Evermore, the most recent product from the Lynn Viehl novel factory.

This week we’re talking with Lynn Viehl, author of, well, a whole lot of books. If you’re not familiar with Viehl, that may be because she’s a chameleon, constantly changing her byline to suit the market. She spent ten years writing before her big break, producing twenty-two manuscripts and collecting over one thousand rejections. Since selling her first novel some eight years ago, she’s sold at least 38 novels in five genres, most of which end in “… Romance”. (I say ‘at least’ because she’s probably sold more since this interview.)

38 novels, in less than nine years. Just think about that. She makes Stephen King look like J.D. Salinger (yes, there are two ways to take that). If there were ten, maybe twenty more novelists like her, they’d own the midlist.

Lynn Viehl is to the writing community what India is to the IT industry, the kind of hyper-efficient word machine that makes reviewers scoff, tenured literary authors sneer, and part-time amateur writers burn with raw envy, poorly disguised as derision. She publishes under at least six pseudonyms, because Barnes & Noble refuses to name an entire bookshelf after her. She also finds time to run her blog Paperback Writer, regularly posting advice and information about writing to help you maintain the delusion that you could ever be as successful as her.

Despite representing everything this blog stands against, I have to admit I’m kind of crushing on her right now — because as you’ll see below, she rocks this interview like it was a pandering plug piece on The View. She came to this knife fight wearing plate armour. She took my vitriol and made a martini out of it. No wonder she makes the medium bucks.

If you’re expecting this interview to delve into Viehl’s writing schedule, where she finds inspiration, how she balances writing with raising children, where she thinks the industry is going, etc., you are so on the wrong blog.

You’ve published novels under the names Sheila Kelly, Rebecca Kelly, Lynn Viehl, S.L. Viehl, Gena Hale and Jessica Hall. Which one am I speaking to right now?

Oh, just call me Legion. All the guys in Perdition do.

Does using so many identities reduce your tax burden? If one of your pseudonyms commits a felony, can you still publish under the others?

What tax burden? Right, you probably didn’t get the press release about my ordination. I’ve incorporated as the leader of a chicklit evangelist movement: The Fashion-Driven Life. You can read about it in my upcoming bestseller, “What Shoes Would Jesus Wear With That?” As for the felony question, if Stephen King can still publish under his own name after writing “Lisey’s Story” and calling it a romance, I think we’re all safe.

You’ve published 38 novels to date, across 5 genres, in a professional career spanning less than nine years. How do you define the term ‘hack’?

Let me check Webster’s. Oh, look, what a nice picture of James Patterson. Seriously, a hack is someone who writes slower than me. Which is everyone.

What do you say to the 37 unpublished writers who’ve missed their chance at a debut novel because of you?

I’m getting ready to pitch my next series, so don’t give up your day job.

You started writing seriously in 1989, and you wrote some 22 unpublished novels in the decade before your big break. Have you since recycled some of that trash into something publishable?

I’ll let you in on a secret: I’ve not written a single new word in the last nine years. Whenever my editor wants a book, I just open the trunk, dust off one of the old rejects, and send it in. Once you’ve hit the bestseller list, you can pretty much publish your grocery list. Speaking of bestsellers, do you want an advanced reading copy of my next novel, “Bread, Eggs and Milk”?

With sixty novels under your belt, when do you think you’ll be ready to write a good one?

I’m waiting until Updike croaks. I figure the field will be clear then, and I can stun the publishing world with my long-hidden genius. Or when I empty out the trunk, whichever comes first.

You primarily write romance fiction, but you also write science fiction, dark fantasy and inspirational Christian fiction. Which fans make the better lovers?

Hard to say. See, the romance fans always bring you candy and flowers, but the SF fans are great to have around whenever the computer crashes. The dark fantasy fans never run out of whips and chains. I will say that all that praying for forgiveness the inspirational fans do in bed can be mildly annoying at times. I mean, you’re already going to hell for your internet porn addiction, how’s a little illicit sex with an author going to make things worse?

Are you writing Christian fiction as penance for your dark fantasy novels? How many ChristFic books does it take to keep a dark fantasy author out of Hell?

I write Christian fiction to fool my mom; she thinks I’ve only published ten books. Last time I checked with Satan (research for the next dark fantasy) he was clearing out a whole new level for inspirational authors. Apparently royalties are way up. Anyway, when I die I get to run the eternal torment section. All I have to do is breathe.

For the last few years you’ve been using voice recognition software to write, to reduce arthritis pain, and you now wear trifocal glasses to read. Is your body trying to tell you something?

Yeah, donate a lot to that brain transplant research foundation.

What are your failure criteria for writing? Under what circumstances would you stop?

Anyone who quits before I do, fails. I’ll probably have to stop when I die. Unless that brain transplant thing works out.

Who do you think should stop writing?

Besides you? Annie Proulx. I mean, once you’ve done the secret gay cowboy story, and gotten stiffed for Best Picture on the movie version, and throw a tantrum in print about how it’s just a conspiracy by the homophobes at the academy to keep you from your much-deserved fourth Oscar, it’s all downhill from there.

