Monthly Archive for September, 2009

My Fiction Debut

Posted September 28, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , .

Writing for PG Holyfield’s Tales of the Children podcast anthology was a great experience, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post.

Hearing my words come to life is a great experience, too!

Tales of the Children: Episode 1 released this past Friday, featuring my story “Swimming Lessons”. It’s about a thirty minute file (the story itself reads about twenty minutes long), and I hope you’ll go to PG’s site and take a listen.

While you’re there, subscribe to the RSS feed so that you won’t miss future installments. The Land of Caern, home of PG’s debut novel Murder at Avedon Hill, is a rich and intriguing world, and the Tales of the Children anthology is a series of companion stories from some great authors.

The Parsec-nominated podcast novel Murder at Avedon Hill is available at PG Holyfield’s website and at Podiobooks.com. The print edition is forthcoming from Dragon Moon Press.

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Dealing with Rejection

Posted September 24, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , , , .

We all have a deep-seated need for closure in our lives. We like to know why people have made the choices that they’ve made, whether we’ve done something wrong to bring about that choice or whether acting differently could have somehow changed the outcome.

In the absence of answers, we tend to analyze situations and come up with answers of our own. We rationalize events around us all the time, to the point that we don’t even notice ourselves doing it. If traffic is slow, we tell ourselves that there’s road construction up ahead, or maybe there’s been an accident. If someone’s late for an appointment, or doesn’t answer the phone, we come to an internally satisfying conclusion about what might be occupying them.

In the absence of an explanation, we also tend to try to read too closely between the lines of a form rejection letter. No reason is given, but there must have been a reason, so we rationalize and analyze and come up with our own.

I acknowledge that, I empathize with it, and I send out form rejections anyway. I stand by it.

1. It’s kinder to dump someone outright than to lead them on.
Do form letters deprive writers of the constructive criticism that might make their work better? Maybe. But if I’ve already decided I don’t want it and that nothing you can change will make me want it, I’m not the one you’ve got to make it better for. If it’s close enough that I’d accept it if a couple things were different, I will tell you. But I won’t suggest changes that might make it less suitable for publication somewhere else, when I don’t plan to take it on no matter what you do with it.

2. Form letters discourage further conversation.
It’s a simple one-shot business transaction. You send me one query, I send you one response. If that response is no, that’s all you get, and I don’t want to give out any signals that suggest my decision might be open to negotiation. It isn’t. I don’t want to invite discussion, I won’t be coerced into giving a free critique, and I don’t have time to listen to a rebuttal against my decision. It won’t change my mind, it’ll just make you look unprofessional. You need to move on, and you need to let me move on, too. You’ll earn more respect by respecting my decision. And it’s not just me: Colleen Lindsay’s post What Not to Do When You Get a Rejection speaks in more depth about the kinds of follow-up correspondence agents and editors don’t like to see.

3. Don’t assume it’s you.
Some people respond to rejection in a very internal way. They think they must have done something wrong, and they analyze every minute nuance of their actions trying to figure out how they could have done better or changed the outcome. If you’re a writer, you need to develop a thicker skin than that. If your work is polished and well-written and interesting and engaging, it could just be that it’s not a fit for a particular publisher, that it’s not directed toward their market, or that it’s directed too well toward their market and they already have too many similar submissions in their list. Don’t beat yourself up over your query letter, either. If it’s well-written and professional and portrays you as sane and serious about getting published, it was probably fine. Get a critique group to look at your manuscript and your query, get opinions from other writers and from editors. If general consensus is that your manuscript is at a publishable stage and appropriate for submission, just accept that it wasn’t that publisher’s “type,” and move on.

4. Don’t assume it’s NOT you.
On the opposite end of the continuum, we find people who refuse to take responsibility for anything. The world is out to get them, and it’s everyone’s fault but theirs. Don’t go too far in this direction and assume your manuscript is perfect. Yes, it may have just been that your golden triangle didn’t fit in a publisher’s square hole, but it may also be that you’ve submitted a lump of unpolished tin. I see a lot of manuscripts that just aren’t fit to be published, with horrible grammar and spelling, or with premises and protagonists that make me weep. A certain amount of confidence is a good thing, but don’t ever become so overconfident that you refuse to consider that your manuscript might not be ready for the big leagues. Not all manuscripts are perfect; in fact, few of them are. If they were, I wouldn’t have a job.

