In an earlier article, I supplied a list of publications to which a prospective writer of short genre fiction might submit their work. While that’s an invaluable resource, by itself it won’t get you far. In fact…
…but before I get started, let me give you some excellent second-hand advice:
“If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second-greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first-greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.”
Dorothy Parker
Listen: Writers write. It’s what they do. It is, in point of fact, the reason they’re called “writers”. If they could talk incessantly instead, they’d do that, but for some reason they can’t. Perhaps people throw things at them; perhaps they’re shy. Pen and paper don’t judge; they merely accept your words and record them, permitting (if composed with forethought) later editing and marginal notes.
It’s possible to become a writer, of course, but an articulate conversationalist with a ready wit gets invited to more parties, probably has more sex, and definitely earns more money. If you have the choice, learn to converse.
The other thing writers do is, of course, read. They read incessantly. Melville’s Ishmael went to sea; normal self-destructive people fought duels; writers read. What that means for you is that, if you don’t get the literary reference I just made, you’re probably not a born writer and should close this article immediately and go celebrate. Go! Find a party and be witty, and when you get home if you think of me send a donation by way of thanks.
Right. Well, that’s got rid of them, at least. Finally, I can… Wait: Someone’s still here reading after that? Good Lord! A glutton for punishment. Perhaps you do have what it takes to become a writer after all.
So, here’s how the game works:
- You write something and notice that it isn’t actual crap.
- You edit the hell out of it (if you’re smart) until it becomes at least slightly good. Get rid of spelling mistakes and rogue commas, that sort of thing.
- You figure out where to send it, preferably someplace that pays you rather than the other way round. If all you want is to get in print, that’s what self-publishing is for, but if you want to make money while not spending the remainder of your life as a combination publicist, salesman, debt collector, and shipping agent, you need a publisher.
- The publisher will reject your work. That’s a given. Learn to deal with rejection.
- Send your work somewhere else. Repeat until you run out of places, and then reverently store the manuscript in the bottom of a large steamer trunk.
- Hopefully while waiting for your latest rejection, you’ve been working on something else.
- Repeat the process.
A word on dealing with rejection: For you it’s personal. For the editor it’s not; chances are they don’t have any idea that you’re a human being, and wouldn’t care if they did. Their job is to read 1200 submissions and reject 1195 of them, and yours isn’t among the five. Making it personal makes their job harder, and they’ll resent that — justifiably. This is why you never argue with an editor.
For further insight, read this. Copy down the 14-point list and paste it somewhere you can always see it. For those of you too lazy to click the link and read it in context, (1) quit now, and (2) here’s a copy:
Herewith, the rough breakdown of manuscript characteristics, from most to least obvious rejections:
- Author is functionally illiterate.
- Author has submitted some variety of literature we don’t publish: poetry, religious revelation, political rant, illustrated fanfic, etc.
- Author has a serious neurochemical disorder, puts all important words into capital letters, and would type out to the margins if MSWord would let him.
- Author is on bad terms with the Muse of Language. Parts of speech are not what they should be. Confusion-of-motion problems inadvertently generate hideous images. Words are supplanted by their similar-sounding cousins: towed the line, deep-seeded, dire straights, nearly penultimate, incentiary, reeking havoc, hare’s breath escape, plaintiff melody, viscous/vicious, causal/casual, clamoured to her feet, a shutter went through her body, his body went ridged, empirical storm troopers, ex-patriot Englishmen, et cetera.
- Author can write basic sentences, but not string them together in any way that adds up to paragraphs.
- Author has a moderate neurochemical disorder and can’t tell when he or she has changed the subject. This greatly facilitates composition, but is hard on comprehension.
- Author can write passable paragraphs, and has a sufficiently functional plot that readers would notice if you shuffled the chapters into a different order. However, the story and the manner of its telling are alike hackneyed, dull, and pointless.
(At this point, you have eliminated 60-75% of your submissions. Almost all the reading-and-thinking time will be spent on the remaining fraction.)- It’s nice that the author is working on his/her problems, but the process would be better served by seeing a shrink than by writing novels.
- Nobody but the author is ever going to care about this dull, flaccid, underperforming book.
- The book has an engaging plot. Trouble is, it’s not the author’s, and everybody’s already seen that movie / read that book / collected that comic.
(You have now eliminated 95-99% of the submissions.)- Someone could publish this book, but we don’t see why it should be us.
- Author is talented, but has written the wrong book.
- It’s a good book, but the house isn’t going to get behind it, so if you buy it, it’ll just get lost in the shuffle.
- Buy this book.