It’s a good thing that writing dozens of romance-themed novels hasn’t left Viehl bitter or jaded. Feel free to discuss in the comments how inadequate she makes you feel. And check out her blog Paperback Writer, where she’s much less funny.

Tune in next week, when we talk to … someone else.

In other news, the Demotivators page has been fully updated, and now shows all the Demotivators published on the old blogspot site, dating back to December 2006. They’re all available as desktop wallpaper, in normal and widescreen sizes.

You’ve been an outspoken critic of National Novel Writing Month since the launch of your blog, a year ago.

Well, I’ve been critical of NaNoWriMo for a long time now, but I’ve only been outspoken about it on a dozen occasions, and only during November. The rest of the year I couldn’t give a shit.

What are your objections to NaNoWriMo?

“The concept of NaNo seems to be to give people the feel-good buzz of being a ‘Novelist’, with the barest minimum of work to justify it.”

Let’s start with the name. National Novel Writing Month. It’s so elitist. It deliberately excludes non-Americans, who have historically produced far better novels than their Yankee counterparts. I mean, there aren’t any famous American writers prior to 1906, and Shakespeare had written almost all of his plays by then. If they really cared about the world of literature, it would be called International Novel Writing Month. That shortens to InNaWriMo, which kinda sounds like “In a writing mood” if you say it fast. Oh, and the site would be written in the international language, Esperanto, and encourage people to write in it. I could get behind NaNo if it was simultaneously promoting the expansion of literaturo Esperanto.

Do you have any objections to the concept of NaNoWriMo?

The concept of NaNo seems to be to give people the feel-good buzz of being a “Novelist”, with the barest minimum of work to justify it. They say “Anyone can be a writer”, but that’s only true if you reduce the definition to the most basic level of “someone who writes”. That would mean that everyone who isn’t functionally illiterate is already a writer. The notion of being a writer is only attractive if it maintains the prestige society attaches to published, successful writers. Writing is the only activity where you can get away with using the noun like it’s a career choice and a badge of distinction, without having to demonstrate any of the effort or skill people normally associate with it.

“If you remove the notion of quality altogether, then the challenge simply becomes ‘Can you hit the spacebar 50,000 times in a month, with some letters in between?’.”

But society has no fixed definition of what constitutes a “writer”.

True, but I’d wager if you ask people not doing NaNo what being a writer means, the majority would define it more stringently than “someone who wrote a pile of crap, once”. Imagine if we defined other occupations this way: judges as “someone who passes judgement, no matter what that judgement is”, athletes as “someone who occasionally plays a sport”, or fuckheads as “someone who engages in cranial intercourse”. When you say “writer”, people think of literary greats, bestselling authors, and undiscovered genius. It’s that last one that people latch onto. NaNoWriMo is exploiting this hazy definition to say that anyone can join the Undiscovered Genius club, if they type for long enough.

Completing 50,000 words in 30 days is a challenge for most people.

Only because their conscience will not let them completely abandon the concept of quality, despite NaNo’s insistence that quality should not be considered. “Write crap!” they say, and be happy with your crap. But if you remove the notion of quality altogether, then the challenge simply becomes “Can you hit the spacebar 50,000 times in a month, with some letters in between?”. It boils down to finding the time, and nothing more.

You’ve been critical of NaNo’s wordcount goal in the past. What is your objection to it?

The wordcount target and deadline — fifty thousand words in thirty days — is, on the surface, completely arbitrary. Why 50,000 words? That’s not a novel, unless you’re F. Scott Fitzgerald, and I’m pretty sure he ain’t doing NaNo this year. So why not 30,000 or 60,000? That at least would be easy to divide into 30 days. I thought they’d just picked a big cool-sounding number, but there’s something more sinister going on. They say you need to average 1,667 words a day, but if you actually divide 50,000 by 30, you get 1,666.666 recurring. That’s the Number of the Beast, people.

“Out of some 80,000 participants last year, only 13,000 completed the challenge — and all they had was an incomplete first draft of unknown readability.”

50,000 words is a significant portion of a modern novel.

But it’s only a portion of the process. It’s the first draft of half, maybe two thirds of a novel. Imagine if someone announced they were going to build their own house: they purchase some tools, and cut 50,000 pieces of lumber to length. Then they abandon the project, say “Now I’m a carpenter!”, and leave the wood to rot.

Many NaNo participants have gone on to publish novels.

And you could fit them all in one room. Unless one of them says “I never thought about being a writer until NaNo, and now I have a two-book deal!”, you can’t be certain that NaNo has contributed anything to their success. It’s even possible that NaNo made the end product worse — a rush job that only just passes publishing muster, instead of taking extra time to craft something really fine.

Are you saying that NaNo has no benefit or positive effect for participants?

I know that some writers — professional, but not full-time writers — use NaNo as a focusing tool, motivated by the encouragement to regularly update their wordcount. That’s all well and good, but they would be writing anyway. For everyone else, NaNo actively hinders the development of writing skills by discouraging any consideration of quality, and focusing on an arbitrary wordcount instead of plot, characterization, theme, or even the natural length of the story.

