Gerard Houarner

Another Space and Time reading period has passed and it’s time to throw out a few notes for anyone who might care at least as much about the writing as about getting published.  And, if you really only do care about being published, there’s some advice for you here, too.

Mentioning credits in a cover letter sets up expectations.  If you list high-profile markets, awards, etc,  the reader is prepared for a certain level of premise, character development, plot, etc.  There is an understanding that, if you are submitting to a market that is not #1 in terms of payment, the story might not be award-winning.  If the elements don’t quite all come together, or perhaps originality or some other component is not quite up to the level of a first-line, top-paying, invitation-only anthology, there is the expectation that the story will hold up to general standards.

It should be a good story.

The simple fact is that someone who has sold to a number of solid professional markets and has been around for a few years has grasped skills a beginner is still struggling to get a get a hold on.

Sometimes, the story is just too odd for some markets.  Or, an experiment.  The key thing is that, whatever problems may arise, there is an expectation that a pro believes there is something worthwhile in the story.

But if you’re a pro, pushing trunk stories you don’t believe in, or have proven to have major flaws, can be embarrassing.  First off, the thing make actually get published, and then you’ll look like Murray F. Abraham, Academy Award winning actor, on SyFy channel.  Well, not even that, because at least he’s cashing a nice little check and making a living.  He’s not working below scale.

Things like that aren’t going to destroy reputations, of course.  Not over the short term, anyway.  And everybody needs to make a living, and a check is a check, no matter how small.  Just, well, be careful out there.

For the rest of us, whose names may not be instantly recognizable but can be attached to some nice credits, the rules still apply.  Credits set up expectations.  So, at least in one’s own mind, it would be nice if the work doesn’t make those credits look like a complete aberration.

And if you put down a list of markets no one has ever heard of, at least no one trying to sell stories, because the markets don’t pay and don’t have literary cachet, you are making yourself look like an amateur.  And that makes errors and story problems stand out that much more.

It’s like sending out a story that isn’t in standard format.  Or going to an interview in a sweat suit.  Yes, the world is unfair and frowns upon people who stand apart and don’t join the herd.  The world doesn’t bother frowning upon bad stories, it just ignores them.

If you say you teach English, you should check your manuscript for errors in, like, English.

If you’ve seen it in or are inspired by movies or television, your story and characters are pulp.  Not the mashed innards of fruit squeezed of all vitality, juice and nutrients, but the mashed ideas about story and character that were perhaps new or at least exciting when you were twelve, or when mass media was born in cheap magazines and radio many generations ago, but have since faded to crinkly, yellowed garbage not fit for packing material.

Seriously.

Oh, by the way, I’ve discovered a new way for writers submitting work to wind up in a spam folder: accidentally paste the editorial address of a market into an email list for, oh, I don’t know, a campaign for some school board post or a family reunion or something else that is similar but has nothing to do with submitting an attached story.  You might get a response from an editor that says something like “why am I on this list?”  But when the messages start piling up, one click, and you are consigned to the spam folder, perhaps never to be read again, at least from that email address.

I’m just saying…

Here’s something for very new writers:

Start the story on page 1.  Don’t wait until page 5.  We’re all gone by then, having beers (referencing the old quote about writers and their stories trying to separate readers from their beer money).

One of the most valuable pieces of advice I ever received when I was very young was that by the first page and a half (taking into account the standard ms. format with contact info, title and byline taking half the first page) the reader should be engaged with the character and their problem.

Now, if you want to split hairs, yes, the initial problem may unfold in due course to a deeper, more complicated conflict, but the point is that the initial problem should lead, very quickly, to the larger and more relevant issue in the story by the mechanics of those plot formulae that focus on resolution of one plot leading to the creation of a bigger, more complicated problem – Oedipus solves the riddle of the Sphinx, but that leads to a bigger problem involving heritage and doom.  (For the media hounds, reference Invader Zim’s Doom song.  If you’ve never heard of Zim, I’m sure there’s a sample cartoon out there on the net.)

What this means is that within a page and a half of a short story, a reader should understand who the main character is (though not necessarily who the enemy is, if there is one), and what they want or need to do.

In journalistic terms:  who and what. The where and when are also good things to have.  The how is what the story is about.

By page 2 or 3, or 5, or the end, that want or need may have changed through the logical progression of the story – dealing with a flat tire on an abandoned stretch of road leads to an encounter with a serial killer or alien or wood spirit which transforms the symbolic “breakdown” of the car into a breakdown and fix-up or destruction of a life.

But the point is,  you probably shouldn’t describe the scenery, or describe the past 1,000 years of galactic history, or engage in light banter to “get to know” the characters.  Unless, of course, you are very, very good and can make all of that mean something in terms of story that a reader will “get.”  In point of fact, if you are good, you can do just about anything for a page and a half and have it engage the reader because you can convey a sense that there is “story” going on.

By “story” going on, I mean communicating a sense of urgency to the reader that something important is going in a character’s life, and that anything could happen in the next few moments it will take to read the next page.

I am sure writers on this blog could start out quoting the telephone directory in such a way as to make you flip pages like an addict hopping to the next fix.

If you are new to the writing game, however, or perhaps not as well-read as you might be if your primary source of entertainment wasn’t video games or movies and television, then you should stick to the tried and true methods.  Go classic, not experimental, casual, boring.

Sidebar on experimental – this should be tried after mastering the classic, unless, again, you are very good.  As in a “natural” writer whose talent and innate skills allow for leapfrogging the rest of us and making sales fairly quickly.  A few years of rejections should tell you that you are either a genius of such magnitude that it is taking the rest of us a very long time to catch up to what you are doing, or you need help.  Chances are, if you are a genius or if you really believe you are a genius, you are not reading this.

So.

Start the story, already.  Call it a hook, or a “splash,” or whatever else the professional teachers of fiction writing are calling it these days, but, please, I beg of you, start the story.  Be subtle, be grand, be over the top, but make something happen.  A story is about something happening, inside and outside somebody.  The lines you put down are there to show us what is happening, not to introduce characters and relax the reader and show off how much you might know about the setting or even how clever you are with language.

On another note, I was reminded of another old piece of advice during this reading period – don’t summarize or try to “sell” your story in the cover letter.  I can’t tell you I’ve never bought a story from someone who did this – I don’t bother reading summaries all the way through, and often I miss them in my haste to get to the tale, so I probably have managed to overcome any reaction to this approach through the “ignorance is bliss” method.  But I can tell you from the ones I start reading that they sure doesn’t help set a good mood for the story.   After reading a few lines, I am never “sold” and often  feel like a customer on the sales floor being hounded by a rep eager to make a commission.

Yes, for novels and book projects, you need to do a brief outline, push your saleability, present your “platform” and even come up with a log line or pitch (Blue Lagoon meets Alien, anyone?) and some blurbs from famous authors.  But for shorts, keep it simple, list credits (see above), and let the words you’ve set down and the story you’ve weaved snare the editor.

All the talk before reading tends to set up expectations, and those expectations might not be the ones you intended.  Sometimes a little mystery and a good first impression in those opening moments get you a lot farther.

Just ask romance writers…