101 — with Nicholas Kaufmann

As part of my ongoing 101 section for newer writers, I’ve asked a handful of colleagues—and mentors of my own—to participate in the name of preventing mistakes and paying knowledge forward. I asked them all the same question… This edition is brought to you by Nicholas Kaufmann, author of General Slocum’s Gold, Chasing the Dragon, and more. And now, Nick…


If there’s one thing I wish someone had told me when I was just starting out, one thing I wish I hadn’t had to learn the hard way, it is simply this.

You can say no.

You can say no to publishers. Sure, it can be enormously flattering to have a publication offer, especially when it’s your very first. But as any woman who has ever been hit on in a club or bar can tell you, not every offer is a good one. There are a lot of shitty publishers out there—many of them in the horror micropress—who prey on writers for content and give them nothing in return, not even that elusive promised “exposure,” because nobody actually reads the books these publishers put out. And you became a writer to be read, didn’t you? So aim high instead. There are plenty of publishers out there whose authors are read, they’re just not as easy to publish with as the crappy ones. But who said anything worth doing is easy? Keep striving. Keep challenging yourself. You’ll become a better writer for it, I promise. And you’ll feel a lot better about yourself knowing you’ve made business decisions (and yes, this is a business, folks) that value the time and effort you put into your work.

You can say no to idiots online. Message boards and social media sites are full of them. Mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, reactionary boneheads who don’t know what they’re talking about, but who insist there is only one way to become a writer. You have to start with short stories. You have to start with the small press. You have to read Ed Lee or Richard Laymon or some other splatterpunk darling. No, you don’t. Thousands of successful authors have started with novels. Thousands more have had their first novels published by major New York houses. (And don’t give me that old sawhorse that the major houses don’t publish horror. They publish horror every day, it’s just by authors you may not be familiar with because the online idiots don’t start threads about them.) Read widely, following your interests, not the interests of others. Put simply, there is no single path to success, no matter what any of these morons say. I wish I hadn’t listened to them when I was starting out and they told me to stop reading literary novels with gothic or horror bents and start reading the horror small press instead. I honestly believe my own career is ten years behind where it should be because I followed their advice.

You can say no to services that are clearly intended to do nothing more than separate authors from their money. For example, there are review sites that charge a fee to review your book. They’ll tell you that without reviews your book won’t sell well, and they’re not entirely wrong about that, but that doesn’t mean you (or your publisher) have to go paying for it. That’s not how it works. Real reviews, the reviews that actually have weight, the reviews that matter to readers, appear in magazines, newspapers, or websites that pay their reviewers themselves. (Blogs are a whole different subject, but in short, blog reviews can move copies, too. It’s just another form of word-of-mouth.) Publishers and authors never pay for reviews, because reviews that are paid for are meaningless. Once money changes hands, they’ve lost any possibility of objectivity. There are other examples of this pervasive fleecing of writers, too, such as companies that offer to turn your novel or story into a film treatment written by “professional screenwriters,” often for several thousand dollars. They’ll tell you that you can’t sell your work to Hollywood without it. Don’t believe them. It’s bullshit. Books are optioned all the time without treatments attached, and authors are rarely asked to write treatments themselves. Be smart, and beware. Use your noggin. There are a ton of scams out there that prey on desperate and eager authors. Don’t fall for them. Remember, money always flows to the writer, not from the writer.

When you want something really badly, saying no can be the hardest thing in the world. But when it’s for the right reasons, it pays off. Be smart. Keep your wits about you. Treat this business like a business, and treat yourself with respect. Keep in mind through all the ups and downs, all the waiting and disappointment, that nothing worth doing is ever easy. And remember, as a writer you are creating the content that publishers want. You’re supplying the commodity. That gives you the power, and the right, to say no


Thanks to Nick for playing along. Please visit him at to see what he’s up to and grab the books you haven’t read yet…


101 — with Lee Thomas

As part of my ongoing 101 section for newer writers, I’ve asked a handful of colleagues—and mentors of my own—to participate in the name of preventing mistakes and paying knowledge forward. I asked them all the same question… This edition is brought to you by Lee Thomas, author of The Dust of Wonderland, The German, and many more. And now, Lee…


(The use of the word bitch in this article refers to its use as prison slang and is in no way specific to or related to gender or sexual orientation, and no such interpretation should be made.)