“A hundred thousand amateurs playing a massive, month-long online “I’m a Writer!” role-playing game.”

Many NaNo participants think that detractors such as yourself are afraid of competition.

Well, let’s just look at that for a moment. Out of some 80,000 participants last year, only 13,000 completed the challenge — and all they had was an incomplete first draft of unknown readability. Of these, it’s likely only a minuscule percentage actually finish the book, and pursue publication — even then, the only thing achieved is a deeper slushpile that literary agency interns have to trawl through. The few genuinely good writers are already “competition”, NaNo doesn’t make them so.

If you could change the rules of NaNo, what would you change them to?

Aside from scrapping it altogether? Get rid of the the wordcount, and the words “National” and “Novel”. Let the participants write, and discuss writing, at their own leisure. Let participants form their own invite-only critique groups, based on posted samples. A few good writers may emerge, and the wannabes will simply get bored. But a few hundred motivated, passionate writers working together sounds less impressive and newsworthy than a hundred thousand amateurs playing a massive, month-long online “I’m a Writer!” role-playing game.

Would you like to end with a pithy observation, or one of your lame analogies?

Can I do both? You should never be proud of accomplishing something a monkey can do, unless you’re a monkey. And, anyone can go to a junkyard and make an interesting-looking pile of car parts, but it’s the person who can drive away in it that gets the applause.

– Stephen Jayson Harris regularly covers NaNoWriMo for Abnormal Psychology magazine and ESPN. He completed the NaNo challenge in 2005 with a 50,000 word novel entitled Scream of Consciousness, which he finished in seventeen days by rhythmically bashing his forehead against the keyboard.

A straightforward enquiry, yet it left the door open to answer the question I was really asking: Have any of these social landmines tried stalking you from Fortress Ego?

Three of the four interviewees responded to the literal question, indicating that (because the anonymity of ASIM’s slush system) they haven’t had to face an onslaught of ’How Dare You?’ attacks from an author who doesn’t understand their position in the submission process. 

Lee Battersby, however (who in the interview discussed his experiences reading slush for other publications), had a story to tell.

For readers familiar with the Australian SF scene, this story may be known (and old news) to you. But for everyone else, this is a world class example of “OMFG he did what?”.

I received a story that was submitted by an acquaintance of mine. In the interests of anonymity, we’ll give him my brother’s name:  Scott. I’d met Scott at a few cons, we knew each other by sight, and he was a friendly enough guy that I quite liked him in that way you like casual acquaintances. Scott had been round the traps for a while and had a few publications to his credit, so it wasn’t out of the realms of surprise that he’d send us something.

The story itself wasn’t up to scratch: it was clumsily written, had leaps of logic that didn’t gel, and the whole thing really didn’t measure up to our needs. I sent him a rejection, thanking him and explaining why we wouldn’t be taking the story. All standard.

Scott sent me an email in reply: Wow, he said, his first rejection in 15 years of industry success. He’d forgotten what they tasted like. Sorry he didn’t meet our stellar standards, and thanks ever so for pointing out all his multitudinous faults from our position of all-knowing invulnerability. What could I say to that? It happens. I shrugged, and binned it. He’d had a silly moment, what’re ya gonna do?

Then, over the next couple of days, I received a number of emails from friends, all of which asked the same questions: Had I just rejected Scott’s story? What did I say? What was the story like? Scott, it seemed, had a blog. Scott had blogged his rejection. Scott had quite a few things to say about his rejection, particularly on the subject of editors who were too stupid to recognise a spoof of bad SF stories, which he’d deliberately written to be bad, and clumsy, and contain massive leaps of logic.

Anyway, he wrote, ha ha to the stupid editors, because he’d sent it to Argosy and they’d got back within 24 hours, and were “absolutely bugfuck” about the story. Scott was sure the large cheque he’d receive for the story would make it all worthwhile. In fact, Scott was doing pretty well at the moment. Look at all the other markets that were buying his work: here, and here, and here. Which was great for Scott. Except:

Argosy had been closed to submissions for over a year. Several comments appeared on his entry to that effect. Then someone decided to follow up the other stories Scott had mentioned. None of the editors had heard of him. Several visited his blog, just to tell him so.

Then another writer blogged an entry on his blog, on the subject of liars, and CV padding, and the sadness and pathetic nature of people who did so. They linked to Scott’s entry. And so it went. More people commented, and blogged, and linked, and commented again. Pretty soon, within a month or so, the jackboot brigade were denouncing Scott at every opportunity, and calling for him to be run out of Dodge, as if we were all somehow members of a posse, charged with keeping good ole SF clean and pure of heart.

In the end, of course, Scott left the con scene, and stopped submitting to magazines, and locked his blog so only his chosen friends could read it, and his name became, for a short while, synonymous with ‘mud’ at the small press level in Australia. Until the next brouhaha came along, and the literary SA got another chance to shine their truncheons. Just to be clear, incidentally: it wasn’t my brother. He doesn’t need that sort of incentive to send me hate mail

Being publicly censured by your peers is a humiliating way to stop writing, but this is the closest he ever came to telling an entertaining story.