5. Whether it’s about you or not, it’s not personal either way.
You’ve probably worked on your manuscript for a very long time. It’s your baby. It’s part of who you are. It’s your inner daydreams and emotions and hopes and fears written down for the whole world to see. You’ve never felt so free, or so exposed, as when you hand that little piece of your soul over for someone else’s approval or enjoyment. But to them, it’s just a book. It’s one of many books. Millions of books. No one who declines your manuscript is passing judgment on you or your worth as a person. They’re simply saying that this particular offering isn’t appropriate for them at this time. You’ve probably heard a thousand times about all the rejection letters any writer gets. I understand that “Don’t take it personally” is easier said than done. But really, I mean it. I make no value judgment on you as a person if I reject your manuscript. I don’t even make a value judgment on your writing. I just don’t want to publish it. It really is as impersonal as that. And that’s part of the value of a form rejection, believe it or not. As Rachelle Gardner points out, “the more detailed I get about the rejection, the more personal that rejection becomes.”

6. It’s who you know… but only to a point.
Nothing fills me with more anxiety than sending my own submissions out to face rejection. But, second to that, nothing fills me with more anxiety than reading a submission from a friend or colleague if I’m unfamiliar with their writing. Knowing someone in the industry might get you in the door, but what happens when you’re inside is all up to you. Your manuscript still has to stand on its own merits. It’s under more pressure, even, because it’s going to reflect on the person who referred you, too. I don’t give pity dates; if I accepted something that didn’t meet my standards, it would reflect on my reputation, as well. If it turns out that I can’t take it, I’ll have to reject it all the same no matter who you are. If I do take it, you can be assured that it’s because the manuscript has earned it. I may be more likely to offer feedback and critique to a friend’s manuscript, but I’m not going to be any more likely to accept it.

7. It’s not random.
I think this is the hardest one to accept. There are reasons, even if you don’t know them, and you may never know what they are. This is where the whole mythos of the crapshoot comes from: the folklore that acceptance and rejection are based solely on the editor or agent’s mood, a toss of a coin, what they had for breakfast and the state of their morning commute. It’s easy and convenient to think that way when you’re not presented with evidence to the contrary. I understand that it gives you the closure that you need. But please give us a little credit, too. Most of us treat our submissions seriously and make careful, considered decisions. Ultimately, we want to like the submissions we get. We wish every manuscript we get could be The One. And we want to see you succeed, too, even if your manuscript isn’t right for us.

Further reading:

I’ll leave you with this, from author JA Konrath: “Remember, there’s a word for a writer who never gives up: Published.”

If you’ve got a link to another good post on the subject, please leave it in a comment!

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What not to Write

Posted September 21, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , , .

Just as important as how to write, is what to write.

In a panel at Anticipation 09 in Montreal, editor David G. Hartwell said:

“The sincere desire on the part of the writer to write the book will communicate to the reader. This is not something that is often said in public, but it is nevertheless the truth. And it is my experience that if you write what you truly wish to write, it will communicate more and better to the reader than anything else you could possibly write. Sincerity trumps everything. Even execution.”

Write the story that you want to tell.

Writing the story that you want to tell, you will always end up with a better, more passionate manuscript than if you’re writing what you think you should write, or if you’re writing what you think will sell. If your heart’s not in it, it will show.

However, the unfortunate truth is that while writing the story that you want to tell is always the place to start, it is not always enough to get you published.

Someone who attended one of my panels at Worldcon noted that there are some publishers who don’t even want to see a story written in the present tense, or the first person, no matter what it’s about.

I responded, first, that this isn’t true of all publishers. And that it’s not generally due to a dislike of first person, or present tense, it’s because these things are very hard to do well, and after you see them done badly enough, often enough, it’s almost a public service to try to dissuade others from trying. Sometimes it works for a story. When it does, it’s extremely powerful. Often times, though, it doesn’t.