My good friend Kelli asked me to guest blog, and naturally I was glad to do it because she da rock, but the prompt she gave me proved a bit of a challenge. She asked: “What one thing during your writing career did you have to learn the hard way, on your own? Something you wish someone had told you or warned you about?”

Well, quite honestly, most everything. Still, in thinking about this, I was reminded of a very good piece of advice that–had it come with a caveat, or I had been smarter–could have been even more valuable. You see, I used to be really new at this, too. I entered the publishing industry naïve and eager, but we’ll get to that soon enough. First, the good advice.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received, in regard to the publishing business, came from Douglas Clegg, though it is unlikely he knows this. I was at my first horror gathering, which happened to be the first Horrorfind Convention, with my friend Kris. Being far more gregarious than I, but also a novice looking to break into publishing, Kris made quick friends with a number of people, and I tagged along behind her, smiling, nodding, keeping my mouth shut and trying to keep my fanboy reflex in check whenever Ken Foree or Michael Berryman walked by. One afternoon Kris was speaking with Doug, and he mentioned the HWA and their message board (a very different beast than the board they have now). He suggested she join the organization and then just observe the comments on the message board to get a feel for what was going on. He also encouraged her to ask specific questions, but mostly he felt it would help immensely if she just read the posts and absorbed.

What I got from this exchange was that it was important not to come screaming into the conversation, but rather to sit back and listen. What he did not say, and it is something I believe would have proven beneficial was: Everyone wants to be helpful, and they will give freely of their knowledge—whether they have any or not.

I feel qualified to speak to this topic because, as noted above, I entered the business wide-eyed and dumb as toast. I didn’t have the knowledge or the confidence to navigate the system in the way that would have been most beneficial to my career. I took quite a lot of bad advice and made every mistake a new writer can make. This happened because upon entering the business, my assumption was that everyone knew more than I did, and therefor, everyone’s advice was pretty much equal in value. It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, but there it is. I let the business make me its Bitch.

The thing is when you’re new to this (or any other) business, you might assume, as I did, that anyone further along in the process has something useful to teach you, but think of it this way: you’re about to enter a prison system and you can either come in as a Guard, a Thug, or somebody’s Bitch. After all, you can have a person in the publishing correctional facility for 3 months, 3 years, or 3 decades, but a Guard’s experience is going to be far different from that of a Thug’s.

A Bitch’s experience is going to be the worst. These boys and girls come into the business vulnerable and uncertain, and they are looking for quick and easy ways to establish themselves. They do this by becoming a Bitch. Note that I am emphasizing the words Quick and Easy—let’s call it Queasy—because that is the key to being a Bitch. It is Queasy to send poorly written material to a freebie site. They have nothing to lose by posting your story, so you get jazzed, thinking you’ve accomplished something, but the fact is, the “publisher” takes no risk by accepting whatever is thrown his or her way. Similarly, you place your first novel with a “publisher” who uses CreateSpace to format and distribute the title. They do minimal promotion, expecting you–the newbie author–to fling copies far and wide, effectively doing more to promote the publisher’s name to other Bitches, who will eagerly sign on for the same reasons you did. The title becomes an ebook and it’s on Kindle! Along with millions of other titles. If sales are bad, do you think the publisher blames his or herself for bad packaging (because your cover will suck–don’t doubt it), insufficient marketing, or any of the other facets of book failure?  Mmmmm, no.  And there’s no reason they should. Again, there is little risk involved for said “publisher,” so there is no need for concern, and certainly no motivation to discern quality work from not-so-quality work.

There’s very little effort required to survive publishing as a Bitch. You take no chances, expend minimal energy, and you find peace, even satisfaction, at your chosen station because it is safe. And you can surround yourself with other Bitches all assuring you that you’re doing the right thing.

In a highly publicized research study from David Dunning of Cornell University, some very interesting theories of self-perception were discovered: “The research shows that incompetent people are inherently unable to judge the competence of other people, or the quality of those people’s ideas.” As such: “Very smart ideas are going to be hard for people to adopt, because most people don’t have the sophistication to recognize how good an idea is.”

