Every once in a while, we get communications from people who don't understand how we can announce the results of a short story contest just two or three days after it closes. They wonder if we're somehow reading 200+ stories in two or three days. No, we read and rate them as they come in. But that raises an important question:
If you send us a story ten days into a contest and we judge it to be the 12th best story of the 20 received up to that point, why don't we send you a rejection slip right then? Why wait until the contest is over?
We're open to changing that practice, if you can come up with a strong enough counter-argument. Here is our reasoning for the current practice.
1) We want each author to enter our contests only once. Since we read all stories blindly, however, we don't have a good way to prevent somebody from sending us a story on Day 1 of the contest, and then submitting something else on Day 75. Our nightmare scenario is dealing with a writer who would submit a different (rejectable) story every day if we rejected stories as soon as we realized they had no chance to get published.
2) A point from Bethany: We have rejected stories that turned out to be from authors who, in different contests, took first place (with a different story of course). By rejecting an early entry right away, we're giving that entry's author a chance to submit a different story that we might like a lot more. Rejecting stories right away gives those stories' authors a big advantage over other contestants, and we think that would be unfair.
3) I know from experience it's annoying to wait 2-3 months to find out how your story did, but a 2-3 month wait time is not that far from an industry average. So while I'm not thrilled with it, I don't feel we're treating our writers in a way that the industry would condemn.
4) What would we do with a story we receive on Day 2 of a contest, and is so good, it remains in contention all the way to the end, but on the last day we decide it can't quite crack the top ten? That author's going to wait three months for a reply no matter what.
5) Another point from Bethany: Just about every contest, at least one author withdraws his or her entry for some reason. We've had that happen just before a contest closed! In fact, twice now it's happened with stories we were strongly considering sending to the prize judges. That meant some story we were originally going to reject took the withdrawn story's place, and in at least one case, won a prize.
6) Finally, every alternative we've considered sounds worse to us than the current practice. We've even considered a "halfway" notice, in which halfway through a contest, we'd tell all non-contending authors that they didn't make it. But what would we do with the contending authors, if anything? I don't want to get their hopes up because many times, a story that is in the top ten halfway through a contest doesn't make the final round. (Two-thirds of our entries tend to come in the last half of the contest.) Plus there's still the one-entry-per-author problem.
It seems like the only way to give feedback in something closer to real time would be to pick on the authors who sent the stories that did the worst. We don't want to do that. So, we file our notes and decisions away and hold them until the end.
Having said all that, if you can make an argument for faster rejections that's stronger than the argument for our current system, please do, and we'll think about changing. Over the years, we've adjusted a number of our practices because our readers and writers had better ideas than we did. We're willing to do so again.
Showing posts with label rejecting stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rejecting stories. Show all posts
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Now More Than Ever, Use the Premise Well
I'll let you folks in on a little secret. When we launched our first contest in October 2006, we received fewer than 70 entries. Our second contest was based on a premise that was so poorly designed it turned people off, and we received fewer than 40 entries. It wasn't until contest #4, when we'd been around for a whole year, that we broke 100 entries (with 162 of them).
The secret I'm letting you in on is, the percentage of really good stories was quite small back then. I can remember sending out ten stories in the final round while knowing at least two of them had no chance of publication. One time, only nine stories made the final round.
That was a long time ago. For contest #18, we got at least 20 stories that were better than some of the stories that used to make the top 10. We got at least 15 that we'd have been proud to publish in our first year. In fact, the four stories that made the top ten this time, and did not get published, would probably have been published even three years ago.
However, our policy (which we've violated only once) is to publish no more than six contest entries: first, second, third, and up to three honorable mentions. We don't plan to change that. Our policy and the gradual rise in the quality of our contest entries have combined toproduce an unexpected effect:
How well a story uses our contest premise matters a lot more than it used to.
Long ago, a story that was great in every way except use of premise would beat a story that was merely good, but used the premise better. Now judges are comparing stories that are great in every way except use of premise against stories that are great in every way including use of premise. Guess which ones win?
Today I'm sending out the free critiques we're giving to the four runner-up stories, and in two of those cases, mediocre use of the premise is the number one reason those stories lost out. One of those stories is one of the best written pieces we've ever received. I'd bet some pretty decent literary magazines would take it in an instant. Our prize judges turned it down because its use of premise was too weak. In fact, we publishers almost disqualified it from the contest for that same reason. But it was so good in every other way, we didn't have the heart to DQ it. (That'll teach us. It got the lowest score of any of the top 10 because "time" was just barely relevant to it. Next contest, we'll know better.)
I hope you folks will, too. We're called On The Premises for a reason, and that reason matters more than ever. Keep it in mind when we launch our next contest on or around November 10. Use the premise, and use it well!