When publishers say “I don’t want to see this,” what they often mean is “I don’t want to see this done badly,” or “I have seen eight hundred of this in the last month and I’m going to rip my eyes out if I see it one more time this year.” Even if you’re confident in your treatment of a particular this, do that publisher a favor and submit it elsewhere. Maybe they’ll be missing out on something great. If so, accept that it’s their choice, and just resolve to wow them next time with your that.

There are many plot ideas, story mechanics and twists that editors and publishers see so often that they feel “done to death”; and it’s not just jaded professionals — readers often feel the same way. Strange Horizons magazine has gone as far as to supply a list of Stories We’ve Seen Too Often. They’re careful to point out, “This is not a canonical list of bad stories or story cliches. This is a list of types of stories that we at SH have seen too often; it’s not intended to be a complete list of all types of bad stories, nor are all the items on the list necessarily bad.”

If the story that’s within you is on that list, or some other similar list, what do you do?

You write it anyway.

Really. I mean it.

They’re not telling you what not to write. They’re telling you what they don’t want to see.

There’s a huge difference, and it’s so important that I’ll say it again: They’re not telling you what not to write.

Don’t let current trends or the taste and preference of any one publisher, agent, or editor influence what you write. If all publishers, agents and editors had the same taste and preference, there wouldn’t be a market for so many of them.

Write what matters to you.

Write the story and the characters and the setting that are churning around in your head waiting to be set down. Write it with passion and enthusiasm, and enjoy every moment of it.

Even if you never get it published, write it anyway. It will still have been an opportunity to practice your writing and hone your craft. It will free up all the other ideas inside you that have been jostling for position behind it.

Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine’s Douglas A. Van Belle offers a Totally Comprehensive and Universal List of Every Problem a Story Has Ever Had. There’s some great advice in there, a lot of stumbling points to watch out for, and I strongly recommend the list to readers. Again, Doug is quick to point out that there is at least one great story guilty of each problem on the list. Having one of these problems doesn’t guarantee a bad story; on the whole, though, they’re things you probably don’t want to do.

Evaluate your story on that level. Look at lists like the one I started last Thursday, that discuss how to add polish to your writing, and evaluate your word choices on that level.

Rewrite the story that matters to you. Give it impeccable grammar, spelling and punctuation. Make it as free of commonly-seen predictability and problems as you can, while retaining its core with integrity. It’s already something you can be proud of. Now you’re making it shine.

Now, start submitting that manuscript and move on to the next story that’s bubbling up inside you, just waiting to be told.

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Tips for Polished Writing – Words and Phrases to Avoid, Part I

Posted September 17, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , , , , .

Polished Writing – Words and Phrases to Avoid, Part I:

Cause and effect, and avoiding passive voice.

Obviously, when I talk about a polished manuscript, I’m not referring to any sort of literal shine or sparkle to the page. Polish is an abstract sort of quality, and it’s hard to understand unless you see it for yourself. Basically, though, to sum it up very simply: the words shouldn’t get in the way of the story.

Good fiction is seamless. The words themselves flow so eloquently that they almost become invisible. It’s like watching a movie and forgetting for an hour or so that there’s a room and a world beyond the borders of the screen. You can immerse in it, surrounded by the imagery and action that the words evoke. When you hit a speed-bump that jolts you back to the real world and breaks the spell, or when things plod along too awkwardly for you to really get into it in the first place… that’s unpolished. Those rough edges need to be sanded smooth so that they don’t snag readers and get in the way of the story.

Learning to achieve that level of polish takes time and practice… and the guiding touch of someone who can point out your rough spots can be helpful, too. Below, I’ve started you off with a few of the phrases and writing habits that, in my opinion, detract the most from the polish of a manuscript. These are easy crutches to use, but your writing will flow much more smoothly without them.

