Because You Can Never Have Too Many Punks

Every now and then, scooting around the internet looking for writing markets, one bumps into a project that immediately appeals to something deep within one's psyche. Most themed anthologies are slow burners that sit in the back of my head until a eureka moment hits, or I already have a half-done story that seems to fit the bill so I get back to work on it, but occasionally one makes me sit up and want to get started on it from scratch right away. Like now! 

This submission call for original fiction for The Mammoth Book of Dieselpunk is just such a one.

As it proclaims: If you need to know what dieselpunk is, it's a subcategory of steampunk, essentially, covering the 1920s through to the 1950s, including the Roaring Twenties, the Depression, World War II, and even a little beyond that.

I like this site for its classy pictures and atmosphere. I really need to give this project a go, I think, if only for the sheer fun of it.

 I see trench coats and smart little hats, a wintry night, dark Northern climes, mountains, trains... I do love trains. Maybe an explosion or two. Or not. A Depression Era tale maybe? And both World Wars always make interesting settings for weirdness set amidst global chaos. Not sure yet, but my brain is on it.

Go brain.

And after that?  Check out all the punks here.

Elfpunk maybe?

Hmmmm.  

End of the Month Report: November 2013

Submissions: 9 (3 to the same antho)
Rejections: 6
Acceptances: 0
Published: 1 (Winds of Change)
Stories out in the wild: 11
New stories completed: 1 (has already been sent out and rejected for the first time)
Mood: Slowly but surely, I'm getting more done writingwise. Will now slowly but surely get on with doing some more :)

Quicksteps

I'm usually a one speed person when walking - zip, zip, zip with an invisible, soundless horn that I mentally honk at the sloooooow people who always seem to be blocking my path. This is still my default setting the moment I step off the train and hit the pavements of Melbourne, and the one I ratchet up when doing medicinal laps of the local botanical gardens, but I noticed about six months ago that I'd finally developed a second speed for living in the country. It only took four years, but now, when I head off for local doings, I positively amble.

I'm very conscious of the change and quite enjoying it. I schedule more time to accommodate this more relaxed state. I used to stress out getting to the train in the mornings, but now I mosey along thinking things and admiring the gardens that line the streets. I used to step off the train at night and rush home so I'd have an extra five minutes for doing domestic whatevers, but now I potter along enjoying the stars, moon, creek sounds, trees in the darkness and whatever wildlife decides to jump out and scare me. Now, when I head off for a bills paying and shopping trip, I simply cannot make myself pour on the gas. This is good, as it also helps me blend in - I once met a local woman in Melbourne who, though a stranger to me, said she recognised me because she'd seen me speeding between shops as I went about my business in town.

So yes, I did some local ambling today, and thought about that ambling and what it meant, and also did much chatting with the girl in the fruit shop. I'm a Wednesday regular now. I did writerly stuff too - writing, of course, subbed 3 stories (one was a recent rejection which an upcoming antho held for close to seven months, almost took, but in the end decided it didn't fit the tone. I'm really starting to dislike that phrase. What's so untoney about my stories? Ah well, onwards...) and wrangled content for the great, individual contributor pages Carrie Cuin is busily setting up over at Lakeside Circus. For now, my page reads: This performer is still getting ready for the show. While you wait, try your luck at a game of chance. We hear the ring toss is not quite as rigged as some of the other booths. Issue One is out on Friday, so you can view my efforts then.

A Most Satisfactory Sunday

After some token housework and zealously obliterating another papery stack (into the recycle bin it mostly went) to clear more space in my study, I spent a few happy hours sorting through my published SF short stories, picking three for a reprint anthology, checking the manuscripts and subbing them. Ah, the trio of  memory lanes I traversed in the process. I remembered the sweat and time and tears and effort I put into each of them, recalled the sadness of their initial rejections, and relived the joy I felt when I finally sold them. Okay, perhaps I'm being a little melodramatic, but you get the gist of it :)

Then I submitted another SF story for a publication that has cut back on its reading periods and is now only accepting submissions for the first week of each quarter. You have to be quick, you have to be organised these days - I'd jotted a note in my diary to make sure I caught this window, and held certain story for a month so it could have a shot at this market. Most publications are inundated with stories, and often hang up their 'closed to submissions' shingles for months on end, and even the ones with regular reading periods often beg off for six months or so while they catch up.