The secret I'm letting you in on is, the percentage of really good stories was quite small back then. I can remember sending out ten stories in the final round while knowing at least two of them had no chance of publication. One time, only nine stories made the final round.
That was a long time ago. For contest #18, we got at least 20 stories that were better than some of the stories that used to make the top 10. We got at least 15 that we'd have been proud to publish in our first year. In fact, the four stories that made the top ten this time, and did not get published, would probably have been published even three years ago.
However, our policy (which we've violated only once) is to publish no more than six contest entries: first, second, third, and up to three honorable mentions. We don't plan to change that. Our policy and the gradual rise in the quality of our contest entries have combined toproduce an unexpected effect:
How well a story uses our contest premise matters a lot more than it used to.
Long ago, a story that was great in every way except use of premise would beat a story that was merely good, but used the premise better. Now judges are comparing stories that are great in every way except use of premise against stories that are great in every way including use of premise. Guess which ones win?
Today I'm sending out the free critiques we're giving to the four runner-up stories, and in two of those cases, mediocre use of the premise is the number one reason those stories lost out. One of those stories is one of the best written pieces we've ever received. I'd bet some pretty decent literary magazines would take it in an instant. Our prize judges turned it down because its use of premise was too weak. In fact, we publishers almost disqualified it from the contest for that same reason. But it was so good in every other way, we didn't have the heart to DQ it. (That'll teach us. It got the lowest score of any of the top 10 because "time" was just barely relevant to it. Next contest, we'll know better.)
I hope you folks will, too. We're called On The Premises for a reason, and that reason matters more than ever. Keep it in mind when we launch our next contest on or around November 10. Use the premise, and use it well!
Sunday, September 30, 2012
The Most Annoying Syntax Error
It looks like Blogger is back up and running correctly! At least for me. We'll see how long it lasts.
I know a couple other editors read this blog, so I'm asking you, as well as anyone else with an opinion: Does the following syntax error bother you as much as it does me?
"Thank you." She said.
Of course, that text should be:
"Thank you," she said.
Dialogue with improper grammar—specifically, that improper grammar—is one of the most frequent errors I see in OTP submissions. It's happening so often, I can think of only two plausible causes:
1) An entire generation of writers has grown up learning how to use grammar correctly in other situations, but not dialogue. Quite often, that mistake is the only one I see in a well-written story, yet it happens multiple times in that story, as if the author learned different rules than I did. (It happens in poorly written stories too, but so do a dozen other kinds of errors, so I doubt the causes are the same in that case.)
2) Microsoft Word and other word processors are applying grammar rules of normal writing to dialogue. The stupid programs keep saying "a sentence can't end in a comma," and following that up with "the first word in the next sentence needs to be capitalized."
What frustrates me is, I don't know how severely I should punish authors for this mistake. What if the last thing an author does before submitting a story is run "one last" spell and grammar check, and has the program set to fix errors automatically, and doesn't notice what the program is doing to dialogue? In that case, a good writer is being a bad software user, and those are different skills.
True, for the last 20 years or so, all good writers had to learn to be good users of word processors, but this particular grammar "fix" seems to be a fairly recent development. And I've learned that even in 2012, a number of very good writers don't know crap about computers, word processors, or anything IT-related. Not even when they're younger than word processing itself (which floors me, but it's true--today's 20-somethings are NOT all skilled computer users, even though they grew up with computers even more than I did).
There's going to come a time when not knowing how to take full advantage of a word processing program's features will be as inexcusable as not knowing
"Thank you," she said.
is correct dialogue grammar. But until that day arrives, I think I have to be a bit lenient with this particular error.
What do you think?
I know a couple other editors read this blog, so I'm asking you, as well as anyone else with an opinion: Does the following syntax error bother you as much as it does me?
"Thank you." She said.
Of course, that text should be:
"Thank you," she said.
Dialogue with improper grammar—specifically, that improper grammar—is one of the most frequent errors I see in OTP submissions. It's happening so often, I can think of only two plausible causes:
1) An entire generation of writers has grown up learning how to use grammar correctly in other situations, but not dialogue. Quite often, that mistake is the only one I see in a well-written story, yet it happens multiple times in that story, as if the author learned different rules than I did. (It happens in poorly written stories too, but so do a dozen other kinds of errors, so I doubt the causes are the same in that case.)
2) Microsoft Word and other word processors are applying grammar rules of normal writing to dialogue. The stupid programs keep saying "a sentence can't end in a comma," and following that up with "the first word in the next sentence needs to be capitalized."
