When The Darkness Internal was a Thing

 With all traces of the once bi-monthly magazine I used to edit slowly vanishing from the inter-webbings ether, it's gratifying to still find a link that hasn't. 

Click here for proof that the Darkness Internal did indeed at one time exist.

The above link is from when D.I. was a special edition, as evidenced by the description below:

Voluted Tales is currently reading for its first special edition, entitled “The Darkness Internal” which is hosted by guest editor Christopher Nadeau. Christopher is looking for the following kinds of submissions

“The Darkness Internal”- Looking for stories that are outside the norm. They can be horror, dark fantasy, science fiction or even mainstream lit as long they meet the following criteria: Tales of inner darkness. Think Kafka or Phillip K Dick or any U.S. Congressional hearing. Stories should focus on an internal struggle or occurrence. Not looking for genre staples such as vampires, werewolves, and especially not zombies. More interested in tales of torment and struggle as defined by the classic “Man Versus Himself” approach to writing. Still, if you can find a fresh and exciting way to tell the story following the criteria and using those fabled beings, knock us out!

BAD REVIEW

 

Nothing peps me up more than discovering a negative review of my work. It's even better when it somehow slipped under my RADAR for five years, as was the case with a review on Amazon from a guy in India whose screen name is "Perceptive Reader." Clearly a humble, self-aware individual, Mr. Reader found the majority of the stories in the third book of the "Use Enough Gun" anthology beneath his contempt, at least judging by the way he dismissed them with such in-depth analysis as "Crap," "Meh" and the ever-reliable, "Rubbish."

If you've ever met one of those people who disdain every movie they see by claiming there wasn't enough character development, you've probably also suspected that they didn't really know what that phrase meant. Similarly, whenever someone uses buzzwords such as, "Overwritten," or "longish," one wonders if the reviewer is more in love with their ability to sound knowledgeable and too hip for the room. It's difficult to say. We weren't all taught to give reasons for our opinions, nor were we all taught to eschew buzzwords when we do. So, perhaps there's little point in trying to understand the mindset of a man whose reaction to 80% of an anthology was so hostile.

I defy anyone to read the opening paragraph of Perceptive's review and not either chuckle or shake their head. Not to review the review, but come on! Phrases such as, " ...nod sagely while procrastinating about increasing paranoia among the hoi-polloi, in these days of connectivity and terrorism" are clearly meant to be taken seriously but is that even possible? It isn't for me but your mileage may vary.

My short story "Arrival" happens to be one of my favorite stories I've ever written. It is the sequel to "Emergence," which appeared in "Monster Hunter Legends Both Barrels" also published by Emby Press. That doesn't mean I expect everyone else to love it. It's a rather specific type of story, one that combines elements of classic comic books, horror and religious fanaticism. There's no reason to assume Mr. P. Reader would find that even remotely fascinating. I would love to know why he considered it crap, however, as I'll bet many of the other authors whose works were dismissed in like fashion would also.

Alas, there are no answers to be found in this case. P.R. either didn't feel the need to elaborate or that his simplistic reactions spoke volumes. I will close by adding this one nugget of hoped-for wisdom:

Reviews such as these help no one. They serve no one. They say nothing except "Lookit me being all edgy and stuff." No writer learns from the experience in a way that either helps them grow and improve and, in fact, some probably shrink away from the writing for publication world, discouraged and convinced that their Imposter Syndrome was the real thing. And while I know this is a tough field and that people who can't take harsh criticism need not apply, I also feel strongly that irresponsible reviews such as the one in this post are detrimental and destructive to the overall discourse.

So in spite of myself, I will review P. Reader's review with my own one-word choice: Idiotic.

Latest anthology Update

The paperback copy of "After the Kool-aid is Gone" is now available for ordering and with it comes a five-star reader review. While the review doesn't mention my short story, "The Gipper Memorandum," specifically, the reviewer had kind praise for all of the stories in the collection.

You can obtain that hard copy by clocking here.

An Excerpt from "The Coming and Going of Rectus: An Infinity's Core Side-Trip"

 In 2009, my first novel "Dreamers at Infinity's Core" was released to mild acclaim and even milder sales. The sequel was written and ready to go within months. Titled "Echoes of Infinity's Core," it was vastly superior in every way and advanced the concept into new and exciting ways and directions.