  • “As” is a tricky word to use. “As” suggests that two events happen simultaneously, but I often see it misused in situations that involve cause and effect. Cause and effect can’t be simultaneous. If “he opened the door as the doorbell rang”, either he’s psychic or it’s coincidence. Along the same lines, “as” shouldn’t be used as a direct replacement for “because”. (“The walls fell inward as they had been weakened by the fire.”) “As” also shouldn’t be used to connect phrases that could be connected just as well with “and”, or that could be separate sentences.
  • Using “allowed to” or “caused to” takes dynamic action and turns it passive. I think of the phrase “mistakes were made” when I’m looking at passive voice. Don’t tell me he “caused her arm to break”, tell me he broke her arm! Or maybe he snapped it, or crushed it. It’s more active and engaging that way, more “in the moment”, and ultimately, better for getting your reader caught up in your story.
  • Using “she saw”, “she felt”, “she realized” makes the experience more passive for the reader, too. They have their time and place, but when they’re overused they only distance the reader from the feeling, the seeing, and the realizing. If we’re already in someone’s POV, we know who’s doing the seeing and the feeling. Let us see and feel and realize instead. You don’t always have to preface a realization with “she realized.” If you get us well enough into a character’s head, you can express a new idea in the narrative and we’ll know that it’s just occurred to the character.  “She saw the fire consume the building and she could feel the heat along her arms” removes the reader one step from the action. “The fire consumed the building. Heat crackled along her arms” lets the reader experience it right there with her. It’s a subtle difference, but an important one.
  • “Began to” or “started to” is a different kind of passive, and the problem there is that it’s used very often with verbs that are too binary to support it. The rule I follow is, you can’t “begin” something that’s done the moment it starts — it can’t be interrupted. Just like you can’t be a little bit pregnant, you can’t begin to blink your eyes or begin to switch on a light. If you’re beginning to open a jar, then you’re twisting and straining and doing all sorts of other things that are far more interesting than “began to open”, so I’d like to see those instead. You can “start across a room” better than you can “begin to walk”. You’re already walking as soon as you take that first step. It’s your journey to the destination that’s just beginning.

Again, these aren’t words that I think needed to be avoided at all costs, but they’re things that I frequently see misused and overused in ways that take away from the flow of a story. Feel free to comment if you find these tips helpful.

More words and phrases to avoid will follow soon in future posts.

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Proper Channels

Posted September 14, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , .

This may sound a bit obvious, but when you send a query, please send it to the correct address as specified by a publisher’s submissions guidelines.

If a submissions address is listed for a publisher, whether it’s a physical address or an e-mail address, that’s the best address to which you can direct a submission. It’s what it’s there for.

I’m noticing a surprisingly common perception that goes something like, “If I send this to the editor at home, or send it to their personal e-mail address, I’ll cut corners and get in the back door and get my query noticed. That’ll get me off the slush pile and in ahead of everyone who sends to the ’submissions’ address; it’s like cutting to the front of the line.” This is absolutely false, in this editor’s experience, and I strongly discourage it. Please, don’t even consider it.

Proper channels exist for a reason: to be followed. Every editor, agent, or publisher has a process in place, and it’s not a random thing — it’s the process or system that works best for them. Stepping outside those lines just makes their job harder, and in some cases can severely limit your chances.

If someone has work mail and home mail separate, it’s because they don’t want to see work mail while they’re at home. Sending it there isn’t going to get it answered any faster, it’ll just be an imposition on their personal time.

Speaking for my own experience: I work at home, so I don’t have office mail and home mail separate. My personal and professional e-mail all filters into the same mailbox. Searching out my “personal” email and directing a query to it, or sending me a Dragon Moon Press query through this blog, will not get your mail seen any faster than sending it to the proper address. I see mail directed to all my addresses with equal frequency and reliability.

So why does it matter?

Sending professional mail to a stranger’s personal, home address is an inappropriate intrusion on their personal space. If the professional address is posted and the personal address isn’t, that extra effort you took to track them down will show, and will make you look a little desperate and stalkery. That’s not the first impression you want to give. Even if I communicate with someone on a personal, friendly level first, if I then invite them to submit a query, I still ask them to submit to the submissions address so that the mail can be tagged and processed correctly.

Sending professional mail to a stranger’s personal, home address will reduce your message’s chances of being read. I expect my personal mail to be from people I know personally; everything else is usually spam, and is usually treated as such.