Anyway, I also wrote a bit, so I feel I've accomplished useful writerly things this fine Sunday. All in all, 'twas a good day - peaceful, productive, and full of potential.

Naughty Writer

Writers like to think of themselves as the poor, suffering, misunderstood underdogs of the publishing industry (and we are! We really, really are!) but over the last couple of weeks I've come across a few examples of editor and publisher misery caused by... hmmm, my fellow writers.

There was an email from a publisher exhorting writers not to review their own work on Amazon, the reason being that Amazon's review policies prohibit writers from reviewing their own work and if said writer is reported, Amazon comes down on the publisher, which makes the publisher look bad. Apparently, this is an ongoing problem, but I'm at a loss as to why anyone would do such a thing. Review your own work? It's embarrassing to even think about someone being so unprofessional. What would you even write about your own piece? Something along the lines of This is a fabulous story of great depth and intelligence and humour and complexity and subtlety and anything else you want it to be obviously written by a genius, who just happens to be me...? :)

Speaking of reviews, there's always the perennial problem of the occasional unseemly Internet ruckus caused by oversensitive writers wildly responding to reviews they don't like (not having written them themselves, obviously). The best advice I've seen in ages on how to deal with this situation is over at Alan Baxter's blog:

http://www.alanbaxteronline.com/authors-responding-reviews/

Don't worry, it's succinct.

In the meantime, Lakeside Circus, which is just starting up and is dealing with a influx of material and wrangling many writerly egos, felt it necessary to post a piece about reading guidelines, because many writers are such creative giants  that they seem to feel they can skip such mundane constraints (in this case, among other things, sending non-spec fic stories to a magazine that deals in speculative fiction), and another about experimenting with personal rejections. The latter included a warning :

Here’s the problem, though: for every author who takes the notes in stride, we have another who feels the need to reply to the rejection. Saying, “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that!” is okay–it’s not necessary, but we don’t mind hearing from you. What we do mind is the authors who reply to argue with the rejection, who insult our staff, or misread the suggestions in order to complain that the fault lies in our reading instead of in their writing.

Too many of those, and we’ll go back to form rejections.

It's sad that they felt the need to add that last warning. Personally, I cannot fathom why anyone would think that being aggressive is appropriate behaviour in this, or any other business. If you're a writer who can't deal with rejection letters, then you really need to find another creative outlet - they're part and parcel of the landscape, for most of us, at least. This post also helps me understand why so many publications do default to form letters. Of course, that just makes the personal ones all that more exciting and special.

Finally, there's the poor, beleaguered literary agent, and if you don't already occasionally pop over to Slushpile Hell, billed as One grumpy literary agent, a sea of query fails, and other publishing nonsense, do so now. You'll do a lot of groaning, but also laugh. And it's a wonderful example of what others in the industry deal with on a daily basis, and a lesson in how NOT to behave if you wish to establish a reputation for professionalism. Mind you, most of the examples used seem to be from the extreme end of wannabe writerly egos running amok and demonstrate a pathological lack of perspective. At least I very much hope they do.

So be good, writers. Do your homework, abide by the rules, be professionally polite, and save your rantings about the unfair treatment of writers for your Facebook pages or blogs :)

And if you truly don't like the way things are, there's always self-publishing...

No-Brainer

I love archaeology.

I love writing.

I've just discovered that Hadley Rille Books is calling for submissions for an archaeology themed, multi-genre anthology called Ruins Excavation, the fourth book in their series of Ruins anthologies.

As the title, and the series, implies, the story must feature ruins, real or otherwise, on Earth. Ruins! I love ruins! And I love stories with and/or about ruins!

You can read about the antho here.

Will I give it a shot?

Are you kidding? It's raining down hard outside, this is my wonderful Wednesday, catch-up day off, and there's already a WIP in my head wanting out.

This'll be fun.

If I've Told Myself Once, I've Told Myself A Thousand Times...

You just never know, so stop trying to second-guess the market, Gitte!

Example: I just came home to an email from a certain pro market (not one of the Big Three) telling me that a story I submitted two days ago is being considered for publication.

I almost, of course, didn't send this particular story to them. Everything I've ever submitted to them before (and I've sent many stories their way, believe me) has come back quick smart. I thought this would be just another speedy turnaround.