Nobody read it.

Nobody even saw it because it was never published. Through a series of mishaps and external horrors, the publishing venture that published my first novel fell through. That left a finished sequel and a half-finished third and probably final installment languishing in literary limbo for years. 

In the meantime, I returned to the "Infinity's Core" universe twice with very short stories designed to expand upon what was already a rather expansive concept. Neither of those stories featured the snappy dialogue and quick scene jumps of the novels, skewing instead in a more esoteric direction. Someday I hope to write a collection of Core-related tales. but not before the story of Ned, Ernie and the Narrator has been told.

A few years ago, I started wondering if I could even write in that style anymore. I feared I could not, an alarming thought considering how badly I wanted to finish book three. Could I jump back into that sardonic, self-referential type of writing after having changed my style to one more introspective? There was only one way to find out.

That was the birth of the short story mentioned in this blog's title. Considering how much time passes between each novel, I knew there had to be things happening to my characters while they waited for the next Big Thing. What better than a smaller-scale version of the first novel, stripped down to two rooms in one house and my three main protagonists dealing with potential Armageddon and discomforting full front male nudity?

Yeah. Naked Ernie convinced me I could still do it. Thanks, Ernie, you poor beleaguered, magnificently tragic bastard.

So without further ado and no more context than that, here is the excerpt:

“LET US ENTER YOU.”

“Not even in a prison shower.”

“WE DON’T WISH TO IMPRISON YOU.”

“Flew right over their zipper,” Ernie says with a chuckle.

I decide now is the time to go for broke and say, “Rectus? Why did you steal Ernie’s shiny new expensive pants?”

“WE REQUIRE A CONDUIT THROUGH WHICH TO—“

“Enter our world and achieve life,” Ernie and I finish.

“Conduit,” Core-spawn loves that word.  It was how some of them viewed Chad when they attempted to manifest into the physical universe.  Now these also-rans are applying it to clothing?  What’s next?  Condoms?

“Gimme my fucking pants, you little assholes!”

Clearly Ernie has lost patience with this situation.  I nod at him and he breaks into a trot, jumping onto the arm of my couch and into the air with a fluidity I’d have never expected from him.  As the pants try to scamper away from his sudden assault, I break into a less graceful trot and manage to grab hold of one pant leg.

If you’re thinking that’s all it takes to resolve this, you really need to go read the book!

The pants twist out of my grasp as if there’s oil on my palms, floating through the air like a kite as Ernie’s jump into the air affords him the opportunity to wrap his arms around his clothing and land hard on his knees.  I glance over in time to see not only a full moon but the cave entrance.

“GROSS!”

“Puke later, help now!” Ernie struggles on the floor with the writhing Rectus, clearly seconds away from losing the fight.

“Wait,” I say. “Hold on for a few more seconds.”

“No problem! Do you need to use the bathroom or anything while I’m doing that?”

Nobody likes a smartass and Ernie seems to have become the poster boy for sarcasm.  I think I preferred him when he was slower-witted; I’m still not sure how he changed but perhaps it has something to do with the Narrator’s arrival.  Speaking of whom, why should we have to suffer without our third wheel?

As if reading my mind, Ernie says, “Don’t call him! I’m half naked!”

Too late.  I’m already sending an emergency text to my alternate reality doppelganger.  What, you don’t have one?  I thought everybody did.

He arrives within minutes, having apparently already been on the way over.  Since he doesn’t belong in our world, a place he has dubbed rather arrogantly as “Earth-Redux,” he never likes to remain in one place for very long.  He spends a lot of his time trying to figure out why he’s here and whether or not he wants to go back to a world he makes sound like a chaotic shithole.  When he isn’t doing that, he takes advantage of the standing invitation to crash at my place.  Little did he know what to expect when entering the house.

“Holy full frontal, Batman!” he says.

“Godammit,” Ernie says.

“I tried to text you,” I say.

