefore, everything that goes out under that name should be our best effort.

I mentioned in passing that I've begun to edit for a content site. Yes, the same kind of site I panned in some recent posts. I wasn't going to say much about it here, mainly because I didn't think many of my readers would be interested. However, in the past week I edited a couple of submissions with familiar names and bios at the bottom, and one was by an award-winning novelist who spoke at a conference I recently attended.

I imagine these people are writing for these sites for the same reason I edit for them. Not only does creative writing not pay much anymore, with contest submission fees––and now fees for standard submissions––attending conferences for networking, paying someone to design a website, and even published novelists often spending more on self-promotion than they make in royalties, most creative writers end up in the red, without counting those who paid for an MFA degree. Unless you are a pensioner (in which case you are usually too old to be taken seriously) or can depend on a partner's income, you may decide to lower your standards a bit in order to make some cash. But lower standards for where you will submit, shouldn't mean lower standards for what you submit.

I will tell you that from among 300 how-to and list articles I've edited in the past 3 weeks, the one by the novelist was one of only three I accepted on the first draft. The rest have gone back for rewrites even though it takes twice as much work for the same money and twice as long for me to get paid. Why? Because while I am not allowed to give my name, it is still my name I'm editing under, and I know it. I imagine the same applied to the piece the novelist submitted. Unfortunately, not all professional writers seem to feel the same.

As with any other editing job, the majority of submissions come from people who think they can write, but can't. When those writers think they can write knowledgeably about something they've never done, just by perusing a website or two, you can see why so much gets turned back. However, going by the bios (which, by the way, are not required, so I'm not telling tales about the novelist), some of these people are experienced writers who somehow feel what they are doing does not require their best efforts. One almost senses these writers throwing down their credentials like a gauntlet, challenging editors to question their skills and expertise.

Regularly, they ignore guidelines, like starting steps with an "action verb" or using AP style for punctuation. They use fancy language as filler to cover a lack of knowledge or skip steps in a fairly easy task like making home-made party invitations. Based on the credits in the bios, I can only assume they did not try to get away with the same things when submitting to those other publications, so why do they do it for this site? Perhaps as a way of saying, we do not deserve their best work. Then they get all huffy when something is rejected or post on other sites about the poor editors at the site I work with.

The novelist I spoke of obviously didn't feel that way. First she chose something she knew, a writing-related topic. Then she followed the guidelines perfectly and still managed to add some style. The piece was perfect––I didn't even need to add or subtract a comma––and she proudly added her bio, maybe the best bio to ever appear on the site.

As writers we may have to lower our standards in order to support our creative habit. Still, everything you write, whether for your blog or a letter to the local newspaper should meet your highest standards, because it is your name, and you should want it associated only with your best work.

Submission Fees Revisited: Should Journals That Charge Submission Fees Level the Playing Field

In the Poets & Writers; Writers Speakeasy Forum where I enjoy discussing writerly matters with other writers of more or less success (usually more), the topic of submission fees re-emerged. I started the first thread around the time I wrote an earlier post regarding submission fees at Narrative. Since that posting it has become more common for journals that accept online submissions to charge, though it is mostly a minor sum of around $2 rather than the heftier $20 fee Narrative charges.

Submitters who don't mind paying the fee, and often the publications themselves, point out that $2 is about what you could expect to spend on a postal submission, with which I would agree. I don't do postal much anymore, but last time I did, before the most recent rate increase, I spent $1.80 to mail a twenty-page story. Add in the required SASE and it goes over $2.00 not counting paper and envelopes. Fair enough.

Those publications that use online submission systems also point out that the charge helps defray the cost of the system. According to the CLMP website, their submissions manager–-which I believe is the one most publications probably use unless they have an IT whiz on staff––costs a minimum of $330. At $2 a pop it would take only 165 submissions to cover the cost––probably less than half of what most literary publications receive in a month, let alone the top ones. Still, journals have other costs. Top editors at the "best" journals get paid, and since most of the top tier are either exclusively or mainly in print, there are printing and shipping costs. Obviously, subscriptions and individual sales don't meet these costs or they wouldn't be constantly soliciting donations.

Exclusively online journals are much less expensive to run, but there are still costs involved, and there is pretty much no way to make any income off subscriptions or individual sales because, as much as they enjoy the convenience and variety online, most people don't want to pay for something they can't hold in their hands. That's why the majority of exclusively online journals don't pay a penny to staff, though many are trying to pay at least a token amount to writers sometimes through ad fees.

All of which is what has brought us to the point where publications, both print and online, have begun experimenting with submission fees. In some ways it seems odd to charge the producer of the product rather than the consumer but then again, writers have very little overhead. Most business people have to invest some money in getting their product on the market and then, as with writers, must wait to see if anyone buys it. So why not ask writers who, up until now, have had only to invest in paper and pencils and a good laptop (and who doesn't need a laptop these days, writer or no) to invest a mere $2 toward getting their work published?

Putting all that together and knowing from my work with online publications that journals are going to need to be pretty creative when it comes to paying staff and writers, I have no problem with the submission fee system except one. It seems unconscionable to implement such a system while continuing the current selection process that favors known writers and their proteges. Most of whom, I'm guessing, don't pay a penny to submit. Under the current system swarms of individuals with as much chance of getting published as Frosty the Snowman in July, pay their money so writers almost assured of being accepted get paid well. Not only does that not seem fair, it borders on being a scam.

I'm not saying journals should ever accept bad writing, only that journals requiring submissions fees should charge everyone the same and make sure everyone has the same chance of being accepted. This could easily be accomplished through a system of anonymous review with no comments or cover letters.

Up until now the rationale for the current system has been that big names sell. Every editor would love to pluck a new star from the West Virginia coal mines, but alas, their hands are tied by the need for money (shrug, sigh). But if money came from submissions and not subscriptions that rationale goes down the toilet. Certainly more people would submit, and thus profits would increase, if they knew they had an equal chance of acceptance. Maybe the big names and the Iowa graduates would still rise to the top, but at least we'd know they started in the same place as everyone else.

New Year's Resolutions 2010

Beneath my Happy New Year article this year, under "You might also like" perhaps you clicked on New Year's Resolutions for Writers posted last New Year.  I had forgotten all about that one.

The great thing about a blog is I can come back here next year and see what I wrote. Will I have kept my resolutions or will I be like those people who crowd the gym every January and disappear with the first crocus?

I waited well past the first crocus and into the next year before I checked it out. So how did I do? Well, I'm still exercising regularly and eating right. Oh wait, those were things I didn't need to resolve to do. Are you getting the idea I'm hedging?


Let's see, of all those resolutions the one I have stuck to most is "submitting more." In the past year I have regularly had at least three stories circulating to several markets at a time. I can't say this has greatly improved my success rate, but it does help keep my spirits up as there are always markets out there I haven't heard from yet.


The lack of improvement in my success rate can probably be linked to the resolution I have been worst at sticking to––better researching and targeting of markets. While having several stories in my portfolio at any one time allows me to choose the one best suited for a publication I've just discovered, I still don't go deep enough into the markets I research, tending to submit after reading just one issue instead of the recommended two or three. And when it comes to print markets, sometimes submitting before the first sample issue even arrives in my mailbox. This doesn't mean I don't read more than one issue, I simply can't force myself to wait that long to submit. Also, I suspect I am just not that good at analyzing stories anyway. I know what I like, but the nuance that might attract an editor to one story over another still eludes me.


