Posts Tagged ‘editing’
BREAKING: F&SF’s Gordon Van Gelder Does Not Want to Drink The Blood of Your Children
Filed Under: SF Business, Speculative Fiction
Last week, we had a lovely mini-controversy over the poorly announced intentions of the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction to launch a workshop for newer writers run by Gardner Dozois.
The details that we were able to gather were:
- The workshop will be online.
- The workshop will be limited at first to around 100 writers.
- Gardner will be able to choose up to 3 stories a year from the workshop submissions to appear in F&SF.
The details that we do not know:
- When will the workshop launch?
- How much will it cost?
- How much face-time will you get with the workshop admin with 99 other students?
The issues that weren’t clear to some:
- Whether or not Gordon would pay for the stories that come from the workshop like any other story
- Whether the cost of joining the workshop would in fact include the price of the soul of your first-born child?
- Whether this is a violation of Yog’s Law, in which money flows from the writer to the publisher? (“money flows to the writer”)
The controversy to me was exactly the same as Amazon’s screw-up a few weeks back regarding the database and adult/gay content being removed from listings. It boiled down to this: poor information control and release. It was a PR fubar.
Perhaps I assumed the bes in that workshoppers selected for the publication would be paid just like any new writer, that Gordon was not planning to sell my unborn children into slavery to the Mi Go and that Yog’s Law was perhaps simply bent, but not in a way that was unprecedented. Ultimately, I shouldn’t have to assume, nor should anyone else. Once again, the issue is that, in the absence of real information, the internet will invent a controversy. WhateverFails are spontaneously generating everywhere on the web because a rumor has gotten out of hand and real information has not stepped into to fill the void.
What could F&SF Done Differently?
Gordon and his staff probably should have acted quickly to correct any misinformation being spread (and to their credit, they did so, but I don’t think they did it comprehensively enough). He should have issued a full press release in the first place, outlining every detail of the project, from cost, to duration to “here’s the websites, go sign up.” The first anyone should have heard of this project should have been when every detail was sorted out and ready to go. If you are vague on any aspect, it just gives people an opportunity to see boggarts where there probably aren’t any.
Information about this seemed to leak via hearsay on one blog, and the controversy built rapidly in this infovoid. Damage control would have been to immediately release all information. Unfortunately, I think not every aspect of the project as nailed down, so it seemed that they were rushed to release what they knew so far, which wasn’t and as far as I know, still isn’t everything. I put my name on the list of interested parties and I look forward to learning more.
In general, I think F&SF needs to control its online public relations better (I imagine Gordon might think ‘great, yet another new job I don’t need and didn’t sign up for.’ Sorry, man. ). The problem is, and justifiably so, they see relating with the public online to be an antagonistic thing. n this posts, I am careful not to say ‘Gordon should do…” which is way too easy with F&SF. I’m trying to say “the organization should do…” Because I know F&SF has a team of people, primarily driven by Gordon. Being the only editor-owned magazine of the Big Three in the field, its easy to place the blame or put a face to any perceived problem with the ‘zine. Gordon, for better and for worse, is F&SF in the public eye. You can’t necessarily do that with the Dell Magazines. Their editors generally aren’t making the business decisions. So the criticisms of F&SF often come across as too personal.
That’s unfortunate. F&SF is a good magazine and Gordon is a great editor. The organization needs to reset their interactions with the online world entirely, and designing a good PR plan would be a nice place to start, in my opinion. I have some ideas of how to go about that which I will go into in more detail at a later date.
What Could We the Public Done Differently?
We should be better at realizing when we have partial information and we should be less eager to jump to conclusions based on that partial information. Perhaps our first instinct should not be to write a blog post or to start a comment thread on a forum. Perhaps, when we have suspicions or are considering casting aspersions, we should contact the parties involved over email or phone and ask our questions. If we don’t get satisfying answers, then maybe that is the time to scream from the rooftops. Also, apply some common sense. What in Gordon or Gardner’s long career would ever make you think they weren’t going to pay writers? Yes, it’s important to make sure you get paid as a writer–but these guys are NOT the enemy. I have disagreed with Gordon on matters electronic in the past, but I know that he is a consummate professional.
This latest controversy is made up of mistakes on both sides. The burden of providing clear, accurate, and complete information rests with the publisher/project runners. The burden of the rest of us is to not jump to assumptions without asking questions first when we receive only partial information.