The Narrator, who looks a lot like me except a bit heavier and with less hair on his head, tries to address me without looking at me.  “I heard it go off but I figured I could check it when I…why is Ernie wrestling with those shiny pants? Is this the Earth-Redux version of Twister?”

I explain what’s been happening in as succinct a manner as possible.  In truth, the Narrator is far better at self-editing than I am.  The novel we wrote together was proof of that.  He listens stoically, nodding once or twice, before responding:

“This might have rated an actual phone call, guys.”

To Every Story its Time

 It happens every time.

I hit a period of non-stop creativity where I crank out several stories at once, and then it comes to a screeching halt. Somewhere in that process, I start submitting my work to various publishers, sometimes scoring an acceptance or two early on and then...nuthin'. 

And that's okay. It stopped bothering me a while ago. My original strategy involved descending into self-loathing, rushing headlong into impostor syndrome and, when those failed, rewriting older stories until I got my mojo back. Speaking of older stories, I have a few I have been trying to get published over the years. One such work, titled, "The Gipper Memorandum," sat in my files since 2012, occasionally rearing its head whenever I felt a publisher might be interested in publishing it. 

Lately, my run of luck has been of the sucking variety. Rejections didn't exactly flood in but they definitely trickled water onto my forehead with each disappointing email. Reasons ranged from the generic "not for us" to the "man, that's good writing! Sorry, no" variety. At least one came with compliments for "parts" of the story, concluding with the painful "it's too preachy" opinion.

So, when I opened my email this morning and saw two emails from publishers to whom I'd sent stories, I assumed they too would be negative responses. The first one turned out to be simply a confirmation of receipt. The second one was an acceptance of a story that was written in 2012. 

I never lost faith in "The Gipper Memorandum" but I did reach the conclusion that it was probably a story for a short fiction collection. A so-called "Added treat" in the form of an unpublished story. But then some big shot editor had to go and accept it and ruin the surprise for everybody! 

I am, of course, beyond pleased to see one of my older stories finally get picked up. If anybodsy takes anything away from my post, make it this: Don't just leave those stories and novels in your desk drawers and on your hard drives. Assuming you tried to get them published, try again and again. Sometimes it's all about timing and, in my case, waiting until there's a fascist lunatic in charge of a country that should know better. 

I will post more anthology info for "After the Kool Aid is Gone" once it becomes known~

Order it and Read it While it's Still Timely...and While There's Still Time!

The Novel that Refuses to Die.

So, one of the librarians at one of the libraries I work for sent out an email telling people about an alternative to Amazon called "Bookshop," which is a consortium of independant bookstores. It's nice to see the so-called "little guys" managing to hang in there in the face of the ever-encroaching monolith Jeff Bezos' ego hath wrought.

Like any published author would, I immediately typed in my name and saw one of my novels available in their catalog.

I see the description still has that stupid editorial change from "thus" to "this" that still makes no sense at all. It's correct on the back cover blurb, just not in the website descriptions.

Don't let that keep you from ordering it, reading it, and forming an opinion.

Another Positive Review

I ran across this review of the anthology "Classics Remixed Vol II" that refers to it as, "A very magnificent collection from a group of talented writers."

Book Trailer for "Classics Remixed Vol. II"

I had no idea this even existed! Even worse, it's been online since October of this year. Ah, well. No time like the prescient, right?

Below is the link to the Youtube trailer for the anthology featuring my short story, "Gorgon Not Forgotten." If you watch carefully, you may even see the head of yours truly hovering along with other authors.

View the trailer here.

Order the book here.

Look at the cover of the book...right here!

In the Beginnings (Three Beginnings to Unfinished Stories)

Like most and probably all writers, I have lots and lots of unfinished stories and novels just sitting around waiting for me to get back to them. There was a time when something like 95% of everything I started remained that way, but thanks to one of my three mentors, the late Annabelle McIlnay, I became much more disciplined. In fact, when a co-worker recently asked me if I was participating in NanoWriMo this year, I awkwardly informed her I didn't really need to.  Well, I tried to say that but was too busy being yelled at as the co-worker demanded that I not even finish my sentence.