Did I spend more time reading current fiction? Yes and no. I have started alternating fiction and nonfiction or reading both together. Not simultaneously, of course, but sometimes I split my evening reading time between two books or trade off nights. Not all of that is the most current fiction, but joining the Amazon Vine program has encouraged me to read at least some new things like Lorrie Moore's newest novel. Also, while I allowed my subscription to The New Yorker to lapse, I read a friend's copy every month while working out, and as I've noted, been pleasantly surprised at the recent change in tone.


One resolution, though, hit me like a brick in the face, and perhaps it was good I read it when I did.

RESOLVED to focus most of my creativity on my writing.

In connection with that one I vowed, "each time I join a new volunteer organization I'm determined to remain only a foot soldier." I kept that resolution pretty well...until a couple of weeks ago when I began considering perhaps one of the biggest volunteer commitments of my life––a please-won't-somebody-talk-me-out-of-this kind of commitment.  Should I or shouldn't I? Circumstances will not allow me to divulge details at this point, but perhaps fate steered me to that old post for a reason.


So how did you do on last year's resolutions? Have you made any for 2010?

Submitting Your Work: Should You Follow Up?

You know the feeling. The website for the journal you submitted to estimates a response time of six months. You've been waiting eight months. Should you follow up and ask if your piece is still under consideration? Or do you risk irritating the editor and possibly ruining your chances of acceptance?

When a response is overdue it usually means one of three things:

1. Your submission is being seriously considered and has been bumped up to the next level of review.
2. The slush pile is larger than usual, and the reviewers/editors are falling behind.
3. The submission was lost or never received.

We all hope for number 1; fear number 3; but know, in most cases, it's really just number 2. That's why writers are often reluctant to contact an already over-burdened editor for fear of incurring her wrath and adding another strike against acceptance.

Most editors, from the most sought-after publications like Zoetrope to the newest online journal, understand how anxious writers get about overdue responses, and, believe it or not, feel a pang of guilt when they fall behind. And there are good reasons for following up on a submission besides simple impatience. One is that your submission can't make it out of the slush pile if it never reached the slush pile in the first place. There is nothing worse than waiting several months past the estimated response time and getting your hopes up, only to learn your submission never arrived on the other end.

On occasion, learning why your submission is being held up can also provide valuable information. While in a few rare cases editors may take the time to comment, when your piece is rejected you normally don't know whether that rejection came from the preliminary reader or the editor making the final decision for what's in and what's out. Several years ago I submitted a story to my first top-tier publication and followed up when I did not hear within the estimated time. I received the quick response that my piece was "indeed" still under consideration. The addition of that word led me to believe my work had received some serious consideration, something I would not have known had I simply waited for what turned out to be a standard rejection.

Having said all that, there are some guidelines writers should adhere to when sending a follow-up inquiry. If a publication estimates a response time, you should always wait at least that long before inquiring, or even pad it by a couple of months. An estimate is just what it says and not a guaranty. While there is always the danger of wasting valuable time on a submission that never went through, that often is not the case, so waiting a reasonable time is a courtesy busy editors appreciate. Some publications specifically ask you to wait a certain period of time before inquiring. Obviously you should honor that request. When a publication doesn't specify a response time, I always assume six to nine months. However, lately I've read in some forums about the bigger publications taking over a year, and one of those was an acceptance. Of course, if a publication is that far behind, you can probably assume your inquiry won't receive a response either, so that's a judgement call.

As to whether a follow-up will work against you, if you wait long enough, no good editor should reject a piece she is seriously considering based on a polite inquiry. The operative word here is "polite." While I strongly believe writers have a right to expect a timely response to submissions, rudeness benefits no one, least of all the submitter. The proper inquiry should read something like this:

Dear [Editor's Name],

I submitted my short story "Death in Life" on April 15, 2009. (The date is important in determining if it is likely to still be in the slush pile or could be lost.) As your estimated response time is six months I was wondering if this submission is still under consideration.

Thank you for your time,

Anxious Writer

If you don't receive a reply to your first query, it's a matter of choice whether to follow up with another in a month or two. I usually don't, but I also pretty much stop hoping at that point, and if the piece is accepted elsewhere I go with that and send the other market a withdrawal. (And keep a copy in case your withdrawal gets lost in the slush pile too.)

As a writer you are, at the very least, always entitled to a response. If you don't receive one in a timely manner, a polite inquiry is in order. That doesn't mean you'll get a reply, but you are not out of line for trying.

Stop! Do You Really Want to Submit There?

You are going through a dry spell. It has been months, maybe even over a year since your last submission was accepted. You've been circulating the same two––three––five––stories all that time. You started with the journals everyone dreams about. You've worked down to the ones where you thought you had a fighting chance, and nothing––nada-–bupkiss.

These are the times that try writers' souls and when you need to exercise the most self control. You have reached the point where you want your work to appear somewhere––anywhere––someone can read it.

There's the site you found last weekend that is nothing more than a webpage with guidelines telling how they encourage new and emerging writers and are reading for their first issue to appear this winter. They are looking for "quality work." Who isn't? You have no idea who will be reading your work, what the website will look like when it's complete, or what style of work they will publish.

Then there's the online journal that did put out one issue and promises the next issue is coming as soon as they have enough submissions. That was a year ago last spring.

Last week you found a journal that has actually published several issues. They claim to want only your best writing but everything in it reads like a third grader's essay on "How I Spent My Summer Vacation."

So how low are you willing to go to get published? It is something worth thinking about.

There is nothing wrong with submitting to brand new publications that haven't yet put out a first issue. This is one way to improve your chances of acceptance, and if the publication develops a good reputation it will make a good future credit. On the other hand, if everything surrounding your work is junk, you have ruined your chances of submitting that piece elsewhere, and the credit is not one you'll want to tout.

Use your common sense when considering any new publication. I submitted for the inaugural issue of Sotto Voce, but they already had an attractive site, an impressive staff, and a sophisticated online submissions system. Oh, and they paid, which is always a good sign of staying power. When a website shows nothing but some guidelines and you suspect the "we" is really an "I" wait until they've published a few issues before submitting.

The same goes ten times over for journals without a regular publication schedule. While I am a huge supporter of online journals, the fact is anyone can start one. What could be more painful than having a journal publish your work and then disappear into cyberspace? When an editor appears to publish whenever he gets around to it, someday he won't.

Finally, and this is the toughest one, there are those journals where it looks like you'd have a good chance of getting published, but mainly because the writing simply isn't very high calibre. Is there really any point in publishing in a journal where all you have to do is spell correctly––and sometimes not even that––to get in?

When you've gone through a long dry spell, you may find yourself eventually submitting anywhere and everywhere, but think carefully. Do you know anything about the journal? Will the journal last or will it disappear? If your work does appear in that journal, would you want to send your friends and writing colleagues over there to read it? If not, then don't submit there. Instead, keep revising and if you run out of places to send an old piece, write something new and fresh. Sometimes just being published isn't  enough.

Do the Write Thing

Yes that is a play on words and not a mistake, in case you are wondering.