I’ve independently verified most of the details of this sordid tale — including the last bit about Lee’s brother, who did once send him hate mail. Lee inspires that sort of passion.

It’s a shame Lee chose not to name the author, who doesn’t have a snow ball’s chance in hell of publishing in the Australian SF scene, but otherwise got away scot free. You could learn more from the blog entry by the other writer Lee mentions, but without any names, how would you find it?

Note: Several of the interviewees refer below to a mythic entity, variously known as the ‘Slush King’, ‘Slush Queen’, ‘Slushmaster’ or ‘Slushmistress’. I’m assuming that this is this refers to ASIM’s submissions handler, and not to an actual monarch of the slushpile — if it’s the latter, I think they’ve been reading slush way too long. In any event, I’m sure it’s a hereditary title.

How far “out there” do some people go? Worst/strangest/most elaborate?

Haynes: I’ve written and edited my response to this question several times now, because I don’t want to offend anyone. I’ll just say that I’ve read a couple of stories which should probably have been forwarded to mental health experts. Horror, of course.

Battersby: The worst submission I’ve received wasn’t actually a submission at all! It was an emailed invitation to peruse somebody’s 17000 line SF poem regarding their cat, and to reproduce as much, or all, of it as I liked. I’ve also had to reject one submission on the grounds that, even if the writing had been up to scratch, we just couldn’t bring ourselves to publish a story where the author had chosen to illustrate each paragraph with an assortment of clip art that he insisted had to be reproduced.

What responses, if any, have you received from rejected writers?

‘Charlie’: I don’t get responses directly but we do get feedback sometimes which the Slush king or Queen shares. It is always positive, saying how much the author appreciated the feedback and the time we have taken to give it. But they may be hiding the negative stuff.

Wessely: Generally we get a very positive response from our writers, because a) our reading process is very transparent and we keep authors in the loop as to what stage their story is at and b) we often provide feedback from the slushers. There are some loopy people out there who get a bit paranoid about their ‘baby’ – to them I say if you can’t handle rejection (and can’t read the emails the slushmistress/master sends to you regularly and take them at face value!) maybe you shouldn’t be in this game. We try to do it nicely and constructively, but as an author, you need to deal with it!

Haynes: Personally, none. The slushmaster isn’t supposed to put our names on the response(s), but I think a couple did slip through once so I stopped putting my name, sig or anything else in my replies. Eventually I stopped commenting altogether. Yes or no, that’s it.

Battersby: The majority of writers I’ve worked with have accepted rejections for what they are: confirmation that this story won’t be purchased by this magazine at this time. (NB: That’s all they are.) Occasionally I’ve had a writer contact me to ask whether there’s anything they need to do in order to be more successful next time, or whether I had a view on what should happen to the story next. It’s not a move I’d recommend, but  anybody who shows humility and dedication should be welcomed gently. However …

Every now and again, you push somebody’s ego button. I’ve received the odd ‘rejection reply’ where the author has chosen to respond to the rejection itself, just to let me know how wrong I was. Nothing you can do about people like that: they just don’t know how to behave, and spanking them will only make them madder.

I’ve been on mailing lists where authors have blown off steam or bitched about a rejection I’ve given them. I did so once, myself, very early in my career. Luckily, I had some friends who let me know, in no uncertain terms, how unprofessional that was.

If you could add some clauses to the submission guidelines, what would they be?

‘Charlie’: I would say ‘Read the guidelines’. There is little more disappointing than reading a story that doesn’t fit our criteria.

Wessely: Read the submission guidelines! Oh wait, we already say that. Funny how so many people don’t listen!  Research your market – check out past issues of the magazine, see what we publish, see what we like.

Haynes: I update the website so I can add whatever the hell I like. Bwahaha.

Battersby: No stories about cats. No cheeky hobbit sidekicks. No stories that can be described in terms of another author. No stories that can be described as being “like concept A meets concept B”. Read these guidelines again before you send your story to us. If you cannot recite these guidelines from memory, you are not ready to send to us.

How has reading the slushpile impacted your own writing, and your opinion of publishing?

‘Charlie’: Getting published is a matter of continued effort and writing and re-writing. I now know how subjective is the decision to include something or not. I think about my writing in a different way – I am more objectively critical of it, which I think is for the better.

Wessely: Reading the slush has had one impact on me – I want to be able to publish more of the great stuff I read. It makes me sad when I see really good stories slipping out of the ASIM editorial pool simply because we can’t fit them in upcoming issues.

Haynes: I’d recommend ALL writers get involved in slush reading, except it makes the poor souls submitting stories sound like some kind of lab rats.

Battersby: I’m far more ruthless when it comes to evaluating my own work. Short stories are like stand-up comedy, or rock and roll: brevity is important, and nothing matters quite so much as that whatever you say, you do so with attitude. The world is full of bland MOR types playing safe for fear of offending anybody and losing an audience who can’t pick them out amongst the crowd anyway.