But I made myself do it, gritting my teeth at the ridicule I imagined would most certainly be heaped upon it at the other end (it's the relatively new story I've previously described  as a hopefully amusing SF quest story featuring a human-alien, Sherlock-Watsonishy team with a dash of Sir Richard Burton (not the actor! Richard Francis Burton).) It's already been rather abruptly rejected twice, so even though I enjoyed writing it and like it myself, I've been feeling a bit unsure about it's worthiness as a piece suitable for a more general audience. Humour is difficult to gauge. Maybe it wasn't so amusing after all...

Now it's being considered for pro publication. The odds are still staggering, and my chances are slimmer than the slimmest of slims, but at least I know now that story must be reasonably okay. It must have tickled one or two editorial funny bones to make it out of their mountainous slush pile.

And so it goes.

A Box of Tissues is a Girl's Best Friend

I've been doing a lot of sneezing and nose blowing the past two days - not so good for Arvo Jobbing, so I stayed home today from that badly ventilated place from whence my dreaded lurgy originated (the air con has been dodgy since a rather dramatic rooftop fire and evacuation early last week, and people throughout the office have been coughing and sniffing, filling the stagnant air with goodness knows what microbial yuckiness, and, well, it was a matter of when rather than if...), but excellent for catching up on my woefully behind submission count.

Yesterday and today I looked over, tinkered with, wrote cover letters for, formatted according to each publication's specifications, and sent off 8 stories (one to one of the Big Three - how's that for optimism?), so now I have 13 of my presently finest out there circulating once more, and, of course, I'm positively certain I've targeted my markets so precisely and exactly matched hitherto hard-to-sell stories with sympathetic editors that for sure 75% of them will be snapped up sometime over the next month.

Anyway, I must make sure I don't fall behind again.

Now, please excuse me while I go grab a tissue.

Princessly Update

As of this morning, we're three down (warrior-dissing-her-Emperor-dad princess just got booted), with one princess to go. The stories I've sent for the princess antho have been rejected in the sequence I sent them chronologically, but they've skipped my second submission. Possibly the princess behind Door Number Two is in with a chance? Stand by for the thrilling conclusion to this ongoing plethora of princesses saga :)

Juggling Stories and Stuff

So there's a certain story which, although of humble and simple construction, I consider one of my better efforts out in the world with a magazine that usually returns my submissions within a couple of weeks, but this time, so far, they've held it for 7-8 weeks, which may not mean anything in the greater scheme of things, but then again it might! However, if they're going to reject it, I really wish they'd reject it quickly, like sometime tonight would be good, so I can send it off for the themed issue of another magazine, deadline tomorrow. Alas, it probably won't happen so conveniently. The temptation to simultaneously sub is overwhelming, but bound to lead to trouble if I succumb, so I shall resist. Drats! Ah, all this waiting for outcomes, sometimes it drives me batty.

Today I should have been putting up my tent for an airing and getting my gear ready for a weekend of horse riding through the Victorian High Country, the one I'd been "training" for on our last two rides, but unfortunately my sister has just this week been struck down by illness (get well soon, Cindy), so we've had to postpone the trip for a few months. Because I thought I was off on a strenuous ride in a few days, I'd more or less reluctantly (but not wholeheartedly quite) dismissed the idea of heading off to the Spec Fic Festival in Sydney I posted about a while back - I'm still not well enough for consecutive weekends of pushing the energy envelope -  and it's probably too late to organise things now. Another drats!

Princess Palooza

So I'm back, in more ways than one, after a series of shopping sprees, cooking sprees, eating sprees, laughing sprees, unwrapping sprees, aaahing sprees, recovering sprees, reading sprees, spreeing sprees. Consider Christmas 2012 done and dusted!

 After limbering up my writing brain by spending most of of yesterday, when I wasn't napping and digesting the last remnants of my rich Danish Christmas, on reading my new Connie Willis book (my cats give the best presents!) I hit the keyboard today and got in 4 hours of solid work and a few more of tinkering. I spent the first couple of hours on a zombie story, even though I was seriously put off the antho in question that I've hitherto been so excited about when I discovered a recent addition to the guidelines specifying that the editor wasn't accepting any more stories set after a certain historical date. That smacks of my pet hate, the 'until filled' anthology. I pity the poor souls who were happily planning to polish over Xmas the great works they'd laboured long and hard on, and now can't submit them because they'd committed to the "wrong" era. As I've mentioned, I had two ideas for the antho, and had to angstily choose which one to focus on. The one I was really tempted to go with, but guessed I wouldn't have enough time to do properly, would now have been deemed ineligible. Thank goodness I went with the shorter one set further back in history, otherwise I'd be RANTING and GRRRRing and THROWING FURNITURE now instead of just grumbling about the injustice of it all.