A few days ago I went rummaging through my hardcopies of assignments from the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop searching for a piece I'd deleted from my Word files. Each day that week, we read our assignments aloud for feedback from the group. Then we'd turn our work in to the workshop leader Chris Tighlman and Fellow Tony D'Souza , and they'd return them the next day with written comments.

The interesting thing is, while our group were hardly snipers, I clearly remember just about every negative comment from that week. Yet, going back through my assignments I realized I did not remember, nor had I bothered to take a second look at, the largely positive written comments I'd received from Chris and Tony.

Focusing on the negative is a personality trait shared––while I won't flatter myself by saying most "good writers"–-at least by all those who aspire to good writing. In this instance I assumed they were making nice with a pretty mediocre talent out of necessity––no one wants to pay a couple thousand dollars to feel like a failure––by forcing themselves to find something positive in even the worst pieces. But re-reading those comments after more than a year, I realized what a mistake I had made. I clearly remembered comments about needing to bring more depth to my writing. I had forgotten, and at the time barely registered, two separate comments on one assignment. "Your details are always so rich" and "lovely details."

The piece was about a young girl who lies to her Mom about staying over at a friend's house, then changes from her school uniform into clubbing clothes in the train station bathroom. The details describe, among other things, the stained sinks, trying not to touch her panty hose to the slimy floor, and the gym bag stench that clung to her mini-skirt. While I cringed at the superficiality of the piece, I  also realized that ignoring positive comments can be as bad as ignoring negative ones. Because in fixing one thing you don't want to break another.

While I don't mean this post as an ad for CROSSxCHECKING, it is odd I should fall prey to this when the whole point behind my critiquing service is emphasizing writing strengths as well as weaknesses. I truly believe that building on strengths is as fundamental to good writing as fixing what we do wrong. At the same time I think about publications I worked for in the early days of online publishing, when the quality of submissions often wasn't as good, and we were required to comment on rejections. Often I struggled to find anything positive, and I suppose I now assume any compliment on my writing is given in the same vein.

Yet, when I consider it, even when I had to dig, the positive element I came up with was truly positive. It wasn't a lie. Even if the best I could point to was accurate grammar and spelling, heaven knows I've rejected many otherwise good submissions because the writer ignored both.

Since coming across that assignment I've made a point to go back through my portfolio and make sure all my work includes the "lovely details" Chris alluded to, and from now on I'm making it a point to pay more attention to positive comments. I hope you will as well.

Guest Post: Labor of Love by John Gorman

Editor's Note: While this blog focuses mostly on writing for online publications, I know many of my readers are working on novels. When my friend John Gorman (Boba Fett Blues) contacted me about his new book Shades of Luz , I asked if he would favor me with a guest post about the trials and tribulations of getting that first book published. I think you'll enjoy it.

Labor of Love

“All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible.” -- William Faulkner

I was terrified the day my novel went into print after toiling over it for nearly five years. I’d sent it to 46 different publishers, mostly independent, and that’s not including the queries I sent out to test the waters. I had some encouragement from literary journals where I’d published short stories. Some had considered launching book imprints, but I rarely heard back from them. One Sock Press, from Bainbridge Island in Washington, took an early interest in my book, a couple of years ago, but when the economy started to head south so too did my hopes for publication.

In March of this year, I was in shock when All Things That Matter Press (ATTMP) responded to my query letter, requesting to see my entire manuscript. They’d been impressed with my forthrightness and sample chapters. They told me quite candidly that they didn’t waste their time if they weren’t interested. Naturally, this got my hopes up and by July, when they’d offered me a contract I had doubts. Was Shades of Luz ready for print? Of course not, it needed editing. All books do. But, what concerned me most was that I hadn’t penned my “splendid failure of the impossible.”

I mooned over my work. Each edit weighed heavier on me. I’d been polishing my novel in workshop for over two years after putting my novel into what I considered a second or third draft. I’d passed through three or four rounds of redlines with the ATTMP editor-in-chief. When I inched toward the final galley, Phil Harris, the publisher, told me that we were going to do a final run-through, but that I should only concern myself with major typos, weird font, or spacing issues. They wouldn’t have accepted it if there was any doubt, Phil assured me, but my inner eye wouldn’t blink. It saw things, perhaps, that critics would chew apart and spit out into the vast wasteland of ho-hum literature.

I’m not casting aspirations when I say self-help writers don’t feel this sense of self-loathing, but fiction tends to draw a keener eye to the page. Francine Prose says in her book Reading Like A Writer “Every word needs to be put on the trial of its life.” That’s a whopper. Anybody willing to put themselves under such scrutiny is either molten rock brave or crazy. I’m an introspective laborer of love.

If I wanted to be technical, it wasn’t even my first book. This worried me more. If somehow the public could forgive me for delivering a flop, I knew I had completed novels swimming in neverland. Maybe I’d made progress, but did I deserve the joy of an ISBN stamp and a barcode? I’ve spurned projects before. I used to keep a folder entitled “Story Starters and Teams of Themes” for the rush of ideas I could hardly keep up with and I found myself writing what I thought were good beginnings. I noodled with characters. When a scene didn’t pan out I logged stage directions, and told myself I’d return to it. Then I tackled themes, tropes, and ranges of emotion I wanted to uncover. When I picked up where I had left off I wasn’t always sure I was headed in the right direction. A fresh set of eyes has a sobering effect on one’s work. I also admit, three years ago, I was a miserable reviser— the keystone to the craft.

A few things have changed. I’m a slower reader now and I’m a slower writer. I stay with a single piece longer than in the past, refining it until there’s a confluence between story and sound. I’ve lost the file for “Story Starters and Teams of Themes.” It died along with the hard drive of my old Gateway. I’m more upset about the novel I’d written seven years ago, before Shades of Luz that my agent hailed a gem. After I’d been universally rejected by Harper, Kensington, Norton, Houghton Mifflin, and all the other usual suspects, it took me a while to regroup.

Big houses won’t give a manuscript a second read once they’ve given it thumbs down. I wasn’t ready to buy into that. I attacked my spurned manuscript, the hard copy, took it with me wherever, mainly to coffee shops, park benches, and rollicking subway cars, and proceeded to edit it in pencil. Even in these Twitter Times, I have a great affinity for writing implements: pen, pencil, crayon on occasion. There’s a tactile quality you just don’t get from punching into a keypad. My lust for scribbling in pencil might be a holdover from my unfulfilled wish to be an artist. I’m a lousy painter and an even worse sketcher, but the intoxicating smell of graphite as it rubs into my moist fingerprints urges me to shape earnest prose.

Armed with #2 pencils, hot pink and fluorescent yellow highlighters, my manuscript, and a clutch of scrap paper, I re-envisioned my first novel. I found myself adding as much back into it as I was taking out of it. I actually started backwards from the last page because Harper, for one, thought my novel had great promise, but hated my ending. Kensington confessed my promise as a writer, but my book was not marketable. I got three-quarters of the way through my revisions when I lost my manuscript after a night of drinking. Indeed, a tragedy. I hadn’t made a single note on the computer, and I hadn’t any paper copies.

Way it goes.

The next few years I spent mostly writing shorter fiction, but I’d begun a few new projects. I’d even entered the NANO competition during National Novel Writing Month, back in 2006. The challenge was to write 50,000 words in the month of November, all on the honor system. Believe it or not I clocked in the magic number in three weeks. I’ve never since returned to that chunk of words, but I think it taught me something. I think all the writing we do teaches us. There’s a learning curve with any craft, and with writing each new piece informs the previous.