This Week’s Editoral Advice: Do Not Reply to Rejection Letters
Filed Under: SF Business, SF Podcasting, Writing Advice
This is still happening from time to time with my work for Escape Pod. I had kind of thought by now that arguing with an editor over their comments in a rejection letter was commonly considered a bad idea to be avoided at all costs, but I’m still getting these at Escape Pod. Let me put it to you all straight.
Nothing makes me more disinclined to purchase your work than you arguing with me about me not buying a story.
There are a lot of minor mistakes you can make as a slush writer. I overlook most of them. For instance, we get sent things as attachments when our guidelines call for them to be in the body of an email. I might mention it briefly to the submitter, but I don’t hold it against them much. There are so many differing e-submissions systems that I can understand why this happens. No big deal.
But when you decide to quibble with an editor over the points of his or her rejection letter, you’re crossing a professional line. You are entitled to your opinion. It’s a good thing if you have enough faith in your story that you will continue to send it out, because one editor’s opinion doesn’t amount to much, which is why I say my editorial comments are not intended as writing advice.
The main thing it will lead to is an editor not providing you any detailed feedback at all. We will simply write form rejections for your work from then on out. Because nothing is more annoying to me, at least, than someone deciding to bicker over a rejection. It’s not going to change our minds. It’s only going to make you look worse. So we’ll stop giving you points to quibble with. This is not good for you. We don’t want to do this.
It is a no-win situation for the writer.
So just don’t do it. Stick to creating your editor voodoo dolls and slagging us off to your cats. Take out your frustrations another way, even if the editor is dead wrong. It doesn’t matter.
And another thing– I would rather not see replies, even short thank yous, at all. It clutters up my inbox, which I work very hard to keep organized, and your continuing submissions with us is thanks enough. Tack what you want to say on to the cover letter of your next submission. I would prefer that.
Also, Machine Gun Submissions
Oh, and finally, one last thing– it does you no good to send me story after story after story when I’m reading them quickly, when you get rejected every time. You should cool it and wait a bit between submissions. Probably want to wait and let me forget about how I rejected 3 stories in an hour. Because I do notice, and I know other editors do too, especially with e-submissions at ‘zines with relatively fast turnaround times. Nick Mamatas even had a submissions limit. I’m considering implementing one if this keeps up. At the very least, you’ll stop getting such rapid replies.
An Editor’s Perspective on Rejection
Filed Under: SF Business, Uncategorized
Since I’ve taken on the gig of managing editor at Escape Pod, I’ve been relearning a lot of things about being an editor that I had forgotten in the time since closing th Fortean Bureau. I’ve been thinking a lot about rejection letters, and rejection in general, but not from my usual perspective as a writer, but now as an editor. It’s informing the way I think about rejections as a writer as well.
It’s Not Personal
Rejection letters aren’t personal. I find it very hard not to take them personally because by god, I wrote the story, I poured my self onto the page, and so it hurts to see that rejection come in most of the time. My stories are like the mind-prosthesies I never really asked for. And they transmit pain like any real limb. Er, so to speak.
Doling out rejections, many to fine writers whose work I love in a general sense, it’s really hit home. The rejection is always for the story at hand, and it’s not about you. Great writers get rejected. You will too.
I walk a very fine line in trying to avoid offense with my rejection letters. How much detail does a Hugo-nominated writer need when you bounce his or her story? Do they need a reason other than, just didn’t sync up with my inventory needs at this time? I don’t want to be in the business of handing out writing advice in my rejection letters. I tend to err on the side of less, rather than more, information. Which brings me to my next point.
My Rejection is not Writing Advice
Most of the time, my rejection letter says the same simple line: “didn’t grab me.” I stole this one from F&SF, because it’s succinct and a polite way of putting the truth. When I write this, it means that I did not finish your story because I got bored with it. Sorry, but that’s the truth. And that’s why I don’t write what I literally mean in the rejection letter, because I am not a callous monster. When I do provide feedback as to why I am not buying a story, it’s just based on my personal experience of reading the story. Every editor brings their own peculiar biases and interests to the table. There are some ideas that always grab me more than others. Biological SF will win out over asteroid mining every time, until you write that asteroid mining story that proves me wrong.