How long can you imagine yourself doing this before you go completely insane?

‘Charlie’: Don’t know – just take it week by week. I don’t feel like I am going insane for the most part – but perhaps that’s because I am already there.

Wessely: I’m lucky in that I don’t have to do this all the time. I can take slushing breaks if real life gets too much. But seriously, I could do this forever – who wouldn’t, when the next story you read might be the biggest and best thing ever?

Battersby: I’m not slushing at the moment, mainly because there are no magazines with whom I have a working relationship and which I identify strongly enough with that I want to offer my services. If I had the time and money I’d be much more likely to run my own pet project over which I have some measure of control regarding the quality and style of the stories I publish. But if I had the time, and the right project came along, I’d consider it. It’s a good way to keep track of one’s own quality control.

Haynes: I already went insane and stopped.

A fine note to end on. My thanks to ‘Charlie’, Ms. Wessely, and Messrs. Haynes and Battersby for taking the time to respond to my questions.

For the ‘dedicated’ writers out there, vainly labouring on your little ditties, not yet ready to accept that I’m right — there are many valuable points raised here, a veritable checklist of mistakes you’re probably making. Did you spot them?

(I could list them, but that would just be enabling you.) 

How has your perspective changed since you began?

Wessely: Oh, I’m FAR more picky now than I used to be! I’m also much better at judging stories outside my own personal tastes. I try to be more critical of what I read, and I often think, “yes, it’s a good story, but is it GREAT? Is there something special about this that will appeal to an editor enough to fill pages with it?”

Haynes: Okay, at first I wanted to grab the almost-there stories and tell the authors how to fix them. But then they would have been my stories, not theirs. It’s not luck, it’s not who you know – just make sure your story has all the elements and is written as well as, or better than, the stories you’ve read in the mag. (If you haven’t read an issue of the mag you’re submitting to, you are so wasting your time.)

Battersby: I’m less tolerant of “lightweight” stories than I used to be. Short stories, in particular, have to confront and undermine the status quo, not reinforce it. Even if the author sets out to write a humorous quest fantasy with cheeky hobbit sidekicks (and may syphilis rot your descendants if you do), they need to act against the ‘comfort-eating’ aspects of literature. It’s a crowded field. Attitude counts.

‘Charlie’: I am more often tempted not to read the whole thing. I have come round to the opinion though that if a story can’t bring me in within the first four paragraphs then it is quite flawed. I do still read to the end to give the author a fair consideration of what I think could be improved if I am rejecting it. Basically, anything that causes me to be jolted out of the story world the author has created is a bad thing.

Tell me numbers. How many, how fast, how often, how few deserving of attention?

Wessely: ASIM is in the high 7000s for submissions [over] five and a half years, an average of around 1400 a year. Luckily I haven’t had to read them all myself! When I slush, I might read five or six a week usually, but a lot more when I’m editing [an upcoming issue].

Haynes: New slush readers often let through borderline stories because they think editors can work with the author to really turn an average story into something special. Well, editors already have a lot of good stories to choose from so this doesn’t happen very often. Out of 100, 80-90 are an immediate ‘no thanks’. Writing not up to scratch, no ending, no point, clone of a recent TV episode, gruesome horror, you name it. 10-20 are maybes, worth a second look by another reader. And sometimes one is a standout.

Battersby: In general, of every ten stories I read, maybe three will strike me as worth a second look. Of those three, maybe one in every nine or twelve will strike me as being something original. I’ve read a lot of SF over the years. Very few stories don’t have readily memorable precedents. For [magazine slush reading], I’d average a dozen or so stories a month, which isn’t a huge turnover by any means. Competitions are different. I’ve judged a few, and reading 100-120 stories in a fortnight wouldn’t be unusual.

‘Charlie’: All are deserving of attention but some get more than others. When a story really draws me in I still find myself reading it just for the pleasure of a good read.

What proportion of the slushpile is: Right for your market (whether or not it makes it)?

‘Charlie’: 90% 

Wessely: 2/7

Haynes: Most of it.

Battersby: Less than a third. Ultimately, outside of quote requirements, I’d probably publish 5-10% of stories I’ve received purely on their literary merits.

Wrong but otherwise publishable?

‘Charlie’: 5% 

Wessely: 1/7

Haynes: Very little. We’ve published some dark horror in the past, even though our guidelines discourage it. But if I’m slushing and I get a gross-out story with nasty elements to it, it’s a no and I don’t care how well written it is.

Battersby: Again, less than a third. A number of stories published by almost every magazine are published because of space requirements rather than the quality of the story itself, so there’s always a home for a competently written tale, even if it doesn’t fit my particular requirements.

Lacking a certain something?

‘Charlie’: 40% 

Wessely: 4/7

Haynes: Most of it. It’s a common fault.