I’ve been working on a short story collection for a while now, but have also started a new novel. I can’t say for sure if my next published novel will be the one I’m writing now, but I grow attached to my work, slip into its fictive dream and live in a symbiotic relationship.

Bio:
Before John's stories appeared in literary journals he snapped the Eyesore of the Week for the Queens Ledger. Since then his work has appeared in Mississippi Review, The Rose & Thorn, The Shore, Monkeybicycle, Plum Ruby Review, Thieves' Jargon, Word Riot, Nexus, and elsewhere. In 2003, his screenplay "For the Love of Auntie" won the NY International Indie Film and Video writing competition. His debut novel Shades of Luz is published by All Things That Matter Press.

Money Matters: Do Submission Fees Always Equal a Scam?

Some writers, especially new ones, assume any submission fee must be a scam. It's important to be wary. There are a lot of unscrupulous types out there preying on desperate writers looking for that first publication, but writers who assume all submission fees are scams may unduly limit themselves, especially in a world where, increasingly, both online and print publications are looking for innovative ways to stay afloat.

Contest fees
While it may sound counter-intuitive, the most prestigious writing competitions are usually the ones that charge the most. Submission fees can range anywhere from $10-$25. The winnings from these contests are big and the judges well-known. That and administrative fees cost money. While you may find a few no-fee contests that carry a certain cachet, the majority pay little or nothing and provide empty credits. If winning includes publication, limiting yourself to free competitions can be a drawback as coming in first in the Myrtle County Writing Contest adds no beef to your bio, but the story is, nonetheless, "previously published" for the purposes of submitting elsewhere.

Having said this, not all fee charging competitions are legit. A light should go off if the fee seems out of proportion to the prize. My rule of thumb is never to pay for a prize under $100, and then the fee shouldn't be more than $10, if that much. Also, check carefully to make sure these competitions really do award prizes and don't just take your money.

Standard submission fees
In an effort to keep their heads above water and/or add more prestige to the world of zines by attracting name writers and paying well, some better journals have begun charging fees for online submissions. Several months ago I wrote about Narrative's submission fees of between $10 and $15. The pay for accepted work ranges from $150 for a "Story of the Week" to $1,000 for a 10,000 word piece. Narrative is obviously a legitimate publication, and they do publish new and emerging writers. Some take exception to the fact that Narrative charges only for "unsolicited" manuscripts. They see this as the big hitters being subsidized by the wannabes. That's a fair criticism, and it's the writer's choice.

Recently, in the move to online, other prestigious publications have begun charging much more modest fees of $2.00 or so for online submissions. Online publications have great difficulty making money, and if you think about it, submitting via snail mail, by the time you add in the SASE––not even counting paper and printing costs––well exceeds that amount, with the only beneficiaries being the postal service and your local office supply store. Add in the savings of no longer having to purchase "one or two sample copies" to understand what the journal is looking for, and you can see how these fees could benefit both sides of this symbiotic relationship.

No matter where you come down on this issue, it would be a mistake to assume all submission fees qualify as scams.

Real and almost real scams
While there are good reasons for competitions and magazines to charge submission fees, scams are out there, and you need to be able to spot them. For example, charging submission fees comparable to Narrative's when a publication pays writers little or nothing may not legally qualify as a scam, but the practice is certainly questionable. Warning lights should also go off when submission fees are required by a zine that hasn't yet published a first issue. They could just take off with the money.

Scams are hardly limited to online publishing either. A common scam is print anthologies that require advance purchases of the edition in which your work will appear. Another is agents preying on desperate novices by charging reading fees. No agent should ever charge to take a look at your book.

Finally, that old adage still applies. If it looks too good to be true, it probably is. Recently I was contacted by an "agency" asking me to write for them. They claimed I could expound on any topic I chose in 500 words or less and that their "clients" regularly paid a minimum of $150 per article. In addition, I could choose how many projects I wanted to take on in any given month. I had no doubt this was a scam, but I couldn't write here about it unless I knew for sure how it worked. So I checked out the website and started the application process figuring I'd stop when the scam revealed itself. Sure enough, submitting the application required a $20 "deposit." That's all I needed to know, but had I gone further, they might have asked for other dangerous information like credit card or SS numbers.

I'd like to think a scam like that is too obvious to make money, but I also know there are a lot of wannabe writers who might jump at the chance. Good writers need to be wary. However, assuming every submission fee equals a scam may severely limit your chances of adding good credits to your bio.

Kenyon Review Reading Period Opens

The Kenyon Review reading period opens September 15 and runs through January 15. They accept submissions only through their online system. Submissions will be considered for both the print and online versions.

Adding Depth to Your Writing Through Layering

Painters working in oils will often layer, painting the basic picture then adding colors and brush strokes to create shadow and light thus adding depth. This same method can add depth and texture to your writing.

The majority of submissions I read for Sotto Voce or through CROSSxCHECKING tell great stories. Unfortunately, that's often where it stops. The stories have no more depth than something a friend might relate over lunch or I might overhear while engaging in that favorite passtime of writers, eavesdropping. Good stories do more than simply relate what happened in chronological order, they pull us into the world the characters in that story inhabit.

This is where the layering comes in.

Let's say you have an idea for a semi-autobiographical piece about a mother dropping her daughter off at college for the first time. The story might start out with packing the car at dawn, then driving down the road where you write in both bits of conversation and poignant silences. The story ends at the parking lot outside to dorm or when the mother leaves her daughter behind for the first time.

So far so good. Some of those reading your story will be parents who share the experience and they will immediately identify, but if you want to hit the larger group, readers with young children or no children or the unmarried, you need to make that world real to them. You want them to feel like they are sitting in that car with the mother and daughter. You can do that by layering in detail.

Here's how it works. After your first rush of inspiration, put the story aside for a week or two. The next time you pick it up, think about some details you might add. I find it best to start broad and work down to the minutia. For example, the first thing you might consider is where the mother and daughter live and where the college is located. These can be real places or generic city/suburban/rural settings with an idea of the distance between the two locations. It will make a difference to your readers whether the college is nearby allowing the daughter to visit often or so far she can't even make it home for Thanksgiving. It will also make a difference if the place she is going is vastly different than the place she grew up, or if the young woman grew up in a middle class suburb where going to college was alway in her future, but the leaving is painful nonetheless.

Moving in a little closer, your next layer could be something like details about the weather. Is it a typical crisp fall day reminding the mother of her own first year at college or the day the daughter started kindergarten? Maybe the weather is unseasonably warm and muggy, allowing for contrasts. Maybe there's a sudden rainstorm that makes driving a challenge and almost causes an accident.

Your next layer could include sights and sounds. Does the scenery change along the way? Are the silences between the two characters filled with the sound of a blasting radio or traffic noises? Maybe the cracking of the daughter's gum gets on the mother's nerves or vice versa.

Moving along, it always helps to include external details that provide insights into the characters' personalities, like the kind of car the mother drives. Is it an expensive SUV or a clunker or something middle of the road like a Ford Focus? What items are packed in the back? Are they things like a TV, refrigerator, microwave, popcorn popper, skis? Or just a couple of suitcases? Is the car packed carefully or do items shift and tumble?