My only two internet explosions, which is to say, the two occasions when I felt I behaved very badly on message boards were a direct result of individuals who fell squarely into the description above. They were incompetent and remain so, but they fought for their right to be ignorant at every turn, going so far as to insult well established professionals in the field.  My issue was not that they questioned/berated/annoyed me, but rather, that they were insulting to real industry leaders who had decades of experience and who were trying to help said idiots: free and solid advice from people who knew the business! And just because what was being said did not fit into the juvenile philosophies of these two individuals, the professionals ended up being treated like diapers.

Were the prevalent environment such that these two gentlemen proved to be anomalous–just a couple of nimrods who were unable to accurately weigh the value of advice or expertise—then the problem of bad advice would be inconsequential, but that is not the case. One of the magical qualities of human nature can be boiled down to the old saw about another class of the animal kingdom: birds of a feather flock together. This they do, and often enough they shit all over the landscape. So instead of one or two people with bad ideas perching above our heads, there is an entire flock. From these groups come philosophies that are tailor made to make the incompetent feel capable and even successful, mostly because the bar is set so low. I call this the Gospel of the Bitch.

It is very important to point out that these people do not mean any harm (well, most don’t). As noted above, they want to help. Their hearts are in the right place, and they may well be the nicest, sweetest, most generous folks you’ve ever encountered. They should be applauded for taking the time and energy to offer you assistance, but understand that they are preaching a gospel, and the more people they can bring into the congregation the happier they are, because you and others will be supporting their faith.

How do you know the Gospel of the Bitch? It goes back to the Queasy I note above. Bad advice can sound incredibly logical, but if something will get you somewhere fast or easy in publishing, it’s best not to invest all that much hope in it. Now again, I’m speaking to NEW writers. Folks who have been around for a while can make up their own minds. They may be Thugs, Guards, or Bitches, but my warning is for the new kids on the haunted block, who are honing their craft, testing the waters, and looking for legitimate guidance.

What kinds of things will the Church of Bitch suggest? “It’s important to just get your name out there.” Definition: spend hours of labor and imagination on a project and then give it away to whoever will format it and throw it on the web to be forgotten. LISTEN closely; one sale in a reputable market is worth 100 “sales” to most freebie websites. I want to use names to exemplify my point, but I won’t. Well, I’ll use one: Laird Barron. He spent (probably still spends) weeks, sometimes months on a single short story, novella or novelette, and those stories regularly appear in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and a truckload of Ellen Datlow-edited anthologies. His output might be seen as minimal, but the value of his work and his reputation are unquestionable. Other authors have sold dozens, maybe a hundred, stories in the same time frame, but mentioning their names here would give them far more publicity than they’ve earned.

Another choice bit of advice is “Self-publish. Digital has made publishing a level playing field.” This is not an argument about the merit of self-publishing. You can visit Joe Konrath’s blog for that discussion. This is about craft. As a new writer you need, emphasis on need, to hone your craft, and you need experienced people to help you with that. Editors are one such group of experienced people. You may think your work is done, polished, good, even rivetingly magical, but it probably isn’t. If it is, then it will sell to a recognized market and you won’t need to self-publish. If it isn’t, then you can save yourself some embarrassment by working on your technical skills and submitting to legitimate editors. Sure you’ll get some form rejections, but along the way you’ll receive more personalized notes and possibly even sell some stories. If you jump head first into self-publishing you eliminate any semblance of quality assurance. No one is going to edit it for you once its published, readers are just going to add a single-star rating and a “God, this blows” to your Kindle reviews.

Further, if you don’t have enough confidence in your work to take your lumps with editors and critics, why should anyone have enough confidence in your work to spend even a penny on it? Maybe you’re absolutely brilliant and your work will be discovered. Maybe. Not likely or even remotely common. For every self-pubbed title that becomes a sensation, there are tens of thousands that come and go like gnats on a summer’s eve (douche reference intended).

Here’s the thing. All advice isn’t equal. Know who is giving the advice and listen to it critically. If it sounds too good to be true—if it sounds Queasy—you are likely hearing a tract from the Book of Bitch. Obviously, there are exceptions to everything I’ve noted here, and your experience might be vastly different from others, but if you’re in publishing, you’re here because you can’t help it. You certainly didn’t get into it for fame or fortune. You have to be here, because you are compelled to tell your stories. And it’s a life sentence.