I then spent the rest of my writing day scouting around for, looking over and editing/rewriting princess stories for an upcoming anthology that accepts multiple submissions. I love editors who accept multiple subs. That way, if I have more than one story that fits the theme, I don't have to agonise over which one might be the best fit. I was surprised to discover I actually have four stories that tick the key criteria, which are, loosely,  'must feature a princess, and be dark, twisty, sinister, Gothic etc, or combinations thereof'.

So no, they're not looking for passive gals who live happily ever after, thank goodness, because none of my princesses are that psychologically flaccid, or that fortunate. Only one of these four stories is out at the moment, so I'll have to wait for it to be rejected before it can join the other three, which I'll send off tomorrow. Or possibly the one already out singing for its supper will be accepted. And so will one of the others. All of these stories have garnered good comments and/or been shortlisted for publication, but never quite made it into print. Maybe one of them will score this time. Maybe I'll end up with a slew of princess stories (well, two) hitting the market at the same time, and people will roll their eyes and mutter about my limited range :) Hah! I should be so lucky.

Anyway, the upshot of this princesserly prattle is that it looks like these holidays will be reasonably productive and full of positive writerly doings.

Verily, The Verdict Is In

Over here, Mike Allen, who edits the wonderful  Clockwork Phoenix anthologies, ponders the burgeoning mystery of the many writers who include a summary of their short story submission in their cover letter.

They what? I thought.

In the comments that follow, other editors and slush readers chime in with their bemusement. Apparently, this pushing of summaries is a new trend.  Often it's combined with much promotional pitching jargon and great dollops of writerly self-praise. Possibly Reader's Digest is to blame. The word newbie gets bandied about a lot.

It has simply never occurred to me that I should make an extra effort to wreck my chances of scoring a sale by getting on the wrong side of an editor with too much suckiness or spin. Keeping cover letters as simple and politely professional as possible has always been my maxim. If the guidelines require a summary of my submission, fine, I'll do the best I can to knock one up. Otherwise, forget it. Fortunately, the consensus seems to be that that's the way to go. All in all, when it comes to submitting short story summaries, the finding seems to be: Don't. Do. It.

Phew! After investing countless hours on creating a multi-layered story of much wit, depth, dialogue and complexity, I'd hate to have to start spending more time on agonising over how to sell it in just two snappy lines that might end up irritating more that they entice.

So begone, annoying short story summary fad, and return forthwith to the dark and dank writing advice forums that birthed you.

So Many Stories, So Few Sundays

So I spent hours today knocking an already edited and polished story down to a (for it) lean 4000 words and then submitted it with much confidence. This confidence was utterly misplaced because just now, a mere 5 hours later, I received a rejection for said story. The editors certainly know what they want, and obviously this particular story didn't even come close. This was my second sub to their anthology. The first one was rejected quite rapidly too. I've got one more piece up my sleeve that I plan to cruelly inflict upon those editors before their deadline - hahahaha - then I'll call it quits, because even the most deluded writer has to accept that nothing quite says 'we are not on the same wavelength' like a third rejection.

Anyway, I'm fine with said rejection, and I'll just calmly sub the story to another publication tomorrow with nary a disappointed tear staining my cheek, but I do wish they'd waited until tomorrow to send it. That way, I wouldn't find myself wondering now whether my precious Sunday afternoon would have been better spent on that other story which might have...

HB to Me

So I've been busy. Not busy according to my usual every-micro-second-must-be-packed-with-useful-activities definition of busy, but a substantial-lowering-of-the-bar, post-operative busy as in 'more than one extra thing to do above and beyond the daily routine of eating, napping, going for a walk, napping, doing medical stuff, reading and an hour or two of writing'. I had guests over the weekend, which entailed getting a head start last week with squeezing in additional tasks and initiating a precise plan to feed them. Fortunately, I was provided with back-up support, it was all very low key, and no-one was that fussy anyway.