New writers should most definitely not be looking for writing advice in their rejection letters. Other writers, and a critique group, are the best way to gain this insight. It’s not the (short fiction) editor’s job, especially not today, to cultivate the writer’s talent. We support your talent, but we don’t have the time to fertilize it. You need to turn to other sources for advice.
I can understand the impulse to seek feedback from editors. Writing is a solitary game, and it’s hard to find methods with which to measure your progress. How do you know if you’re getting close?
Again, time to be blunt. You’ll know you’re getting close because the editor will tell you. When your rejection letter asks for more of your work, that’s not just being polite. That’s because we think you have the chops and we’re just looking for the right story. When rejection letters turn from “didn’t grab” to “didn’t work for me, for the following reasons” that’s a step up.
Trust me, the pain is only beginning when you’ve made those first couple of sales. You’ll want more, and if lighting has struck a little early, it can be painful to go quite a while afterwards.
At the same time, if you go from encouraging rejections to a non-encouraging one, it doesn’t mean you’ve backslid. It probably just means the editor has gotten a bit too busy to give you special attention.
I Liked It, but I Didn’t Love It
I get to buy 52-ish stories a year, and I probably select those from ten times that many at least. This means I am not only looking for good stories, but I’m looking for stories that leave an impact on me. I reject a decent number of good stories, because I can’t use up all my slots buying just good stories. They have to be good, plus some. That spark is the most elusive thing you’ll seek as you develop as a writer.
I personally haven’t broken past this phase. My rejections are very often in the “this is a good story, but I didn’t like it enough to buy it” variety. I sell ocasionally, but this is my career wall at the moment. I think I’m close to understanding why, but I may never know, and I may never take the step forward. Especially if I don’t write more than I have been these past few years.
Doesn’t Fit My Needs at This Time
This is very similiar to the “like it, didn’t love it” rejection letter. Under different circumstances, I might have, probably would have, bought this story. But maybe it’s a bit dark in tone, and I’ve been buying way too many of those lately. Maybe at the moment, I need more light-hearted pieces. Maybe I bought an asteroid mining story shortly before you submitted yours, and they’re too similar in subject matter.
This is the “shit happens” rejection letter. I find they’re the hardest and easiest to take at the same time. They’re frustrating, but at least you can put these to the capriciousness of fate, rather than your own personal skills. It helps.
So that’s a little bit of the thinking I’ve been exploring regarding rejection as I work to select stories for Escape Pod. It’s definitely given me a better perspective on my own rejections. If it were possible, I would recommend every serious writer find a way to read slush some day. Not only do you learn to spot the most common mistakes, you start to get a little empathy for that poor soul on the other side of the transom.
5 Lies Writers Believe About Editors
Filed Under: SF Business, SF Publishers, Speculative Fiction, Top Post, Writing Advice
At least in the science fiction community, there’s a lot of false community wisdom floating around about the editorial process. Some of them may have been true once. Some were probably invented to mess with the heads of noobs. Some of them are carefully nutured lies, like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Well, no longer. I’m here to tell you the truth, no matter how ugly it may be.
LIE #1: Editors give every story fair consideration. OR: Editors reject stories without reading them at all.
The truth is, the slush is deep, and it’s rarely an editor’s favorite part of the job. Why do you think so many places have slush readers?
Every story doesn’t get fair consideration. Not every story deserves it. If you can’t be bothered to read the submission guidelines and follow them, it’s an easy rejection. If you have five grammar and spelling mistakes in the first two paragraphs, it’s an easy rejection. If it’s a story about vampires, and I hate vampire stories, it’s mostly an easy rejection.
Most stories get at least a page out of me. Then I skip to the last 3 paragraphs, if I’m feeling generous. Some get less. Some work is so obviously bad that it’s startlingly easy to know it’s not going to work. But every story gets looked at. Nothing ever gets rejected without being partially read. Honest.
LIE #2: Editors never reject a good story.
I rejected plenty of really good stories at the Fortean Bureau. I’ve even rejected a couple at Escape Pod. The reason is pretty simple: editorial vision or scope. The Fortean Bureau was looking for a particular kind of story. Your space opera, no matter how good, was never going to appear there. Likewise, we don’t accept horror or fantasy at Escape Pod. If the story is good, and sucks me in, I will recommend sending it over to the other editors.