Incoming mail is tagged differently, based on where it’s incoming from. Submissions that get to me in the correct manner are tagged with a little green label in my inbox. It makes them stand out from the rest of the mail and I instantly know, before even reading the subject line, what they probably are. That label helps me to handle submissions more efficiently and alerts me to do all the things that I need to do to process them. Without it, I might still see them, but even if I do, they’ll be harder to find again. They’re more likely to fall through the cracks.

Ultimately, it’s important to remember that publishing, while it can feel informal and blur the lines at times, is a business. Publishers, editors, and agents are professionals. Correspond with the same professionalism you would display to any other business contact, and you’ll be more likely to receive prompt, professional attention in return.

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The Elephant in the Room

Posted September 10, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , .

If you’re in publishing, even if you’re not in New York City yourself, you probably know a lot of people who are–or have been–based there.

Nobody talks about it much, especially not any more, but if you know people who’ve lived and worked in New York City for a while, you probably know at least a good handful of 9/11 survivors. The victims and their families get a lot of the press, as they should, but you don’t hear much about the survivors and the witnesses. It’s largely because they don’t want it, or because there’s a perception that they don’t, or because there’s a certain discomfort about what to say or do. It’s the elephant in the room.

Many of the New York publishing houses are up toward Midtown. The publisher I worked for (Scholastic) is in SoHo, right on Broadway, a little more than a handful of blocks away.

My name is Gabrielle and I’m a 9/11 survivor. I don’t talk about it much, especially not any more, but I am.

And I’m not unique. Everyone in my company, in my building, was there too. We saw it happen. Not live on television or on endless tape loops after the fact, but right out our open windows or from our own office’s rooftop balcony. All of us were evacuated and sent out into the panic on the streets with no news, no direction, and — for many of us who commuted — no way home.

All of us breathed and blinked our eyes in that toxic air for months, and several of us suffered health effects from it. No two people handle trauma in exactly the same way or have exactly the same experience, but suffice it to say, all of us were changed.

I don’t bring it up much unless it’s relevant, but I’ve also always made a point not to shy away from the topic, either. It was a very different experience, actually being there, and I’ve always had a drive to explain it to people who want to understand.

At the same time, it’s left me very sensitive in some ways, and to some themes in fiction — and not the ones you might expect. They’re themes that haven’t come up yet in my work, so I can’t speak to whether I’ll be okay working with them in a professional sense if they do, or if there will end up being some books that my own PTSD just won’t let me work on. Time will tell.

Though reactions are specific and individual, it’s a day that never comes and goes without notice for those of us who witnessed it firsthand. We might pretend it’s just another day, but even if we don’t let it get to us, there’s still an awareness of it. When I was still in New York, I’d always take the day off, just so that I didn’t have to deal with the panic inherent in that morning’s commute.

Now, I just try to keep busy. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to be asked if I’m okay. I don’t want sympathy. I just want to get through it quietly and keep my mind on other things until the calendar flips.

I’d suggest handling any contact with NYCers the same way. If someone wants their day to be business as usual, the most sensitive thing you can do for them is to give them just that. If they want to talk about it, they will. No one’s going to think you’re insensitive if you let the elephant in the room blend in with the decor.

Personally, I’ll go back to being willing to talk about it on Saturday. Today and tomorrow, I’d rather avoid the topic, avoid the media, and immerse myself in my work. I’ll remember and reflect quietly, in my own time and in my own way.

Meanwhile, Tor.com has a good two-part article on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in Fiction (part 2 continues here).

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Plugs of the Day

Posted September 7, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , , .

Today’s plug is for Booksellers Blog. If you’re in writing, editing or the publishing industry at large, it’s an excellent resource.

While geared toward independent booksellers, it’s full of advice that applies to one-person businesses like freelancers and authors. Recent posts cover themes like improving your professional blog, boosting your online presence, and using Twitter to your advantage.

And speaking of Twitter, I’d also like to plug Brian Rathbone’s List of Fantasy Authors, Writers and Professionals on Twitter and Bookmarket.com’s List of Independent Bookstores on Twitter, just as a sample of the sorts of resources that are out there.

Some regions maintain their own local (and possibly more comprehensive) lists of independent bookstores, too. NYC and Northern California are two examples.