But it was all worth it because I received presents! I got a lemon tree in a gigantic terracotta pot to add to my collection around the Xmas swing oasis-nook, money for spending on nice things (done yesterday), plus my sister delivered a lovely, hand painted candle lamp from J ( a.k.a. the apple and blueberry crumble making lady), and my littlest brother's boss, whom I don't even know, sent me a huge feel-good hamper full of chocolates, magazines, other assorted goodies, bedsocks and booze, while another of his acquaintances gave me some feng shui articles to promote healing (two very different approaches to getting better, and I appreciate the kindness of both), all of which I can add to the presents given to me earlier for my post-surgery, therapeutic convenience, namely the blu-ray and wide screen TV which have kept me well entertained these past five weeks. A good haul :-)

So yes, I'm a year (plus one day too, now) older, and thank goodness for that. Any person who is ungrateful and ungracious enough to whinge about having to add another 12 months to their age CV is a person with no sense of perspective.

Anyway, it's a beautiful dark and  rainy day, perfect for guilt-free cocooning and recharging my batteries. I plan to polish and sub a hopefully funny story to a spec-fic humour anthology, and, as per usual, keep an excited eye on my emails for possible sales.

Duck Weather

It absolutely bucketed down today, but eager to build up my fitness as much as possible, I nonetheless ventured forth with my mega-umbrella and embarked upon my daily shuffle.

And I'm glad I did, because I had the botanical gardens all to myself. Well, almost.  It was just me and a couple of ducks who'd vacated the lake paddling along the paths. Still, they were no bother and didn't take up much room, so I could have a good think about life in general and specific stories as I splashed along in peace and quiet. Best of all, the fresh air obviously cleared my head, and it occurred to me in a facepalming-at-my-own-denseness kind of moment that a certain story I wrote at the beginning of the year for an anthology (it was rejected) also fits the theme of another anthology, and so I promptly subbed it on my return.

Keep Calm and Carry On

Instead of heading off to Melbourne for the spec-fic workshop, I went to the movies yesterday morning (The Avengers – yay, Joss and everyone else who helped bring this much fun to the big screen!), but even that light duty, laughter-filled, back-up plan brought on a relapse. So instead of merely resting and then meeting up with a friend for the leisurely opening of a local art show in the evening, I spent the rest of the day recuperating, napping, and chafing at the bit over how much I wasn't getting done. Lots of reading and movie watching is great for a while, but I hate being out of action for this long. It's soooooo frustrating. ***

Also, I got a rejection for a story that I was really hoping would make the cut. Isn’t it always the way? When you least need them...

Ah well, there’s nothing to do but stay calm, stay the course, and stay positive. I’ll send off two stories today, one of which I’m absolutely certain will be accepted :)

***this frustration is entirely my own fault, it turns out. If I'd remembered what the nurse said before I went in and read the post-surgery information sheet properly afterwards, I'd have realised that recovery usually takes one week, all of which is a bit of a relief really, because otherwise something wasn't right. For some reason, I got it into my head that a couple of days would do the trick. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Painful Admission

It’s a public holiday here in Australia, and I’ve spent this cold and rainy day at home writing about dragons, submitting a story about a future apocalyptic rubbishworld, sending off query letters about old, maybe-lost-in-cyberspace submissions, rereading stories that are in the drawn-out limbo of possible acceptance (if only I could take them back, tweak them and make them even better!) and trying to second-guess whether they’ll make it, checking for new markets, resting up and reading.

It all sounds very productive, but I’m afraid my motives have not been artistically pure. I’ve been snuggling up in my speculative-fiction cocoon to escape the Real World, for tomorrow I’m off to hospital so surgeons can rummage around amongst my internals, and do a few tests and procedures. Not fun, but if it gets rid of the pain that’s been slowing me down both writing and life-wise this year (the number of bad days has been steadily increasing), it’ll be worth all the botheration. Unfortunately, it’ll probably put a crimp in my scheduled spec-fic workshop this weekend. Fortunately, I have some light duty back-up plans in place.