Still, none of that means I am so disciplined that I finish everything. I'd estimate now that my completion rate is something like 70%, which is still damn good.  At the risk of sounding like an even worse braggart, there's also the matter of my output ratio. Simply put, I start more stories than I used to when Annabelle was admonishing me to "Just finish one damn thing" before starting another.

I recently completed a script and a short story that I am still debating whether or not to let anyone else see (read about that here) but there are several stories still sitting in my to-do pile wondering what my problem is. I need motivation. I need that gentle push. I need you, baby.

So, here are the first sections of three unfinished stories for you to read and provide me with one simple piece of feedback: Which one should I finish next or should I scrap them all and go back to scribe school with my wanna-be Hemingway ass?

Leave a comment with your insightful comments and see the story starts below:

Partners

His name isn’t important.

He will tell you the same. For reference purposes, you may refer to him as “Mal.” Whatever his last name is or was, he hasn’t used it in years and no longer cares to remember it. 

What he does care about, however, is what will transpire over the course of the next few hours. He stands before a large group of people -- call them what they are --Call them followers -- that stares at him with grim expectation and damn near blind devotion. He tries to smile reassuringly but the muscles in his face that form such things have long since gone dead. 

Just like his tear ducts.

Final Illumination

Howard stops climbing the wall, turns to me and says, “Do you think he can hear what we’re

thinking all the way out here?”

I shake my head with what I hope is confidence, motion for him to keep climbing. Even brief delays such as these could cost us dearly. 

Below us, the searchlights move frantically along the craggy surface, all-terrain vehicles reflecting the light for an instant as they continue their own search for the escaped dissidents. For us. I can feel Howard’s fear. I can feel his hopefulness as well. He believes in me and my ability to get him to safety. 

Fifteen years ago, one glance at my inhuman face would have sent a human like Howard screaming into the nearest safe spot. But times have changed for the human race, as they have for us. 

And it was all because of one young man in a place called Westphalia, Michigan.

The Wall They Paid For

  The Great and Noble Book of Orange tells the story of a time when the haters and losers opposed the Wall. It’s hard to believe this is true, but since all other information is Fake News, it has to be true. But sometimes, when I’m alone and the Drainers aren’t in the vicinity, I confess I doubt the Word of our founder.

         The story, told in the Book’s typical one-hundred and forty character sentences, features many references to those ancient people known as the Demoncrats, who existed solely to oppose the founder and to hate freedom. There’s nothing in the Book that actually explains why they did these things or really who they were, but that’s a matter for the Church Apprentices to address when they deliver the Sunday night sermons. I haven’t been to church in months, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by the Apprenticeship. They have only mentioned it in casual conversation so far but the time is swiftly approaching when they will become more aggressive. That means I don’t have much time to accomplish my task.

Classics ReMixed II Coming In December.

Featuring my short story, "Gorgon not Forgotten," the Left Hand Publishers anthology Classics Remixed II is now available for pre-order.

See the cover below:

It's an odd one, to be sure, but still not as odd as:


THIS little gem!





(My short story "On the Eighth Day" was featured in this one, so it remains probably my most unread work)











Anyway, I won't reprint the entire letter I received here but I will share my favorite part in closing:

"All of us at Left Hand Publishers are VERY excited about Classics ReMixed II. It’s one of our favorites. We know you’re going to love it too. I’m really glad you agreed to go genderless in “Gorgon Not Forgotten.” It’s a great read. As always, thank you for being a part of the family of LHP authors."

Oy, Such a Compliment That Was!

Although I mentioned it on Facebook, I refrained from mentioning specifics about my latest short story acceptance here because this is where I make my "official announcements" and I had not yet sent in my signed contract.  There's also the little matter of not wanting to jinx anything because, to be blunt, it's been a while since I've had anything accepted. However, this hasn't been a total surprise since, as I advised my Facebook friends, I tend to have better luck in the Fall.

I did make a brief mention of the story's acceptance in my post from September 28th post so maybe consider this the sequel to that award-winning piece of quasi-journalistic excellence. The story is titled, "Gorgon Not Forgotten" (hee-hee get it?) and it was accepted by Left Hand Publishing. Once I sent in my signed contract, biography and picture (ugh!) they replied with the suggested edits.

There were hardly any.