Stories get rejected for being too long, too short, too similiar to another story the editor has already bought… there are as many reasons for rejection as there are stories. And not all of them involve you making mistakes. There are aspects of the process that a writer cannot control. Best to just relax about it.
LIE #3: Editors don’t foster new writers like they did in the old days, and don’t care about new talent.
John W. Campbell was a meddlesome bastard who sent his writers specific ideas for stories. He was not what you call a “hands off” kind of editor. He wrote his fair share of stories, and some of the tales I’ve heard about him make me think that he was often thinking as a writer as much as he was an editor. He wasn’t afraid to rewrite someone else’s story.
For whatever bizzare reason, some people wish editors would take that level of interest in their work, and they lament that editors no longer foster new writers, giving them the kind of constructive criticism that leads to their personal growth. Everything for writers was just wonderful back then but these editors today are jerks!
Not true. Campbell may have had time to do this with a larger percentage of his submissions, but the field was smaller then. Today, there are tens of thousands of writers all trying to break in to the same publications. We simply don’t have time to give personal feedback to each submission. These days, sometimes the best you get is an encouraging rejection. My first came from Stanley Schmidt: “I like your writing, so I hope you will send more in the future.” Not very specific, but it does the trick. It tells you that you’re on the right track.
As much as I give Gordon van Gelder a hard time for his opposition to online media, the man writes a very succinct and helpful rejection letter. Even the form letters have a system to them to help you figure out why the story was rejected. I always simultaneously feared and looked forward to his short notes.
Editors do build a stable of writers. The reason most people don’t see it is because by the time you come along, the editor has already established a group of authors he or she can count on. But short story writers in particular are always going on to write novels, so openings do occur from time to time.
If you really want feedback on your work, join a workshop or critique circle. It’s not the editor’s job to help you become a better writer. Sometimes, we’re helpful, but we can’t do it for everyone.
LIE #4: Editors are people too.
“Editors are just like us.” No, we’re not. You don’t have a neverending stream of bad writing coming at you day in, day out. You get to read for pleasure, selecting material that has been through at least one filter. Whereas you turn on the tap and get a stream of nice drinkable water, we put our mouths to a sewer pipe and hope to get at least one swallow that won’t give us raging diarrhea.
I know the sentiment of the phrase is meant to imply that we’re not godlike arbiters of taste, making and breaking careers on a whim. But editors do wield power. And it changes us. Generally it makes us ill-tempered and easily distracted by shiny objects. I’ve yet to feel godlike, but I’m not ruling out the possibility. Maybe when something I’ve published wins a Hugo, I will ascend to Asgard.
LIE #5: Editors (and critics) are failed writers.
As a rule, no. A lot of us are moderately successful writers. Some of us have never wanted to write and never will. There are a few who have started out as writers and given it up for the editing/publishing game (Gordon, I think), but not all of us have.
We’re not driven to become editors out of bitterness. We all come to the position for different reasons, but I think most of us start out as optimistic and hopeful. We think that maybe we have a vision for a type of story that nobody else has seen before. We day dream about finding writers that amaze us and publishing them before anyone else.
It takes a peculiar sort of ego to take up editing. And thank god. If it wasn’t for editors, we’d all have to sort through the kind of self-published garbage that made it possible for Geocities to stay in business for so long. I shudder to think of a world without editors.
And finally, a well-known truth:
You can bribe an editor.
Most of us are broke and driven to drink copious amounts of alcohol. See the sewer pipe analogy above. That gives us a weakness you can exploit. Next time you’re at a convention, go to the bar, and buy a drink for your favorite editor. Make sure you do it early on, because seven or eight drinks in, we’ll never remember your name. We’ll be lucky to wake up in the right hotel room, or even the right state. Who bought the drinks on a night like that will be the least of our concerns when we wake up naked atop a desert mesa covered from head to toe in blue paint.
Putting a name to a face, along with a mental database note of “bought me a beer” doesn’t hurt. One of the things that makes editing easier is pretending that the stories aren’t all written by human beings with heart. Sometimes, we have to put that out of our minds. And if you find a way to politely shatter that illusion, well, it can be good for you. But only if you are likely to start selling stories anyway.
There are no great secrets to being published. Read lots. Write stories. Lots and lots of stories. Submit the work until the stories are either accepted or rejected by every market you could bear to see your name associated with. That’s pretty much all there is to it. Everything else is basically unimportant.
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