So welcome to the cell block, New Meat. Enter with pride and confidence. Believe in yourself and earn your place in the yard. After all, there are no victims in the Gospel of the Bitch, only volunteers.


Thanks to Lee for playing along. Please visit him at to see what he’s up to and grab the books you haven’t read yet…

101 — with Jack Ketchum

As part of my ongoing 101 section for newer writers, I’ve asked a handful of colleagues—and mentors of my own—to participate in the name of preventing mistakes and paying knowledge forward. I asked them all the same question: What one thing did you have to learn on your own you wish someone had told you? This edition is brought to you by Jack Ketchum, author of Off Season, The Girl Next Door, Red and many more. And now… Jack.


In college and for several years after I was probably reading too much Harold Pinter, Beckett, Joyce, Blaise Cendrars and Henry Miller — Henry for sure — and got the idea that I was going to be the next one to advance American literature.  I was going to dazzle ‘em one day.  Just you wait and see.

The upshot of this bit of post-adolescent foolishness was that for the next eight years after graduating, while acting, teaching, writing ad copy, and working as an author’s agent I wrote a handful of “experimental” one-act plays in the manner of Pinter and Beckett, a ridiculously obscure novella, a lot of poetry, a pretty decent children’s book, and my first novel.

Ah, that fucking piece-of-shit first novel.

It was autobiographical, naturally — that seemed to be where the novel was going at the time, with Mailer and Tom Wolfe and the rest taking a leaf from Miller —  written from the copious notes I’d taken on a road-trip with my girlfriend from New York to California.  It wanted to be THE AIR-CONDITIONED NIGHTMARE or some such thing.  But although there was some pretty good writing in it I was no Henry Miller.  I wasn’t going to top the master at his own game.

I was determined, though.  Dogged.  I must have rewritten that damn thing a dozen times or more.  It was long, then got longer, then longer still.  I cut, fixed, wrote some more, cut that, inserted this…it just went on and on.  At some point my girlfriend Paula had had enough, bless her heart.  “You’re supposed to be such a hot-shit writer?” she said.  “Sell something!”

That pissed me off.  I mean, that  really pissed me off.  Harsh words were spoken.  But I’d been working as an author’s agent for three years and knew the markets.  All the men’s mags back then wanted to be low-rent Playboys.  So I wrote a story called THE HANGUP, a black comedy that was only marginally autobiographical and in no way experimental and was not going to advance American literature by a fraction of an inch, and sent it off to an editor I knew, Ben Pesta at Swank — and he snapped it up.   The check was probably a hundred dollars.    Maybe a hundred fifty.

Best check I ever got.  I went home to my mom’s house and burned every draft and copy of that damn novel in her fireplace.  My mom thought I’d gone a little nuts, I think.  But I wasn’t.  I was free.  I quit my job and started marketing my own stuff like crazy and I’ve never looked back.

Forget art.  In time, a measure of it will come to you.  You don’t have to go searching for the thing.  You read, you absorb, you write, and over time you’re writing better and better.  Pretty soon you’re doing stronger stuff than you ever thought you would.

It’s the nature of the beast.


Thanks to Jack for playing along and giving you all some food for thought and a lesson for your ears rather than over your head. Please visit him at to see what he’s up to and grab the books you haven’t read yet…

Podcast of Chewy Goodness

Robert Swartwood was kind enough to ask me to join him on his semi-regular podcast last week. After a failed attempt (read as 13 phone calls, skype attempts, etc., to get mother nature to work with us), we managed to get a good signal and discuss a plethora of topics.

From self-publishing eBooks (articles, experience, and Stephen King), to the Undead Press debacle, to SIX DAYS and WHITE PICKET PRISONS, we covered what we could in forty-five minutes… and left you with a surprise at the end.

Need something to listen to while cooking, doing dishes or lounging in the sun this weekend? Check out the podcast. Afterward, if we’re still on speaking terms (or even if we’re not), leave a comment and let us know—either there or here, or what the heck, both!

Happy Saturday!