Finally, you'll want to finish with at least a few details about the characters themselves, not an info-dump describing each one from head to toe, but little distinguishing features like hair color or clothing, body type, etc.

Depending on what you want to convey with your story, you probably won't need to include all of these. It works more like a Chinese menu, picking one or two things from each category. You don't have to add your layering all at once either. Personally, I find it works better to continually put the story aside, then come back and add more detail each time––kind of like letting the paint dry on the canvas before adding more. You also need to know when to stop. Unlike the 19th century, readers today don't want every detail of a room from the color of the walls to the curve of the sconces over the fireplace. A few telling descriptions are all that's needed.

Layering can make the objects of a painting jump off the canvas. It can also make your words jump off the page.

See You In September: Many Literary Publications Will Re-Open

In my post Reading Periods: Think Before You Send, I warned against rushing to submit just before a publication closes down for the summer. Hard to believe, but now summer is almost over, at least in the academic world, and that means many of those literary journals associated with colleges and universities will soon re-open for submissions. (If you are one of our readers from Down Under, just reverse everything I say––I know you folks are used to that.)

So do you have your cache of stories all ready to mail out or submit online? Neither do I. Though I have some decent excuses. My Dad passed away the end of April, and I've been involved in the paperwork of transferring things to my Mom's name and helping her take care of the day-to-day. I started a newsletter from my editing/critiquing site, CROSSxCHECKING, re-designed the site, and had some bigger than expected jobs. For the past two weeks I've been blogging and volunteering for healthcare reform, and then...Okay, I still could have fit some time in, but I didn't.

I know many of you have to wait for the kids to go back to school. I'm not there anymore, but as I mentioned in an earlier post, summer does provide so many things to do out of doors or away from home. One thing I do have is additions to my list of places to submit and some good notes. They aren't notes for stories, but back in June I suggested using weather in stories so I took my own advice. Spending so much more time outside, this summer I made a point to observe how the morning light hit the tops of the trees in my backyard, and the differences in light between a nearly cloudless day and a hazy humid one. I noticed how the morning sounds changed from early summer's cacophony of bird song to late summer's chittering of cicadas. I noted how a warm dry breeze felt like silk against my exposed skin while sticky August air felt like an itchy wool sweater.

I also did what I'd suggested in another post––caught up with my reading. I didn't review many books this summer, because much of my reading had been sitting on my shelf too long to be considered new, but I did make the acquaintance of an old writer, in the rediscovered Thomas Savage. I found The Power of the Dog totally riveting.

So it hasn't been a total waste. The fact is, I tend to still be on that academic schedule myself. The year for me starts in September, not bleak January. A couple more weeks of cleaning up my desk, emptying my bookshelves of the books I don't need to keep, sharpening my pencils––though I don't write in long hand––and I'll be ready.

Confessions of an Online Editor: We're Guilty Too

Reading this blog over the last year––yes, it has been about a year––it may seem as though I see editors of print, particularly top-tier print journals as conspirators in a good-old-boy/gal plot to dash the hopes of new and unconnected writers. While editors of exclusively online journals are all things pure, selecting submissions solely on quality, taking perhaps our one guilty pleasure in snickering at e-mails listing a string of previous credits as though it mattered a fig to us.

As someone who, for close to a decade now, has to a greater or lesser degree helped select pieces for publication in three different zines, I need to make a confession.

Writers forgive me for I have sinned,

I have, on occasion, shown prejudice in selecting or advising selection of a piece by someone I know.
Not because I consciously wanted to favor a friend over a stranger, but because I would have to personally contact that person to tell him/her of the rejection. Even when that task didn't fall to me, I have been in situations where the friend would know I was involved in the process. Luckily I'm acquainted with a lot of talented writers, so I don't believe I ever supported a piece that was really bad. However, a connection with the writer did tip the scales once or twice when I was on the fence.

I have been swayed by credentials.
Yes, me, the person who posts all the time about how credentials don't count as much with many online publications. That's true, maybe now more than ever, but there was a point a few years ago, when zines were just on the cusp of being taken seriously, that I wanted the bios, more than the stories, of a couple of submitters to appear in my zine as a way of thumbing my nose at snooty print journals. The fact is, and I'm not making this up to look good, in the two instances I recall, I found the submissions somewhat disappointing. I did give both writers a chance to make changes and resubmit, which I might not have done under different circumstance. One truly appreciated my input and came back with an excellent piece. The other ignored my response and never submitted to us again. Whether that piece made it into a "better" publication, I don't know. It would be interesting to find out.

I have, more often than I'd like to admit, developed a prejudice against writers who submitted too many pieces too soon.
Many zines end rejections by inviting writers to "submit again" or to "continue submitting" or saying "we'd like to see more of your work." These words aren't necessarily meaningless. There were times I deleted that phrase, because I really didn't want to see anything by that writer ever again. However, in their eagerness to find something very positive anywhere they can, many writers misinterpret this as meaning, "we want to see something else right away." They then machine-gun a series of submissions hoping to hit the jackpot. After a few, simply that name on the e-mail was enough for me to decide I was not going to like that piece. Somewhere along the line the writer may have submitted something spectacular, but I wasn't going to see it that way.

It is harder for me like something in opposition to my political or religious beliefs (more like non-beliefs).
I have never rejected an exceptional piece on this basis. I remember one in particular I reviewed for Sotto Voce (where all submissions are blind) where the subject matter was 180 degrees from my political views, but the story and the writing were so spectacular I had to rate it highly. However, I can't deny there are pieces I do not want to like from the beginning. Who knows if I would have approved of that writer if the piece had a different theme.

The point of this post isn't really to clear my conscience. My point is two-fold. One, I hope this will soften your heart toward all editors. We are only human, and if I have fallen prey, while working for small publications, imagine the pressures editors of larger well-known publications must deal with everyday in making difficult decisions. Two, as a submitter you should learn not to take rejection so seriously. There are any number of reasons, aside from quality, that a very good piece of writing will be passed over for publication. Keep improving your craft, but don't let it get to you.

New Writers: Where to Submit

Recently, in the P&W Speakeasy Forum a poster who had taken a top down approach to submitting was now asking about publications open to "new writers." I immediately weighed in with online pubs, and, in particular, the two zines I know best––Rose & Thorn and Sotto Voce. Said poster replied, "Thanks, but I wasn't looking at online." Which is fine. Once upon a time I'd go all preachy about that, but with the conversation shifting from "is online a real credit" to "can print survive," that boat sailed some time ago, and this fellow missed it.

This post is for the other new writer posting on that thread who hopefully pointed out journals like The Paris Review, Zoetrope , and Glimmer Train as claiming in their guidelines, to be looking for "fresh new voices." Yep, and I'm looking for the winning ticket in the Pennsylvania Lottery.

My point isn't to be cynical. I favor the top down approach to submitting, because you never know unless you try, and the submission police won't revoke your poetic license for being rejected too many times by The Paris Review. At the same time, I fear these publications unfairly raise expectations, so that those who are rejected time and again may give up writing all together, assuming they aren't good enough. This is always a possibility, or course, but new writers also should know what is behind those claims of publishing "several new writers a year" or often publishing "first time" submitters.