Anyway, it’s time to be stoic (aaaaaaaaaargh), so I’ll have a spot of dinner (must cram food down while I’m allowed - I'll be eying the fridge door for a midnight snack, I reckon), and then I’m off to the local end-of-the-month literary knees-up for some more writerly distractions. I’d better stay away from the wine though. *sigh*

The Many Ice Ages of Writing

Writing is not for rushy types. It can take eons for absolutely nothing to happen. Take, for example, a story I sent off four months ago to an overseas semipro magazine that it would be absolutely fantastic to get into. Yesterday I received the good news that the story has been passed on for consideration (yes, another maybe – that makes four potential booze-ups of joy, or not). However, because they received so many submissions for their last reading period (thousands, apparently, and I sent mine towards the end of the submissions period, hence the delay) I probably won’t hear about the outcome for months. So the competition is fierce. The odds are anyone’s guess. Possibly, the story might end up having existed in a never-never publishing superposition for up to 9 months and I’ll end up back where I started - no sale.

I’m not complaining – I’m used to this glacial process. It’s why it can take years for a story, if you’re lucky, to hit the right market at the right time. It's why you need to build up a stable of stories and keep them circulating while you work on the upcoming stories that will replace the ones that hopefully get published. I'm just saying that patience is a must in this game.

Mind you, I received a rejection today for the story I submitted on Saturday after the workshop ("even though we liked your story...") so sometimes judgement comes crashing down from on high with the speed of an avalanche.

Simple Sunday

I slept in, I scribbled some, I submitted stories, I sashayed into town to sip chai and chat with an artist friend about many issues including ye olde subject concerning the vicissitudes of balancing day jobs with the need for time to do creative stuff, then sauntered home in the glorious sunshine to hang out with the cats (and chook), do more scriberly work and wishful subbing.

I also scanned my emails regularly - there are a few pending decisions that I'm starting to get seriously keyed up about, which is NOT good. Too hopeful + excited + rejection = sad writer.

It doesn't sound impressive, but it was a lovely day. Simple is often best.

***Less lovely were the 2 dead rats (uneaten) I found in the backyard this afternoon - Cooper has been a busy boy of late. Last week, he left a dead rat right outside the kitchen door. I'm used to mouse tails and the occasional mouse head turning up these days because there's an over abundance of rodents in the country areas at the moment. Not in my house, but obviously the homes surrounding me are regretting their catlessness. Or not. Whenever I'm out in the backyard, I see Cooper jumping backwards and forwards over the neighbours' fences, bringing back his catches. Really, I should charge my neighbours for his rodent removal services. In the good old days, when honest folk truly appreciated a master mouser, I could possibly have sold Cooper for an exorbitant price and retired to a life of luxury.

Resonating

There's a new Aussie anthology out - Mythic Resonance - which includes a few names that resonate with me.

I'm not in it, but TOC buddy from The Tangled Bank: Love, Wonder, and Evolution Jen White has a tale in it, as has Sue Bursztynski, she who long ago rescued The Six Solvers and the Mystery of the Sad Boy from the ASIM slush pile. Then there's Donna Maree Hanson, who actually championed the very story that I submitted to this anthology when I previously subbed it to an anthology she was co-editing back in 2008. Alas, that anthology was cancelled because they did not receive enough quality stories and the story in question has been homeless since (everyone keeps commenting that it reads like the first chapter of a novel when I've never thought of it as anything but a short story. I'm still trying to figure out how to fix the ending, if indeed it needs fixing.)

Anyway, enough about me and my living vicariously through my tenuous links with this book.

Ea, master of Apsu, the great water beneath the earth; Gelert, the faithful hound; Medusa and Herakles; sirens, valkyries, fairies; Leonardo Da Vinci and Snow White — these are just some of the legendary characters that resonate within this thought-provoking garland of short stories from Australia.


Contents
Foreword — Sue Hammond and Stephen Thompson
The Salted Heart — N A Sulway
The Everywhere And The Always — Alan Baxter
Annabel and the Witch — Paul Freeman
Through these eyes I see — Donna Maree Hanson
A Tale of Publication — Les Zigomanis
La Belle Dame — Satima Flavell
Glorious Destiny — Steven Gepp
Meeting my Renaissance Man — Vicky Daddo
Wetlands — Jen White
Man’s Best Friend — Tom Williams
In Paradise, Trapped — Kelly Dillon
Holly and Iron — Nigel Read
Brothers — Sue Bursztynski

You can purchase it here.