Writer’s Groups, Pre-Readers and Mommy

“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary.
It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body.It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.”
~ Winston Churchill

Blame Mandy DeGeit for this. No really, feel free to go over to her blog and blame her. Loudly. And if you’re a new writer, thank her while you’re there. Tossing her under the bus for the greater good is hard to do, but reality gives this a better punch—and she can take it.

While the hard lessons of the publishing world were crashing down around her, exploding her blog and facebook and twitter accounts with the likes of Neil Gaiman and Ramsey Campbell, she was sitting on my couch learning. She was learning those little things that never seem to be written down in any book on writing.

One of her lessons, and today’s tidbit, was editing. Because of the edits done to her, because she then wanted to put it up for sale and I thought maybe we should look at it first, and because there were too many errors when I did look (at something she had submitted), we had a little chit-chat about what I tend to refer to as “mommy likes it.” Because what she had submitted did need editing. It didn’t need publisher level editing, it needed author level. It was submitted and accepted as such, but it shouldn’t have been submitted in that state.

“Mommy likes it” refers to the rule guideline no one will tell you. GET PRE-READERS. And your mother doesn’t count, unless she’s an English professor or writer herself. She’s your mother. She’s supposed to like you. Supposed to support you. Supposed to pat your head and tell you everything you do is golden. Guess what? It’s not. And if you don’t believe me, ask MY mother—the meanest critic on the planet (I’ve actually been trying to convince her to join goodreads, but I think she’d just make every author cry rather than just me). So who do you get? The reason this is a guideline rather than a rule is because of the fine details—it’s up to you to decide the final tally and logic to each of them, and it’s up to you and your needs how and who you pick. I’ll use my own past and current situation as an example.

Once upon a time I was a pre-reader for several well-known authors. I got the position after harshly reviewing all of them for several years (in retrospect, I wonder if it was to keep my opinions to pre-press). I was their nazi* pre-reader. I fine-toothed their manuscripts. I pointed out storyline issues, consistency problems, POV, tense,  grammar, punctuation, spelling, anything I could find. I beat up Brian Keene for years regarding his abuse of the semi-colon and I had the balls to tell very tall and very scary duo Wrath James White and James Moore, as well as the quiet but deadly JF Gonzalez, when something sucked. I was mean, but it was all in the name of making their words the best they could be, and done with a smile.  And THAT is the key to a good pre-reader.

Where I was once the nazi for others, I now have my own in Dave Thomas (dt not meteornotes, to clarify, because there are too many Dave’s in my life!) But I have other pre-readers, and this is where the guideline of what you need and how many you need comes into play.

1. The above mentioned “nazi.”

2. “The reader” who tells me straight fan opinion and let’s me know when I write over his head—e.g. “I didn’t know this word” means change it so I don’t lose or offend any readers.

3. “The fan” who has read everything I’ve ever written, right down to grocery lists, and can give me not only an opinion on where the current story rates, but will understand the little jumps around my universe with characters and nods that I tend to do and find things if I screw up.

4. “The writer” another writer will see things no reader ever will. And more importantly, editing me will help them edit themselves. I learned that while I was doing it, and I gladly pass it forward. It’s invaluable… unfortunately, this will always be the one that gets fired and sent off into the world to concentrate on their own work.

Those are mine. You may want more, less, or for different reasons, but I find this combination works really well. And I would be lost without them, which is why they are always in the acknowledgements. I may create the world and write the words, but they tell me when it’s bad, ugly, stupid or otherwise requires attention.

And they make sure what I submit is ready to be submitted.

Which is the point of this blog. When we write we become what we’re writing. There are non-writing spouses that will tell you horror stories of living with the characters rather than the writer. I can’t say they’d be wrong. We become so immersed in what we’re doing, we can get too close to it. Close enough to not see our own mistakes. Close enough not to be able to judge it right out the gate as ready or not for the world. Get pre-readers.

At one point during the lesson she asked about writers’ groups as a form of pre-readers. While some people join them, enjoy them, and find what they need from them, I have never had that kind of success with them. I won’t exactly go into any kind of argument against you joining them, but I would implore you to maybe use both a group and a set of pre-readers and look at the difference in the feedback. Then decide what you think of them and whether or not they are helpful to you.