Battersby: The vast majority. Anywhere up to 90% of stories, including many that I see in print, fulfil all the basic requirements of a competent story without possessing, in any way, anything to raise them above the rest of the slushpile. Such stories tend to find a readership because they don’t confront the reader, who’s seen it all before and isn’t afraid of it. Equally, if they never find a home, the author will be left scratching their head as to why, when the reason is as simple as the fact that the editor has seen it all before, and better. 

Sophomoric?

‘Charlie’: 10% 

Wessely: 2/7

Haynes: I don’t keep count. I used to read every story right to the bitter end, but after a while you get wily and give up after 3-4 pages, jump ahead 50 pages to see whether the farmboy is king yet, then zap the submission.

Battersby: Almost everybody goes through this phase, assuming they sell more than a story or two over the years. Stories in this category are probably the second largest variety I come across: the simple “I’ve read a lot of 50s SF” stuff; the “all-men are bad” feminist manifestoes, or worse, their male, anti-woman equivalents; the Bradbury clones; the Ellison clones; God help me, the Jordan clones. This stuff isn’t bad, per se. It’s just lazy and ignorant of history, and easily rejected.

Grossly incompetent?

‘Charlie’: 2% 

Wessely: 1/7

Haynes: Not really. It’s art, not mathematics or engineering, so measuring competence is hard unless you’re talking literacy (and I see you’re about to.)

Battersby: It happens. Anyone can write a story. Writing it well is another matter entirely. Most of the time, this kind of story is written by someone who has no idea about the genre they’ve chosen. If they continue to churn out such stuff, well, you don’t hear about them for very long.

Functionally illiterate?

‘Charlie’: 0% 

Wessely: 1/7

Haynes: Very little. Most of the subs are quite well- to very well written. You see some mags arguing that opening themselves up to electronic subs would lead to a swamp filled with poor quality mush, but we haven’t seen that.

Battersby: Very few, actually. It takes a rare type of self-belief to write something so abysmally bad and then couple it to a belief that it’s only good enough for the small and micro press. Most of the insanely awful creators bypass our level of the industry and go straight to inflicting their precious gifts upon the slushpiles of Asimov’s and F&SF. Once those markets reject them, they either lose heart or start paying more attention to the PublishAmerica ads.

(Part Three to follow.)

Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine is of course completely different, founded instead on the utterly absurd notion that the world needs more quality Australian short science fiction. They have, at least, made their submissions process fantastically complex – instead of a couple of no-talent hacks who’ve barely read the genre screening all the submissions by throwing them down a stairway and keeping the ones that land face up, they have … they … I’ll let them explain it:

When a story arrives it is entered into a submissions management program developed explicitly for Andromeda Spaceways, affectionately dubbed “Slush-o-matic”. The author details are stripped, and the story is then sent to a random reader. At this stage, the reader marks it with a “Yes”, “No”, or a “Maybe”. “No”s are sent back to the author (often with reader comments), “Maybe”s are sent to another random reader for a second opinion, and “Yes”s are send to round two.
In Round 2, the story sent to three different readers, each of whom gives it a rating between 1 and 5, with 1 being great and 5 being the opposite. Once all three second-round readers have rated the story, the ratings are added up, and compared to an arbitrary minimum number (which varies a bit depending on circumstances). At this stage, the reader will get either a Reject (with all the reader comments attached) or a Hold.
A Hold request means that your story has passed into the Round 3, and is in with a real chance. It means that your submission is considered good enough to go into an issue of  Andromeda Spaceways, and you should feel proud because it is in about the top 10% of all stories received. It will be placed in the luxurious Slushpool for the editors of upcoming issues to ogle. However, with the number of submissions we receive, only about 1 story in 3 makes it out of the Slushpool and into print. If no editor selects it within two-three months, the story is reluctantly booted out of the Slushpool and back to the author (again, with reader comments attached).

(Source)

Got that? What’s the bet the guy who came up with that works or used to work in public service?

Several of the members of the Round 1 Slush Reading Team (they have jerseys) agreed, nay volunteered, to be interviewed for my drawn-out and now appallingly overdue Slushpile Awareness Month. They are:

• Simon Haynes, biographer of the only man I would trust to move my furniture across the galaxy
• Lee Battersby, creator of fine short fiction and the accidental destroyer of fine novels-in progress
• Tehani Wessely, who may or may not be Tehani Croft (which either way sounds like a variation on delicious Indian dish, as prepared by an English chef), and
• ‘Charlie’, my pseudonym for an interviewee who wishes anonymity.

I’ve combined the interviews, to heighten the suspense.

What is your experience with slush reading?

Wessely: I’ve been slushreading off and on for ASIM for almost six years, since the publishing group that produces it formed and opened for submissions in 2001.

Haynes: I read Slush for ASIM from issue 1 until … lord, I can’t remember. The bells, the bells.

Battersby: I sub-edited an issue of ASIM (#11), was a slush reader for Ideomancer, and was submissions editor for Ticonderoga Online. I’m currently at large.

‘Charlie’: Overall very positive. I enjoy getting the chance to give feedback to writers and to read the stories before they get to the magazine.

How on earth did you get roped in to it, and what makes you do it?