Not to brag, but the publisher of my first novel used to say I was the easiest person to edit because my first drafts tended to read like final ones. That didn't mean changes weren't necessary or that there was no room for improvement. It just meant my narrative structure was relatively strong and the requisite flow and plot progression weren't in need of repair. This may be telling stories out of school as they used to say but I don't normally start writing until I either have a complete vision in my head or, when I don't have one, I stop and start a lot rather than simply rushing through a first draft. That's an unusual technique and not one I necessarily recommend to others. The conventional wisdom is to not do what I do but I have found that I am less likely to finish the work if I don't push myself to make it final draft worthy the first time.

I am not, repeat not, arrogant enough to believe a prospective editor will see it that way. I am also one of the easiest people to request rewrites and edits from. Every word is not precious and sometimes one must indeed kill their darlings if they want to see one's work in print. If you don't agree, don't accept the offer.

When I opened the returned document containing my story and its suggested edits, I saw the following note in the right-hand corner:

"Hi Christopher. Excellent story and a pristine manuscript. As your story was being reviewed by the scorers, it was noted a couple of times that by changing just a few words, you could keep the progeny genderless. As you read through your manuscript again, try to forget whether it’s a he or a she. You’ll see how it adds another layer to your piece.
If you do not like that idea, just “reject” the couple of changes that we made.Thank you for a great read. Nice working with you on this project."

The note was followed by a handful of suggested grammatical changes. Personal feedback is rare enough in this field and any is appreciated, even if it's not positive. To receive positive feedback thanking me? That's yuge! Not to mention the amount of compliments contained in that one paragraph. Knowing that more than one person read it and found enough merit to agree it was publishable makes any semblance of impostor syndrome vanish like flatulence in a summer breeze.

More on that actual publication date when I know more on the actual...publication...you know what I mean!

Writing to Suit

Although I find myself doing it often, these days in particular, I'm always hesitant to write short stories for  anthologies with specific themes. The chances of getting the story accepted are usually low, especially if the story wasn't commissioned by the publisher, and then I'm left with what I consider a quality story that is too specific to send elsewhere.

I have gotten better at being strategic, however. Unless the anthology theme is one that grabs hold of me to the point where I become consumed with an instant story idea, I tend to weed out the more idiosyncratic ones in favor of themes that seem a bit more generalized. For example. if someone is looking for stories about the end of the world that only involve a wish gone horribly wrong, that story might be easily placed elsewhere. But if it's just about the end of the world being caused by a single poor decision, I'm all over it.

(I should confess here that the above example was one I actually wrote and published titled "Maynard" about a lovable, fun-loving sociopath whose hatred of humanity is eclipsed only by his ego)

Image obtained from Wickimedia Commons

Sometimes it's hard to not write the story anyway. There have been anthologies that paid well but what they wanted was so particular to that publication that it just didn't seem to be worth my time. I have few regrets on that score because I know that ultimately it makes more sense to aim wider. Such was not the case with the short story I had accepted earlier this week. Entitled, "Gorgon, not Forgotten," this was a case of literary hypocrisy on my part and I make no apologies for that.

"Gorgon" was written for an anthology looking for reworked mythological tales. The instant I read it, the words, "Medusa had a secret daughter" echoed inside my brain non-stop for several seconds. It was a case of a story taking hold of me and demanding to be told. Those are the moments most writers live for and I would have been damned if I'd allow that feeling pass without giving it its due. I finished the story rather quickly and had a few people read it. One hated it based on the fact that my version of the mythology was not what she "knew" to be the way it was supposed to work. Another loved it. One other couldn't get past the present tense and a fourth found it brilliant.

The story was rejected.

I wondered if my faith in its assumed (by me) quality had been misplaced. Sure, two people had really enjoyed it but what about those negative criticisms? Maybe they were right. How would I ever know, considering I'd written this story to suit a specific anthology? Then the Left Hand of Darkness emerged from deep within the Stygian depths of my unconscious mind. Or, more accurately, this publisher announced a somewhat similar anthology. Needless to say, the story was accepted.