What frustrates me is, I don't know how severely I should punish authors for this mistake. What if the last thing an author does before submitting a story is run "one last" spell and grammar check, and has the program set to fix errors automatically, and doesn't notice what the program is doing to dialogue? In that case, a good writer is being a bad software user, and those are different skills.
True, for the last 20 years or so, all good writers had to learn to be good users of word processors, but this particular grammar "fix" seems to be a fairly recent development. And I've learned that even in 2012, a number of very good writers don't know crap about computers, word processors, or anything IT-related. Not even when they're younger than word processing itself (which floors me, but it's true--today's 20-somethings are NOT all skilled computer users, even though they grew up with computers even more than I did).
There's going to come a time when not knowing how to take full advantage of a word processing program's features will be as inexcusable as not knowing
"Thank you," she said.
is correct dialogue grammar. But until that day arrives, I think I have to be a bit lenient with this particular error.
What do you think?
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Sometimes We Really Can Help Other Writers
Not so long ago, I critiqued a contest entry called "A Trip to America" that didn't make the final judging round of our contest. We liked the story and thought it had good potential. We also pointed out some specific areas where we didn't think it worked as well as it could have, and made suggestions about how to strengthen it.
The author just emailed us to say that he rewrote the story, at least partially based on our critique, and now it's published in a magazine called Litro. That makes somewhere around five to seven stories that our critiques have helped get published in other magazines.
I'm proud to show off "A Trip to America" by Tony Concannon. I hope you like it as much as we do. Congratulations, Tony!
The author just emailed us to say that he rewrote the story, at least partially based on our critique, and now it's published in a magazine called Litro. That makes somewhere around five to seven stories that our critiques have helped get published in other magazines.
I'm proud to show off "A Trip to America" by Tony Concannon. I hope you like it as much as we do. Congratulations, Tony!
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Why Fiction Based on Real Life Often Fails
Since late 2009, we've sent out over 130 paid critiques of rejected stories, and only two have generated what I'd call unhappy responses. In both cases, the authors felt I'd either missed or misinterpreted critical information in the story. And in both cases, the stories were based on real life to such a degree that I'm not sure either contest entry qualifies as fiction. I don't think it's a coincidence that my most negative reactions came from critiques of stories based on real life.
For one thing, it must feel kind of insulting to be told we don't believe your story that really happened. There's no solution to that problem, though, because On The Premises is a fiction magazine that emphasizes creativity, so we're going to keep assuming that the stories we receive are at least 90% made up. (If you want to write about your real thoughts and feelings, then give your real thoughts and feelings to made up characters and put them in made up situations that would evoke your real thoughts and feelings.)
To show why stories based on real life can often fail, I'll transcribe a conversation between me and an imaginary author who wrote an imaginary story called "Sister From Hell." (We have never received any story with that title, or any story similar to the one I'm about to describe.)
ME: ...so to summarize, we didn't believe the extreme behavior change shown by the narrator's sister at the end of the story. Since the whole story hinges on that change in behavior, it's fair to say we didn't believe the whole story, and that's why "Sister From Hell" didn't make the final round of judging.
AUTHOR: Well of course you didn't believe it. She fools everybody.
ME: ?????
AUTHOR: The story's based on my real sister, who fools everybody into thinking she's the nicest person in the world, then stabs you in the back.
ME: Okay, but we're talking about the narrator's sister in "Sister From Hell."
AUTHOR: I'm the narrator! I'm writing about me and my sister.
ME: First, if we'd known the story was non-fiction, we'd have disqualified it from our contest. Second, we're not concerned with your real sister here, we're concerned with the character as described in "Sister From Hell."
AUTHOR: I just told you they're the same thing.
ME: Look, you have a great deal of personal history with your real sister. How did you learn she's lying when she's acting all nice to everybody?
AUTHOR: [Gives many long, detailed examples of sister's deceitful behavior, and the clues the author discovered that proved the sister was lying.]
ME: Great. The problem is, none of that information appears in the current draft of "Sister From Hell." The story we received spends ten pages showing the narrator's sister performing such selfless, kind acts that we were ready to nominate her for sainthood. Then on page eleven she burns down an orphanage and laughs at all the dying children.
AUTHOR: Okay that never really happened, but it's the kind of thing she'd do if she could get away with it.
ME: My point is, there's nothing IN THE STORY to make us believe she's anything except what she appears to be: nice, sweet, etc. Not until she burns down an orphanage. To us readers, that act came out of nowhere. I think the real problem here is, you know your material so well, you forgot that we DON'T already know it. If we knew all along your sister was a psychopath, "Sister From Hell" would probably have worked better for us. Since we didn't know that, the last part made no sense to us.