Wessely: As a founding member of the Andromeda Spaceways Publishing Co-operative Ltd, slushing was simply part of what we did. I still do it when I can, because I edit for ASIM regularly and it’s the best way to find absolute gems that come through the slush.

Haynes: At the time it was part and parcel of being involved in the magazine. Then I realised I could take on other tasks like maintaining the subs list, printing all the envelopes, posting all the magazines and maintaining the website, and so I did those instead. More work, less stress.

Battersby: With ASIM, I was dating the editor, and stepped into the breach when the person who was supposed to be sub-editing withdrew from the issue in order to concentrate on her own upcoming volume of the magazine.

‘Charlie’: Another slusher friend invited me to join. It works to spur on my own work and I do make comparisons like ‘If this is getting through then surely my stories would be worth sending in!’

What qualifies you to judge other people’s babies?

Wessely: I think you’re only as qualified as you think you are! I’ve been reading in the speculative fiction arena for over 15 years. I know what I like, and I also know what gets published, done to death, well reviewed, bagged severely, awarded –  I try to use this knowledge to form an idea of what editors might be able to use, for whatever the reason.

Haynes: I can tell whether something works or not. I’ve had short fiction published in ASIM, and you’d have to admit that gives me an insight into what the mag will and won’t print. (And no, I didn’t have to slush my own slush.)

Battersby: A degree in Writing, 50-plus stories in print, and a fair record in the teaching and reviewing of writing, would be the serious answer, I guess. In practical terms, it’s important to have a strong view on what makes a good story, an innate understanding of the terms of reference of the magazine’s guidelines (in my experience, just because an editorial team can pronounce words like ‘pulp’ or ‘gonzo’, it doesn’t necessarily follow that they understand what the words mean).

‘Charlie’: I am offering judgement but I see it more as an appraisal. I am a writer too, I offer other writers the level of courtesy and consideration I would like to think my work gets when I send it in.

(Part Two to follow.)

More than that, Spencer Ellsworth was once one of you.

As an unpublished writer now reading slush for little more than kudos, I was keen to hear his opinion on the process of sifting the slushpile for the rare submission that’s even worth an agent’s attention. So when he volunteered to be interviewed, well naturally I jumped at the chance after a few weeks. When he submitted his responses via email, I immediately moved them to the Maybe pile.

If you’re curious about the slush process, and just how long it takes a new reader to become jaded, read on. (If you’re not curious, that might explain why you’re still unpublished, and why your writing is like a grainy photocopy of a nineteenth century potboiler.)

101 Reasons: So, what qualifies you to judge other people’s babies? (I mean, a *lot* of people have an English degree.)

That’s a good question. I helped birth and nurture a science fiction magazine in college [UVSC], called Warp and Weave. I attended a by-audition-only writing workshop, Orson Scott Card’s 2005 Literary Boot Camp, which parleyed me into the Codex Writer’s Group, where I met Jenny [Rappaport] and critiqued some of her stories. Obviously that was my best criteria, because Jenny recommended me to Lori [Perkins].

What proportion of Perkins’ 30,000 queries/year is your responsibility? How many, how fast, how often, how few deserving of attention?

The proportion changes depending on how busy Lori/Jenny are with their other clients. Each week Jenny and Lori send me around 50 emails. That’s not much, but remember that in my first week they sent me a combined total of three hundred from their backlog. And I’ve only been doing this for a month, part-time.

Out of those, I’ve asked for partials from forty percent of the queries. It’s not hard to write a decent query. But of those partials, I’ve sent two on to Jenny and Lori, and requested rewrites from three. The rest I quit on around the third page.

How has your perspective changed since the first week?

My first day I made a list of “maybe queries” and set them aside. At the end of the day I looked at them and realized that they were all rejection material for one reason or another, and I had been trying to find reasons to keep them.

Having written several slush novels, it still hurts me to reject someone’s baby, even if they can’t use gerunds correctly or insert a comma every four words. But there’s no use in flawed but interesting queries. I’m better off rejecting anything that looks like it might not make it. If I let it through, it’ll be worse when Jenny or Lori or a publisher doesn’t take it.

How long did it take to establish a rhythm or routine?

I’m still working on that. I can go through about twenty emails an hour just saying “send me a partial” or “Thanks, but not for us.” Rejecting partials is harder. I often don’t read past the first three pages, so they get a note that says something like “It didn’t grab me” or that references some good technique for beginning writers, like “don’t introduce more than two characters in your first scene.” But there are a few that are almost there, so I give detailed critiques on those, because I want the writers to make the changes and send them back. I have to care a lot to write a detailed critique.

Barring agent’s tastes, industry vagaries and market forces, how many books are “good enough” to be published?

Out of three hundred queries, I passed along two to Lori and Jenny. Then of course, they have to like them, an editor has to like them, and a publishing house has to buy them. Two.

How far “out there” do some people go? Worst/strangest/most elaborate?

There are some rules on queries that everyone should know. Don’t tell me how much your mother loved it. Don’t tell me “I know agents ignore queries from unknown writers…” (So you know we’re a snob club and you want in?)