So, is there a moral to this story or is it, as Homer Simpson once said, "Just a buncha stuff that happened"? I suppose if pressed to find a moral, it is to trust that inner voice in your head, the one that sounds like you. The one that doesn't sound like you might need to be medicated away unless it imbues you with super-powers. But that other voice knows you because it is you and, every once in a while, it's okay to step away from the hard and fast rules.

More info on this anthology as it becomes known~

Short Stories No Longer Available.

It always saddens me when something I had published is no longer available to be purchased. And since most of my work has been published by tiny publishing houses, many of which closed their doors after just a few years of operation, the likelihood of not being able to find my work is greater than hoped. This is especially true of work that was only published in print form but it is by far not exclusively the case.

I've been fortunate enough to have published and, in some cases, republished well over three dozen short stories and two novels. The story count might be even higher than that now but I'm not obsessive about counting. Thankfully, the majority of my work can still be found.

Unfortunately, sometimes a publisher doesn't simply cease publishing. Sometimes they vanish like the proverbial fart upon yon breeze. Such was the case with the publisher of SciFan Magazine, the first publication to print a story of mine. I submitted a second story to the publisher only to soon realize he was more interested in promoting his own science fiction novel than in continuing to publish a high-quality magazine.  And it was high-quality. You can see by clicking here that SciFan is no more.

The story SciFan published, "No More Goodbyes," was not one I consider among my best, although I'm still rather fond of it. One story I do consider one of my best appeared in the anthology, "The Good Fight" concerning a superhero called Vanishing Act who discovers that the battle against evil isn't necessarily one he should be waging. That story is now out of print and I feel it deserves further consideration.

Perhaps the most painful loss is my beloved The Darkness Internal. Aussie publisher and friend Mark Turner ran out of funds after a rather impressive dual run of his main Voluted Tales Magazine and my imprint, named above. I got to publish six issues before the inevitable ax descended and, for several years afterwards and to the surprise of Mark, the issues remained online. I foolishly allowed myself to believe they always would be but the links no longer work. Now the only record of The Darkness Internal's existence can be found on blogs such as this one and this one.

It's sad to see a publication that included one's work gone into the ether; it happens to even the most famous authors. But when it's something I worked on from conception to inception, I can't deny that it hurts. I wish I'd thought of compiling the better stories into a self-published "Best of" but alas, I did not.

For those who may not be aware, most short stories, still available or not, become available to the author again within a year of publication. So, those stories that are no longer available could have been shopped around to others while they were still actively able to be purchased. A few were, actually.

As an author, I feel duty-bound to send work I have confidence back out for further consideration. And at some point, they will be collected in a short collection that will also one day go out of print.

Second Patreon Post for August.

This is starting to feel like work...or it would if I wasn't posting stuff that was already written some time ago.

Anyway, usual crap: Pledge at least one dollar per month and absorb the yummy goodness by clicking here.

IF HARLAN ELLISON ISN'T AN AUTHOR YOU ADMIRE, YOU'RE PROBABLY NOT MUCH OF A WRITER.

Despite the clickbaity tone of this post's title, I mean it. Although I guess I'll add the caveat that you don't actually have to see Ellison as a hero but you should at least admire him and his talent. I don't care if you thought he was an abrasive asshole and your delicate Middle American/Southern/Whereever-the-hell-else sensibilities were wounded. The man's brilliance shines through his behavior and his absence from this mortal coil is felt daily, especially by those of us who find the current crop of event TV series mostly banal and lifeless.

Ellison not only defended the written word with his every breath but he also stood up for the writer as a professional who deserved recognition and, damn right, to get paid. One of my favorite Ellison interactions involved him receiving a telephone call from a represenative of a film company that was working on a "Babylon 5" documentary. Ellison served as a consultant and wrote for the show. When the woman expressed shock that the world-famous author wanted to get paid for his time and advised him it would be good publicity, he exploded.

"Do you get a paycheck?" Ellison then asked. "Does your boss get a paycheck? Do you pay the telecine guy? Do you pay the cameraman? Do you pay the cutters? Do you pay the Teamsters when they schlep your stuff on the trucks? Would you go to the gas station and ask them to give you free gas? Would you go to the doctor and have them take out our spleen for nothing?" Quote source. 