Now then, call your mother and tell her you love her but she’s fired. Then look at those around you and pick the ones you feel have the ability to be completely honest with you even if it hurts (and brace yourself for emails that start “I love you but…” when they send back their edits). Pick your pre-readers, send them something, and get back to writing.

Me? It’s Memorial Day, it’s 85 degrees, and the pool in the yard is flirting with me from across the driveway in ways that would totally get me to go home with it if it were a boy in a bar. You… go write. Me… going to muse in the water so I can write later.

*nazi — please take no offense at this, none is meant. I use that word all the time as a generalization for strict dictatorship. My own boss calls me the Office Nazi =)

So you want to be a writer…

nunIn light of the recent controversy, and as promised in the Writers Beware blog (because I hate seeing newbies learn the hard way), I thought I’d throw out a little life preserver (read as beating stick) to tell new writers a few rules and help their learning curve…  Mandy DeGeit has been at my house for several days now (visit planned before the Calvacade of Bullshit happened) and after some lecturing and learning, she said it would be helpful to have something like this… So here it is. Or here is the start maybe. I was debating a semi-regular thing with this, and apparently I’m leaning that way, as I made a category just for these: 101.

Rules are something the nuns back in Catholic school had, to go with their rulers. This is not that. This is more like guidelines… since writers are much closer to pirates than they are nuns, and no writing career or experience is ever exactly like anybody else’s. I think maybe we’ll start with a basic list and expand. If I get long winded, I guess I’ll have to make it a serial blog and cover the others later (read as, “Hello?! Have you met me? Of course I’m going to be long winded… expect a serial.”)

1. RULE NUMBER ONE. This one is NOT a guideline. This is, without a doubt, and with Sister Hank’s ruler to back it up, a rule: Money flows to the writer. aka, Get Paid. aka, Real Money. I don’t care if you want to forgo guideline #3 and only get $5.00, get something. Anything. Seriously. Because if they have to pay you, they tend to give a crap about where their money is going. I have tried to beat this into the thick skulls of several newer writers who refuse to listen in the light of the vile word “exposure” and in the miasma of excitement that comes with the idea of being published. After the recent whirlwind, a couple are suddenly listening. Mandy took an “ouch” to learn and another received a very nasty phone call where Bob and I channeled everyone above us on the ladder who had yelled at us about the exact same thing once upon a time. Get Paid. Non-negotiable.

If you’re not willing to go to your dayjob and tell them at the end of the day, “no no, don’t pay me. knowing you appreciate me (read as “exposure”) is enough” don’t do it with your writing. It took time and effort, skill, thought, sweat and, if you did it right, blood to do… why the HELL would you just hand that away for nothing? WHY?! So don’t. And here’s your one warning… If I know you saw this blog entry and I ever, and I do mean ever, hear you bitching about a publication or even excited about one that didn’t pay you, I will come down on your head like the wrath of gods that have been dead for so long their pent up anger makes Coop look like the Dalai Lama. Kapeesh? Paid. Period. The End.

Questions on that one? No? Good. Let’s move on…

2. Do your research. This is a multi-parter, so pay attention. (a) There are several good websites to find publishers and publications looking for submissions. I’ve always been partial to Duotrope. It’s got a happy little search engine you can fine tune. Check it out. (b) After you’ve found a place you think is home for your story/novella/whatever, check them out! Look at the website. Are there typos? Grammatical errors? Glaring red flags of bullshit that you wouldn’t buy in a book so why would you want your work associated with it? And check out the publisher, both the company on a whole and those running it. Ask friends. Ask other writers. Look at who else they publish. Watch how they behave online. Do they belittle writers? Start flamewars? Act in a way you want to claim association with? Because you will, whether you want to or not.

Little tidbit: when I was just starting out with short stories, I had a hitlist of authors I admired, who’d been around the block and knew what the hell they were doing. If THEY published somewhere then I would submit there. It wasn’t “really” stalking, so much as trusting without having to ask. P.S. if you haven’t read the Writers Beware blog, stop now and go read it. Then you’ll understand the importance of researching your market and the person you hand your baby over to.