Some skip the slush
I doubt it comes as a surprise that names like Michael Chabon or Jeffery Eugenides regularly skip the slush and land right on the Managing Editor's desk. In fact, often these writers are solicited by the publication. But what if Ms. Well-Known is teaching a workshop and wants Mr. Top-Tier Editor to consider her student's piece. She will send that submission directly to the editor's desk as well where you can bet it will receive careful consideration. When the journal touts how many "new" writers it publishes or how many "first submitters" they count that writer into the mix, even though she didn't slug it out in the slush with everyone else.

Some get picked out of the slush
The slush is usually handled by anywhere from one or two to a large group of first readers. They may be students, interns, low-paid hires, or whatever. Their job is to weed out the immediate rejections and send the more promising pieces to the next level or even directly to the top. Beyond being promising, most top-tiers have other criteria that automatically move a piece along. They vary, but often include:

• prior publication in another top-tier journal
• an award in a prestigious competition
• candidacy for, or an MFA degree from, a prestigious program (MFA alone doesn't mean as much anymore)
• Acceptance to a prestigious workshop like Breadloaf

Depending on the definition, many writers meeting these criteria can still qualify as "new," but it isn't the same as the administrative assistant who pounds her first story out on her laptop in the wee hours of the morning and sends it out with high hopes.

Out of the slush doesn't mean on a level field
Let's say your piece is considered good enough to make it beyond the slush. Does the playing field suddenly level out? Not really. First off remember that there's only so much room, particularly in print publications. While your story plodded toward the top of the pile, other stories that skipped the pile or were automatically moved along were filling that precious space. Second, many of the top-tier publications are connected to colleges or universities with writing programs. In that case, if you don't have an MFA and aren't working toward one, it's likely to work against you. Not many editors will admit that, of course, and maybe it isn't even a conscious decision, but it would be like a back surgeon referring you to a chiropractor. It happens, just not very often. Third, if your story is spectacular and the one by Ms. Well-Known's student whom she personally recommended is very, very good, psychology, even aside from good business, would cause the editor to lean toward the latter. And I shouldn't have to mention what will happen if it comes down to your story or one by Ms. Well-Known herself. Which name is likely to sell more journals?


All this makes it sound like new writers without any particular advantage don't have a chance of making it into the top-tiers. I'd never say that. There is always a chance, and you won't know if you don't try. But if you start to falter under the weight of all those rejections, keep in mind there are many publications––most of them online––that still publish only a small percentage of the hundreds of submissions they receive, but pay no attention to prior credits, education, or recommendations in making their selections. Often these online publications reach more people in more places than many of the top-tier journals do.

Knowing this can make rejection less painful and acceptance below that top-tier all the more rewarding.

Everybody's Doin' It: The MFA Rag

Interesting blog post by David Lynn editor of The Kenyon Review. He references an article in the New Yorker re: MFA aka Creative Writing programs that, in turn, is a review of a book on the subject by Mark McGurl. Full disclosure, if you've read my blog at all you know I spent a week at the Kenyon Writer's Workshop a year ago. I loved my week there and learned a lot from Chris Tilghman's input, but then again, I had a lot to learn, which brings me to some of the differences I have with David Lynn's remarks. So, for this post, allow me if I may, to play devil's advocate, addressing Lynn's points one-by-one though not necessarily in the order in which they were presented.

The noble cause
Lynn makes it clear that an MFA, at least today with 822 programs available, no longer guarantees publishing success and/or a prestigious teaching job. However, his contention is that a creative writing program, unlike a job-focused program, can be an end in itself.

To an extent I agree with Lynn. Outside of a handful of fields––engineering and software development come to mind–-few four-year grads walk into a job these days. The world does need engineers and software developers and doctors and lawyers, but I also believe a grounding in the Liberal Arts is a necessity for living and learning well. However, when we're talking about the additional expense of time and money on a graduate program, most applicants require more than enrichment when they get out. It's sad to think that these programs will be limited to the wealthy or those few underprivileged talented enough for scholarships to the best programs, not too far from home, that will guarantee income on graduation.

Rise in Excellence
Lynn bases this point on a quote from McGurl,

"...far from homogenizing literature or turning it into an academic exercise, creative-writing programs have been a success on purely literary grounds. “There has been a system-wide rise in the excellence of American literature in the postwar period..."

Unfortunately, just saying it doesn't make it so. On what does McGurl base that conclusion? What objective criteria does he use? Certainly there are many readers outside of academia (and many within as well) who disagree. Check out this thread on P&W's Speakeasy Forum regarding BASS anthologies. Many believe that over the past few decades literary writing became far too focused on style and far too little focused on interesting themes or plots. This seems to be changing, but I'd suggest it is more to do with the growing popularity of online publications over the past few years than the over-proliferation of writing programs since the War.

Community and shared purpose
According to Lynn, while writing programs cannot provide a guaranteed job, what they do provide is "a sense of community and shared focus." Of all the justifications in Lynn's post, this is one I find most troubling. Writers do benefit from a sense of community, but a two-year program requires a lot of time and expense for something writers once shared with each other for free. Unfortunately, most literary writers today depend on teaching to pay the bills. Not that I blame them, when there is so little money to be made from their craft. However, many would argue it is the needs of the instructors rather than the needs of the students that mothered so many creative writing programs.


Which leads me to my main issue with all degree programs in creative writing. That is, by their very existence they have turned writing into just another career for which an advanced and very specialized degree is required, and only a degree from the best programs guarantees success. No, you will not find a magazine that requires an MFA for submission, but you will also not find a top-tier, and now many mid-tier journals, where the majority of contributors (often all) are not MFA grads or candidates. Editors will deny it up and down, but this can't be a coincidence as the slush pile has to be filled with non-degreed submitters.

Certainly one could argue that programs screen for the best applicants, so naturally the best writers will come from writing programs. However, one can't help but wonder if these applicants weren't writing publishable work before receiving their MFA ticket into the big leagues or whether there aren't equally good writers out there who simply can't afford a program.

The following quote in The New Yorker from the prestigious Iowa Workshop's website seems to bear this out:

"The fact that the Workshop can claim as alumni nationally and internationally prominent poets, novelists, and short story writers is, we believe, more the result of what they brought here than of what they gained from us...Iowa merely admits people who are really good at writing; it puts them up for two years; and then, like the Wizard of Oz, it gives them a diploma."

I have no problem with writing programs per se for those who want and can afford them. But whenever success in a field comes to hang on the letters after one's name, whether it be MFA or MBA, the oxygen can get sucked out. Those schooled within the box naturally favor others schooled within that box and pretty soon thinking outside the box becomes ever more rare–-and at worst is suppressed.

This lack of innovation and initiative brought the US auto industry to its knees and is limiting our options for healthcare reform, just to name two. If we aren't careful it can sap the creativity from creative writing.

Reading Periods: Think Before You Send

If you've researched places to submit your work in the last couple months––and aren't we all always researching markets––this scenario is probably familiar. You pick a publication from Duotrope's or another market listing to research further. After spending an hour or two reading a few issues of the zine or the samples a print journal provides online, you're feeling the excitement of a potential match for that story you just wrote. You click on the guidelines, and in big red letters at the top of the page you read:

Cool Zine will be closed to submissions from June 15 to September 30.