Publicity. Sounds a lot like "exposure," which is the preferred word for not paying authors these days. Imagine having the utter cluelessness or arrogance to tell an award-winning science fiction author that. The pervasive devaluing of writers and our craft, especially in the U.S., is beyond dishgeartening. I think the only field that gets it worse is the teaching profession, which is indeed a profession and not a service industry job.

So, no. You don't have to like him. You don't have to like anybody. But if you're a writer, particualrly of any form of genre fiction and you don't admire him (the man stood up to that control freak Gene Roddenberry) then you're probably someone who should rethink their choice of vocation.

Because it is indeed a vocation, which is exactly what Ellison was reminding people of when he sat in that window (pictured above) and went to work every day until he was sarisfied with his output. Ellison could have taken the easier way out like so many so-called "writers" these days who basically operate sweatshops with starving writers doing all the work while they slap their names on the cover. He, unlike they, deserves your respect.




*Purchase the Grandmaster's book "Under Glass" here.

Small Presses (A Brief Thought-Stream)

I subscribe to a certain weekly email newsletter that graciously provides lists of upcoming anthologies that are open to submissions. Most of my recent published work has been due to this list, so my gratitude is boundless. Therefore, please note this is not in any way a criticism of the compiler(s) of the weekly list. Instead, it's an observation about the level of expectation smaller publishers often have when it comes to their anthologies.

Anyone who has submitted fiction knows the pay-scale isn't exactly encouraging. There's a double-edged sword these days. There are more markets looking for work than ever before (I refuse to refer to my work or the work of others as "content") and the Internet has made it the easiest it's ever been to submit to them. So on the up side, it rarely costs anything to send out one's stories. No more self-addressed stamped envelopes, for the most part. On the down side, however, the innumerable smaller publishers can't afford to pay very much.

That's perfectly understandable. And while the amount of money involved should not dictate the quality of what they're seeking (I know this flies in the face of supposed conventional capitalistic wisdom) it should dictate what they require in addition to receiving said work.

What I'm getting at, quite simply, is if you can only pay someone twenty dollars for their hard work, don't also expect them to do additional work before you will even deign to consider reading it.
That is not a privilege you should possess until you can at least pay semi-pro rates.

I don't write this as someone who hasn't been on the other side of the submission wall. I have edited and published a magazine as well as two anthologies and never once did I require anything further than the story itself and any agreed upon edits/rewrites. I certainly wasn't full of myself enough to require a written proposal before I would even read their work. Why not charge a submission fee while you're at it?

Better yet, here's a urine sample and a list of the last five people I slept with.

I'm all for lofty goal-setting and aspirations of literary godhood, but come on. Twenty bucks barely fills most gas tanks these days. The "exposure" claim has been debunked far too many times for me to lend it any credence. Publishers are not supposed to remind us of employers that act like their workers should be grateful for minimum wage despite it being a law they have no choice but to observe.

You're supposed to be better than those low-lives. You're supposed to understand what writers go through both professionally and personally. Since your reach exceeds your grasp, try wrapping your hands around a big pile of perspective and get over yourselves~

***FREE FICTION TIME***

I'm not generally fond of the fact that some of my work can be found free with the mildest effort, despite the fact that it's often work appearing in an anthology that is supposed to be purchased. However, I'm feeling generous today and, if I may be frank, I was never paid for this particular story anyway.

Don't worry. I wasn't stiffed. It was simply not a paying anthology. It was submitted to an editor of whom I'd been rather fond during her time at another publisher that was no longer in business. It would appear that the newer publisher hath met a similar fate. I can't find anything beyond 2017 on their website.

So, the fact that story rights revert to the author after six months unless otherwise stipulated and combined with the defunct status of the publisher renders me guilt-free. I could have posted it on my Patreon page but I don't want people to start feeling like I don't ever share my work on here anymore.

Below is the cover of the anthology.

Click here to read my story and, apparently, every other story in the anthology. 

LATEST PATREON POST.

The promised Donald Trump story is up on Patreon!

Read it here after becoming a patron, of course.

NUMBER ONE SELLING ANTHOLOGY (and I'm in it)