AUTHOR: My gosh, you're right! [Author goes on to write best-selling novels, win a Pulitzer Prize, and publicly credit me as a mentor, thus helping me teach creative writing somewhere. Like I said, the author's imaginary.]
I think the biggest problem with the advice to "Write What You Know" is, it's too easy to forget your readers don't also know it. If you write what you make up, you'll ask important questions about your characters, plot, and story's world because you probably don't know the answers to those questions either. As you develop the answers to those questions, many of them will appear in your story, probably because that's how you're coming up with the answers. If you already have all the answers, you might leave out something your readers will need to know.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Contest #16 is over!
I swear this gets harder with every contest.
Contest #16 received 237 entries, not counting resubmissions (authors replacing their own entries) and one we had to disqualify. Out of those 237, about 40 seriously impressed us, and by the time we woke up this morning, 16 stories were fighting for the 10 finalist slots. Bethany and I have debated and argued and pointed out strengths and weaknesses in those 16 stories, and we're still not down to 10.
It's a sign of our maturation as a fiction market that we are now turning down stories that, at one point in our history, would have easily made the final judging round. I'm not convinced that the best stories in contest #16 are better than the best stories we've published in previous issues. I am convinced that the 16th best story we received for this contest is heads and shoulders above the 16th best story we received for our early issues. It's probably better than the 8th best story we received for our early issues.
What that means is, we're looking at stories that we both like and we're still forced to turn them down because each contest forces us to get even pickier about stupid little mistakes and minor problems. Three years ago, I'd have said, "This story has a significant flaw, but let's put it in the top 10 and if it gets published, we'll fix the problem in editing." Now we say, "Sorry, story--you're out."
Stories that it absolutely killed me to turn down include:
...a heart-rending story in which the last 85% of the prose was as good as anything we've ever received. Too bad we thought the first ten paragraphs were not just unnecessary, but detrimental to the story, which in our minds, begins with its eleventh paragraph. Writers! Deep in your heart, you know where your story really begins. Cut everything that comes before that point, okay?
...a highly believable story about Earth's possible future, which would have enthralled us except that the main character is taking a stubborn stand against something for no reason we can figure out. Writers! If your character is doing something unusual, please give that person a reason we can relate to, okay?
...a story that we're convinced would be a contender, except it's set in a culture we know very little about, and the story thinks we're much more familiar with that culture's basic concepts than we really are. Writers! Even the most real-world story requires worldbuilding. Are you sure your American audience will understand your culture's subtle elements?
Anyway, we're not down to 10 stories yet, so the debate will continue. I expect to have figured out our finalists by Wednesday. Sincere congratulations go out to the increasing number of writers who improve with every submission, and who make our job harder with each contest.
Contest #16 received 237 entries, not counting resubmissions (authors replacing their own entries) and one we had to disqualify. Out of those 237, about 40 seriously impressed us, and by the time we woke up this morning, 16 stories were fighting for the 10 finalist slots. Bethany and I have debated and argued and pointed out strengths and weaknesses in those 16 stories, and we're still not down to 10.
It's a sign of our maturation as a fiction market that we are now turning down stories that, at one point in our history, would have easily made the final judging round. I'm not convinced that the best stories in contest #16 are better than the best stories we've published in previous issues. I am convinced that the 16th best story we received for this contest is heads and shoulders above the 16th best story we received for our early issues. It's probably better than the 8th best story we received for our early issues.
What that means is, we're looking at stories that we both like and we're still forced to turn them down because each contest forces us to get even pickier about stupid little mistakes and minor problems. Three years ago, I'd have said, "This story has a significant flaw, but let's put it in the top 10 and if it gets published, we'll fix the problem in editing." Now we say, "Sorry, story--you're out."
Stories that it absolutely killed me to turn down include:
...a heart-rending story in which the last 85% of the prose was as good as anything we've ever received. Too bad we thought the first ten paragraphs were not just unnecessary, but detrimental to the story, which in our minds, begins with its eleventh paragraph. Writers! Deep in your heart, you know where your story really begins. Cut everything that comes before that point, okay?
...a highly believable story about Earth's possible future, which would have enthralled us except that the main character is taking a stubborn stand against something for no reason we can figure out. Writers! If your character is doing something unusual, please give that person a reason we can relate to, okay?
...a story that we're convinced would be a contender, except it's set in a culture we know very little about, and the story thinks we're much more familiar with that culture's basic concepts than we really are. Writers! Even the most real-world story requires worldbuilding. Are you sure your American audience will understand your culture's subtle elements?
Anyway, we're not down to 10 stories yet, so the debate will continue. I expect to have figured out our finalists by Wednesday. Sincere congratulations go out to the increasing number of writers who improve with every submission, and who make our job harder with each contest.
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