You check your calendar and breath a sigh of relief. It's still only June 12. They accept online submissions. You can get it in right under the wire. Better that than waiting. Who knows where you'll be by September 30.

Think again.

Some publications will explain that the break is due to a backlog. If so, then an extra story in the slush pile probably won't make much difference. However, college and university affiliated journals usually close down completely for summer break. Others close because they won't have enough readers or those readers want a vacation. In that case, they are planning to clear the desks before shutting down.

So let's say your story is dropped onto the slush pile on June 12 in the PM, and the readers plan to clear out by June 15 in the PM. They've been working for days to try to finish off the pile but each reviewed piece appears to spawn 10 more. The managing editor is leaving shortly for her beach house and reviewers feel a strong vibe not to send her anything that is not really, really worthy of her time.

Now think about submitting your work on September 30 in the AM. All the readers are fresh and rested. At universities, they may even be brand new readers all aquiver to dig in and get started. The pile is a lot smaller so readers have more time and less other work to measure your piece agaisnt.

Which of these situations is more likely to benefit a new or emerging writer with nothing in particular to make him or his work stand out?

Certainly it isn't a lock that your piece will be accepted at the beginning of the reading period or that it will be rejected too close to the end. But new writers need every advantage they can get. We writers can be an impatient lot when it comes to submitting, but this time of year you would do much better to mark your calendar (and you should have some reminder system as it is far too easy to forget and have to start all over again), and submit early on when submissions first open. In the meantime, let your piece rest, and re-read some of the stories that made you think it was a match. You may change your mind, or you may decide the story still needs a few revisions to make it fit.

There's no guaranty, but in the end you'll have improved your chances considerably.

Imposing Order on Chaos

Wow, for the first time in a month I have no unopened e-mails in my inbox and I deleted enough that everything fits in the little window without scrolling down. I hate having a lot of stuff sitting in my inbox, which got me thinking about a post I read on Write to Done asking writers for their three best writing tips. Since before I got to it, the comments were pretty full, I thought I'd post my tips here on my blog.

Only, my writing tips aren't specifically about the act of writing. They have more to do with finding your own system for imposing order on the chaos that allows you time to write and just as important, to submit, preferably successfully.

The common wisdom is that creative minds tend to be chaotic. In my early years, I was the poster child for that theory receiving regular "N"s for "Needs Improvement" on report cards that factored that into our grade. We were required to keep a loose-leaf notebook with dividers for each subject which teachers took a perverse delight in turning upside down and shaking, bringing attention to my wayward habits of not punching holes correctly or placing reinforcements over them once I had.

To this day I can't punch uniform holes in papers, even with a three-hole punch, let alone the single-hole jobs we carried in our schoolbags. Only now it doesn't matter, because I choose to keep my important papers in folders and file boxes as opposed to binders that take up too much room anyway.

Which, finally, brings me to my point. Even writers need some kind of system. Sitting in a cube at O So Boring, Inc. you may have dreamed of a life where all you did was write all day. When that day comes, you soon realize that there's more to it than that. No one comes to weed through your Word files and take out what they want to publish. You need to submit, and submitting requires a system––top-tier down or bottom-tier up––along with recordkeeping. so you don't submit the same story twice to the same market or submit again too soon or simultaneously submit when it's not allowed (okay, we all cheat on that last one). You need to keep receipts for office supplies and contest fees so if/when you do win $,1000 or get that big advance on your book contract, you don't, unfairly, pay taxes on the full amount. If you freelance, you need to track deadlines, invoices, and payments. In short, you need to "get organized"––two words that not only strike fear in the hearts of creative people, but appear anathema to the process.

This is only because the self-proclaimed "orderly" people insist––like my teachers with their binders––on one method of organization. For years I struggled with the supposition that "order" required a clear desk, that stacks of papers on the desk and floor equaled chaos. Papers placed in hanging folders in file cabinets equaled order. Only, for me, out of sight was out of mind, and I'd forget to do things that weren't right in front of me.

In reality, this is one time where the end really does justify the means. I do keep a spreadsheet for my submissions, but if that reminds you too much of your old office job, there's nothing chaotic about keeping a list in any old wordprocessing document. The point is just to have the information somewhere that you can easily check it. My expense tracking for tax purposes amounts to throwing all my receipts in the same drawer all year long and then weeding through them when it's time to file my return. Deadline reminders can be notes on a desktop calendar, a calendar system on your laptop, or stickies on your wall, and don't underestimate the use of storage bins for everything from manuscripts to journals you've been published in.

So, my tip to writers is, don't underestimate the need to get organized. It's as important in writing as it is in any business or even everyday life. However, recognize that the goal is to impose order on the chaos, not to necessarily do it the way your fifth grade teacher said it should be done. You'd be surprised how easy it is when you do it your own way.

Live Site/Dead Market

This economy is knocking over businesses like empty water bottles in a wind storm and literary publications are no exception. As someone who has worked with literary zines, I sympathize with those who have birthed and nurtured their babies or taken over for others, only to see them tank. However, I can't sympathize with them not taking the time to add a sentence to their websites or not replying to submitters within a reasonable time.

Last month, within the same week, I received word from two publications that had gone under, but only after my submission had sat with them for nearly a year. Always one to second guess myself, I visited their websites to see if I'd missed something, like a line stating, this journal is no longer accepting submissions. Instead, both sites were filled with information about future issues, contests, and more.

As difficult as it is to get published these days, it is downright cruel to leave submitters hanging, especially, as with the market I submitted to, they do not accept simultaneous submissions. If someone can't take the time to go into the office and staple a simple notice to submissions before stuffing them in an SASE, they can at least take the few minutes required to update the website. Today in a forum I frequent some posters mentioned a market with an online submission system that appeared to be dead–-again, with nothing noted on the website. How hard can it be to set an online sub system to automatically reply to submitters?

It used to be that a long wait was a good sign. Today, it more likely means the market is defunct and you don't know it. I'm sorry to see so many publications biting the dust, but I do think we writers deserve the respect of at least being notified.

Money Matters for Writers: New Submission Service

From time to time I post about "Money Matters for Writers." Generally these posts cover services that writers pay for as opposed to being paid for. The purpose is not to tell readers what services are worth the money, but to point out the pros and cons writers might want to consider before making their own decision.

Several months ago I posted about submission services in general. Recently a new submission service called WordHustler came to my attention, so I checked it out.

The first thing that hit me was the difference in pricing from, say, Writer's Relief. Last I checked, WR was charging anywhere from $125 for a la carte services (a list of 25 targeted markets along with mailing labels and cover letter) to a few hundred for keeping your work in constant circulation. WordHustler fees for submitting by post or online run from $.99 for under four pages to $8.99 ($.10/page over 50). This includes printing and copying, postage, and SASE. They also boast a database of "more than 3000 literary markets" available for free.

So what does WordHustler provide for the fee? It appears that writers upload their work, then peruse the database to find markets (as opposed to a service that targets markets for you). Writers then choose the markets they want to submit to and WordHustler does the rest. WH estimates that a 120-page screenplay would cost approximately $52 to submit, the largest part of which is $29.99 for a "directory service" (like Writer's Market?) The second largest portion of the cost is printing at $18.