3. Start at the top. You don’t apply at McDonald’s after you get your degree, you apply somewhere appropriate to your training, education, etc. Think the same way here. You don’t start with non-paying markets. Hell, if you read number one, you shouldn’t even be submitting to them… ever. You start with those paying pro-rates. Newsflash: “pro-rate” is not a contributor copy or flat rate, unless the flat rate works with the math. Pro-rate is five cents a word or better. Two things here. (a) Yes, that’s what Poe was getting paid. Everyone else in the world has gotten a raise except writers. Why? Because there are enough who will accept less so publishing never had to adjust. (b) There is such a thing as better than five cents. If you use Duotrope (or other avenues) you’ll find them, because I’m not going to tell you everything…

Now you can choose to ignore this in particular situations. Say you have a vampire vs ghost story and the two open markets are a pro-rate general market and a vampire vs ghost anthology at semi-pro. I can completely understand wanting to go with the antho. (adjust this example as you need, to further understand that “sometimes” the “guideline” of “start at the top” can be altered…but it should never be ignored for the bottom feeders. Ever.) And one last thought on this section… no, we’ll make it a different section. We’ll call it #4.

4. Accept the trunk. To be a writer you need a few qualities. Thick skin and reason are essential. Be able to take the rejections, but also be able to honestly look at criticism and take from it what you can. Not all rejections are form letters. Some include ideas for improvement or other suggestions. Read them. Absorb them. Decide and take action—or do nothing, your call—but have the ability to both handle it and recognize when it’s valid. On the heels of that, know when enough is enough. Accept the trunk.

So you had this story that was awesome. You edited it to death and everyone who read it loved it. You started at the top of the submissions list and worked your way through pro-rates, semi-pro and even dabbled in a few desperate token pay markets. You may have gotten some feedback and made changes, you may not have. But at this point, you need to stop before you do something stupid (like give it away for free—see rule number one). You need to “trunk” the story. You never know. You may see an antho it’s perfect for in six months. You may re-read it in a year and know exactly how to fix it and resubmit (starting at the top) and find it a home.

Fun tidbit: a story of mine went through all that. It came dangerously close to getting into a magazine I really want to get in to before I die. It got a little feedback but I didn’t want to change the size to chop stuff or add stuff. I really liked it as it was. I trunked it, and now it’s one of the most popular stories in my collection Black Bubbles. Just sayin’…

5. Never say die. I don’t care if you haven’t sold anything for a while. We all have dry spells. I sold a bunch of stuff, had a REALLY sucktacular dry spell that lasted almost enough to make me climb a tower with a rifle, and then suddenly my world exploded. I didn’t give up. I didn’t quit writing. I didn’t quit submitting. And I didn’t self-publish because mommy said it was good but no real publisher would touch it.

Yes, self-publishing rules have changed a bit since I first formed my opinion about them, but this portion of my opinion stays. If you’re self-publishing because you’ve been rejected by “everyone and their brother,” stop and think about that. If they ALL agreed to reject it, you probably need to look at it a little harder. Be a little more honest with yourself. Your answer should be to trunk it, come back later, move forward. Your response should not be “screw them” and self-publish. God forbid they were right and it sucks. Now it’s out there forever. Better to sit back, hone your craft, and do it the right way. (Of course, there are plenty of times when self-publishing is okay. So long as it’s not attached to a list of rejections.) One more time, for the people in the back… never quit. Keep writing. Keep reading. Keep trying.

# # #

Now then, there are the basic guidelines. There are plenty more—including “contracts” and “submission guidelines” but those are bigger and deserve their own blogs… damn it, this is going to be a serial thing—but these are the basics. This is enough to steer you down the right path. And as a reward for sitting there and reading this whole thing, now I’m going to pull out my ruler and wave it around like a pissed off nun. Why? Because you’re still sitting here. Go. Write. No, really… go. Get the hell out of here! I have a novel to finish.

Find Me Elsewhere

Get Blog Updates


— · Rosie's Bookapalooza · —
October 5, 2019
Johnstown, PA

— · Merrimack Valley · —
Halloween Book Festival
October 12, 2019
Haverhill, MA

— · 2nd and Charles · —
Horror Writers' Panel
October 26, 2019
Harrisburg, PA

— · Read and Scream · —
Chester County Library
November 2, 2019
Exton, PA