Aspiring writers are forever asking what the odds are that they’ll wind up in category #14. That’s the wrong question.
by Slushkiller, AKA Teresa from TOR, 2004
Now, why is this list important? It’s simple: Find yourself on it and you’ll know how to move further down. If the answer is medication, take your damn meds; if it’s therapy, find yourself a therapist. If you’re functionally illiterate, you’ll never have made it this far anyway and I can’t help you.
Most prospective writers are at #4-5 on the list: They can compose sentences and read them, just not well. It’s possible to move down from here, but it takes hard work and commitment. Buy the following books:
- “Elements of Style”, by Strunk and White: Read this until you can recite it. Only when you’re a master at your craft are you good enough to ignore any part of it.
- Any basic college grammar textbook: The parts of speech are usually on the flyleaf. You can ignore the rest.
- “On Writing”, by Stephen King: Read and obey.
That’s your homework. It takes effort, but do it anyway. Then, do this: - Find a local used bookstore, or if you have no other choice, a library. Buy something you’ll like, read it, then (if you can bear to part with it) bring it back to trade in. Repeat continually for the rest of your life.
After a while, you’ll be ready for the next step: - Writing is a job. Set aside a regular block of time and do nothing but write during that time. Lock the door, turn off your phone, don’t check your email, turn off Twitter, shoot your television set.
Follow the above steps religiously and you will, eventually, with time and hard work, move down to #6.
The writer of the blog post gets a bit too personal about the causes of this phenomenon. It’s actually extremely common, and for a very good reason: Writers are by nature too close to their own work to have any perspective on it. This is what feedback is for. Find a creative writing group, show them samples of what you do, let them tear it apart for you, and learn from them. If you’re too shy to do this, (1) don’t be, and (2) a reasonable substitute can be to lock your work in a drawer for a week or a month or a year and then come back to it once you’ve forgotten it.
Groups are more supportive and less critical than you will be. Trust me on this.
If you’ve done all this, you might, if you’re talented, hardworking, and very lucky, reach #11. That’s your objective. Only now are you ready to submit your first book.
Except you’re not ready. You don’t have an agent, and you haven’t made a name for yourself.
About agents: They’re evil, slimy, bloodsucking parasites who contribute nothing to society but trouble. If this reminds you of the worst kind of lawyer, it should. Like lawyers, however, if you’re ever in a position to need one, you want the nastiest bloodsucker on your side. They earn their 10%.
About making a name for yourself: If you’ve had a successful career in middle management somewhere in corporate America, nobody knows you. If, on the other hand, you’re already a celebrity, why are you learning to write? Hire a ghostwriter. They earn their fee, which had damned well better be a lot more than 10% and include expenses and a stipend.
The other time-honored method is to start out with short fiction and move up from there. Remember too that Dorothy Parker and O. Henry never actually wrote a novel; even so, they’re quite rightly regarded as geniuses by the rest of us. If you love short fiction and hate working on your novel, stick to what you love… and resign yourself to a life of poverty. Which, let’s face it, is what any prospective writer should do anyway.
Here’s how to use that list of publications that I linked earlier:
- Write a story.
- Edit and polish it until it’s perfect. Almost perfect is a waste of your time.
- Check the publication list. Figure out which place wants what you wrote. Prioritize high prices and fast turnarounds.
- Read the Submission Guidelines. These are different for every venue. Most use Shunn’s format guide, but many don’t.
- Fine-tune your story to fit. This may not be possible. Deal with it.
- Submit your story.
- Keep a log of your submissions. I use a new 3×5 index card for each story, on which I log dates and versions. Note that it’s also vital to keep track of which magazines have stories of yours in process so you don’t accidentally violate their guidelines and invite their wrath.
- While waiting for the inevitable rejection, write a new story.
- If you can’t come up with a unique story idea, work on your book instead.
- Repeat forever.
WARNINGS:
- Be sure to allocate one day off per week or you’ll burn out.
- Read everything you can get your hands on or you’ll fall into a rut.
- Remember, good television and good movies also tell stories. Bad ones steal stories. Ration your consumption to good stories only, because there’s only just so much time. EXAMPLE: “Sliders” stole most of their plots after Season 1; even with John Rhys-Davies, it was bad.
- Talk to people on occasion or you’ll go stale.
- Man does not live on caffeine alone. Nutrition is not optional.
Remember: You can do all of this perfectly and still fail. Success is complex; it requires talent, hard work, and luck. All the talent and hard work in the world cannot guarantee luck. Having said that, no amount of luck will be a valid substitute for talent and hard work. That’s true no matter who your uncle is.
The sole exception is Danielle Steele, who just has tons of luck, tons of money, and is willing to work 20 hours per day as a writer. She’s a near-talentless success. You are not her, so don’t try. Instead, nurture your talent and make it work for you.
That’s it. That’s my advice. The rest, as they say, is up to you.
Just remember: If you succeed, you owe it all to me. Send me money.
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