In evaluating the service I went by what I normally submit, which is a short story of about 20 pages. Postage usually runs me about $1.89 plus an SASE for the reply (why do I need the entire ms back when I have it in Word files) is 42 cents. That's $2.31. I've never calculated the cost of printing out the story, but if my algebra still serves me, if 120 pages costs $18 to print then 20 pages costs about $3.00. Office supplies, again based on estimates for 120 pages, would be approximately 17 cents. I haven't paid for a database in years. So far we're up to $5.48 for a submission. Time saved waiting in line––priceless.

Well, maybe, but I usually use the postage machines at my PO and there are rarely more than a couple people ahead of me. More significant though, I submit maybe 3 ms per year by post these days. Mostly I submit via e-mail or online submission systems, which are absolutely free.

WordHustler's database is free (so is Duotropes and I get that in my e-mail each week). WH advertises that you can target markets by searching the Market Finder. I wasn't able to target more than genre, however more could be available if you register. I didn't bother to do that as I'm not interested in the service and I don't need more e-mails from services I don't use. They also advertise that the database is kept up-to-date, though when I went through the list (which is extensive I'll admit), I came across a couple of dead links.

So, is it worth the price? That's a personal choice. As a purely business decision, submission services aren't very cost-effective. Consider that, even if you get that one submission to the famous journal that pays $150 using a service like Writer's Relief, you'd have to get two of those a year, just to break even. If you go the WordHustler route and send out 4 submissions a month of 20 pages, you're talking about $192 per year––but remember, the markets aren't targeted.

Of course, in the writing game money isn't always the sole form of profit. (In fact, if you are in it for the money, you may just as well quit right now.) You may need that one publication to build your self esteem, or paying for a service that gets you into a well-known journal could provide a credit that opens doors at others. For some, writing is a hobby they engage in at the end of an otherwise lucrative workday. They may have money to spend for a service but not the time to prepare and send submissions and track them on a spreadsheet. That's another case where a submission service might be valuable.

As with anything you spend your money on, value is in the eyes of the beholder. Just make sure your eyes are wide open when you evaluate the benefit a service might have for you.

CROSSxCHECKING: A Critique

Last month I announced my new venture, CROSSxCHECKING, a critiquing and editing service. A little over a month in I thought it might be fun to critique the critiquing in a manner of speaking. (Hey, that rhymes.)

First, by way of excusing why I'm not posting more, I'm surprised at the number of queries I've already received, enough to cover my ad expenses and more. The bad news is it coincided with one of my parents going into the hospital, so something has to go on the back burner, and it's usually the blog.

Now back to the purpose of the post. I have been pleasantly surprised at the quality of submissions I've received. CS offers two levels of service. For new writers or those still struggling to get published, I offer a critiquing service where I will review up to three submissions and evaluate the writer's overall strengths and weaknesses. I also offer a more traditional line edit and as an introductory offer, am throwing in one line edit with the critique if the prospective client refers to an ad.

Anyone out there who reads submissions in any capacity will appreciate that my ambivalence in offering the service wasn't so much based on business concerns as what I would do about those submissions so bad I didn't even want to finish them let alone comment. So far that hasn't been a problem, but I don't think it's mere luck. I've come to realize that those who seek help with their writing usually take it seriously enough to have learned a few things on their own. So far everyone has come to me with a solid base in some aspect of their writing and needing only a little input on other aspects to make it work.

Having said that, reading these submissions by less experienced writers has both reminded me of things I've come across in the past or introduced me to some new problems that do seem to crop up again and again with writers just starting out. So, at the risk of putting myself out of business, I thought I'd mention a few here.

Showing and telling
Many writers perceive their problem to be one of "telling" rather than "showing" when, in reality, they are doing both at the same time. New writers have a tendency not to trust in their abilities. They may "show" a character's quick temper by having her ream out her kid for an innocent question then follow with "Mandy always had a quick temper," just in case we didn't quite get the point. The way to drive home a personality trait is not to explain what the reader just saw and never mention it again, but to weave that trait into the story. If you think you have to explain a lot to get your meaning across, read Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants."

Telling the story and no more
Some new writers create great stories. Sometimes they come up with a slightly different take on an old theme, like breakups and divorces. Sometimes they will experiment with interesting POVs. Many times these same writers will neglect the details that add richness to the story. I compare it to serving filet mignon right out of the boiler or serving it with a sauce of mild herbs. You are starting with a good base, but the sauce enhances the flavor.

Details, particularly sensory details, like smells and sounds and sights, enhance the story and make it more real. A reception where the music vibrates the floor boards and you can't hear yourself speak is different than a reception where you hear the clinking of forks on the plate. One is wild and frolicking, the other subdued and perhaps stodgy. Weather is another great way to enhance a story. You might have a bright sunny day contrast with a character's mood or situation or the gray sky could reflect that mood. Kate Chopin's "The Storm" where the weather forms a metaphor for the soon-to-be-requited love is an excellent example.

Too much drama
I've written before about the penchant for surprise endings, but even when the ending isn't a surprise, don't make the mistake of assuming it has to be dramatic. Stories don't have to end in death or even confrontation. Your main character doesn't even always need an epiphany. In real life most people just keep on keepin' on, repeating the same mistakes over and over. This sounds boring, but it doesn't have to be if the story is told well. John Updike's "Friends from Philadelphia" (sorry I can't find a free link online) doesn't end with confrontation. The young man in the story has no idea he's been patronized, but we do. While I don't like fade-out endings, subtle ending usually work best.

These are some of the things I've come across. I'll add more if the subs keep coming in. Only I'd like to make these posts off limits to anyone considering submitting to CROSSxCHECKING. Given the already great caliber of the work I've received, these little hints might be all they need.

Useful Sites for Writers

Here are some useful sites for writers I've come across lately.

BookFox ranks literary journals by competitiveness. As the blogger notes, this isn't exhaustive ( I didn't see Salmagundi the lit journal of my daughter's alma mater, Skidmore) , and one could argue with some of the rankings, but it's a start.

Needless to say I wouldn't necessarily agree with his zine rankings. It's been my experience with the Million Writers Award that winners usually represent print journals that have either moved totally online or have an online counterpart.

From the Writers Relief Newsletter, scroll down to see the average submissions some of the better-known journals receive. I found these numbers a little surprising since Emily Thorp, Managing Editor of Sotto Voce mentions over 1,000 short story submissions for their first issue, and I know it has been going up steadily as she recently needed to hire more reviewers. Barbara Quinn of The Rose & Thorn always estimated at least 400 submissions per month. So if you've been accepted to a zine, you may not be competing against the biggest names, but don't let anyone have you think you didn't compete against big numbers.

If you think you'll never make a penny on your writing, check out Funds for Writers and consider subscribing to one or more of Editor Hope Clark's free newsletters (if you get the one for small markets in the next month, you'll see my cool new add for CROSSxCHECKING). These include nonfiction as well as fiction markets.

Back to the literary scene, a great site I discovered (forgive me if I've mentioned this before by it's worth it), reviews Literary Magazines for fiction writers. Click on one of the mags listed in alpahbetical order and get some great info including the type of story they usually publish. This can save loads of money on sample issues. Not that I wouldn't suggest reading a journal before submitting, but this helps you eliminate the ones that aren't a match for your style.

If you have sites you find helpful in your research or that have helped you achieve success, let us know in a comment.