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Guest Blogger: David Sakmyster on The Joys of Research

Posted September 3, 2009 by Gabrielle Tags: , , , .

Today’s guest post is written by author David Sakmyster.

So you’ve got your character in a foreign country, in the midst of some ancient ruins, and suddenly you’re hit with what I call P-FU: Paralyzing Fear of the Unknown. What kind of bricks are these? Are those flowering shrubs or just exotic weeds? What kind of birds are those? How did my character even get here? And hey — what’s that smell?

Paralysis. Just like in war, if you’re the general you wouldn’t send your troops into unknown territory without doing the necessary recon. You’d send out spies to report on the enemy positions, the lay of the land, the strength of the defenses, what kind of weapons they have; you’d check satellite imagery and aerial maps, consult geological charts and study weather patterns. Information is key to winning any battle, and writers should approach each scene like it’s a key battle in the war. Sure, it’s possible to go kamikaze and just rush in and make it all up when you get there, and good writers can pull that off and make you believe it, but in cases where your characters are prowling about in locations you’ve never actually been to, readers may quickly catch on that you haven’t done your job.

So, research is work, and it’s often painful and boring – but it can also be very rewarding and very often leads to new directions or improvements to your story. Recently I was researching the life of Genghis Khan, as the current book I’m writing involves psychic archaeologists trying to find his lost tomb (and the treasure supposedly buried with him). Reading one of six different biographies, I discovered the existence of a cult of worshippers who for centuries took it as their sacred duty to protect his hidden grave; well, that hadn’t been part of my original outline, but now I just had to have a character be a member of that secret cult, trying to block my heroes from their quest. And just like that, I ramped up the stakes and the excitement in the plot.

As to where to research… that’s the part that’s open to your preferences. Sure, there’s Wikipedia, which you’ll often find at the top of any Google search – and I’m not afraid to admit I’ll use it. At least, at a first stop – often if I’m just looking for basic factual info (like: when was this castle built, what city is it in, are there any pictures and a map?) it’s fine for that, and saves loads of time. And even if the info seems weak or light, the authors usually list a lot of corroborating sources below, other texts and links you can follow for more info (or check out of the library).

So, definitely don’t discount Wikipedia for some light research, but for really in-depth background info, I still rely on the library and encyclopedias. Biographies are great, and for describing exotic cities or locations I’ve never visited, nothing beats travel guides. For Silver and Gold, I loaded up on travel books for Alaska, the Yukon, California and Nevada. They’re invaluable, describing everything you’ll need to know in terms of local flavor (vegetation, people, geography, some history, maps…).

And for those times when I don’t want to brave the outside world (where I might run into actual people), there are other online sources of help: flickr.com is great for viewing pictures other people have taken of just about everything in the world. It’s the next best thing to actually seeing it firsthand yourself! And now so many books and excerpts of books are online, that search engines will just find those pages you need for you. Prowl around newsgroups of interest to the topic you’re writing about and get their members’ perspectives or input. And also don’t be afraid to go straight to the source: when I needed information about dogsledding, I contacted a sled group leader with some questions. When I wanted to know about remote-viewing, I wrote to the author of a study on such psychic abilities.

When I researched my nonfiction book about the haunting of the Belhurst Castle in Geneva, NY, I prowled around dusty historical societies, digging up old photos and letters from the 1800s, reading wills and trust documents, then scanning ancient newspapers on microfilm. And finally, don’t discount the power of actual social interaction. Local taverns are a great place to run into interesting people who will gladly (for a drink) share their knowledge – and you can learn things that could never be found in books.

With all the tools available, it’s actually a great day and age to be a writer – at least in terms of researching!

David Sakmyster is the author of the newly-released epic historical fiction novel, SILVER AND GOLD, as well as TWILIGHT OF THE FIFTH SUN. He’s a winner of the Writers of the Future Contest, and has over two dozen published short stories. He lives in upstate NY with his wife, daughter, dog and a lot of snow. He’s at work writing a trilogy about psychic archaeologists and dabbling in screenwriting. You can find him on the web at www.sakmyster.com, or at his blog.

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