One guy mentioned that he was extremely handsome and could eat X pieces of bacon in one sitting. He got a partial request, not because of that, but because his novel sounded funny.

If you could add some clauses to the submission guidelines, what would they be?

This is assuming that people read the submission guidelines? Because if they did, they would see that Lori prefers the first five pages be pasted into the query, but NO ONE DOES IT.

I would probably add some information that I’ve said before: make sure your grammar is perfect, give information about character, conflict and setting, don’t introduce too many characters at once, don’t use omniscient voice, show, don’t tell, make your characters likeable, and present a compelling situation right off the bat.

How has reading the slushpile impacted your own writing, and your opinion of publishing?

Slushing is the easy way to learn to recognize mistakes in your own writing-easy in the sense that you hit yourself over the head with others’ mistakes. I can see now which ideas are worth it and which are crap, or tell when I’ve really screwed up a story. Of course, it’s much harder to let go and draft, because my inner editor has become a beast from overfeeding.

Publishing-I actually feel sorry for them. There is so much slush. The first time I had a novel rejected, at the age of 21, I thought, “They could at least take the time to really look at it. It’s good once you get into it.” If I had known how deluged the publishing world was by first-timers with those same thoughts, I would have cried for them. And I would have gone back and revised my novel.

How long can you imagine yourself doing this before you go completely insane?

What?  I couldn’t hear you over the worms.
Seriously, I love slush. I just wish there were less of it. Like, one-tenth.

My thanks to Spencer for this interview. I love his use of ’slushing’ as a verb.

Those of you who believe 101 Reasons is intended as reverse psychology may observe that the collective advice and commentary herein is more useful to your goal of getting through the slush stage than Lori Perkins’ business card with a handwritten direct phone number. If you feel you haven’t learned something, then it’s probably time for you to stop writing, and save Spencer the half-minute it would take to determine that your work is an uninspired collection of basic errors. If you think you’re already following his advice, then you’re running out of reasons to justify your failure. 

In case you missed any, here’s a list of the interviewees:

• Simon Haynes, SF novelist
• Daniel Hatadi, crime short fiction writer
• Heather Dudley, Nano veteran
• Mike Toot, non-fiction writer
• S.Y. Affolee, Nano veteran
• Stephen Blackmoore, crime short fiction writer
• Liane Gentry Skye, non-fiction writer
• Special Guest: The Rejecter, literary agency assistant

Taken together, they form a shocking interesting perspective on NaNoWriMo, and a healthly suppository antidote to the usual tone at 101 Reasons, should you need one.

(Or you could just read the National No Writing Month: Post-Season Wrap Up.)

I thought, of course, that it would open a floodgate of deliciously quotable sarcasm. But I forgot to consider the very thing that agents are infamous for. (Next year I’ll send out hundreds of requests, months in advance. They’ll love that.)

The one who did reply turned out to be, of all things, an enthusiastic NaNo participant.

The Rejecter is an assistant at a New York literary agency, which means she’s the person who wades into the slushpile, looking for the scraps of usable driftwood. If you’re wondering why you’re in the 95% of submissions that get rejected immediately, read her blog. When you still can’t figure it out, come back here and stop writing.

She posted her responses to this interview on her blog a few days ago. You can compare and contrast, and see where I’ve mangled edited her responses.

Regular readers of 101 Reasons will note the leading direction of my questions.

How did NaNoWriMo first appear on your radar?

I’m a writer myself and 2005 was the first year I participated because I heard about it through fellow unpublished writers. I have never heard of it at work and when I mention it, honestly, very few people know what it is.

NaNoWriMo, to my knowledge, has not hit the cultural consciousness of agents and the publishing industry yet, despite the publication of Chris Baty’s (founder of NaNoWriMo) book, No Plot? No Problem! A Low-Stress, High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days. In the book he discusses how 50,000 words is not actually an acceptable length for an adult book, but he chose it because it was a more reasonable goal for people achieve. Most literary agents are looking for first -time novelists to keep their work in the 70k-100k range.

Have you received queries or submissions that have mentioned NaNoWriMo? If so, have any of these submissions been accepted for representation, or at least passed up the ladder?

If the agent would recognize it, they would actually probably pass on it, for a number of reasons. First of all, 50k is just too low unless it’s YA or a children’s book. Second, only the fastest writers can write a quality full-length novel in a month – most authors need a year. The speed at which it was written is an indication against it. Third, if they wrote it in November and they submit it in December or January, they obviously haven’t done the heavy polishing any manuscript needs before it’s ready to be submitted.

I honestly haven’t seen anyone who has said they did the novel for NaNoWriMo, but as the program gains in popularity, I have no doubt that it will eventually start showing up in query letters and the agency world will collectively grown.

Is there a noticeable “spike” in queries or submissions, particularly for 50,000 word novels, in November to February?

Most people do NaNoWriMo for fun, and not everyone finishes. Serious writers who do it realize that they need time to revise and polish it – at least a few months. Besides, if a few extra queries come in during this time, we wouldn’t notice. Query letters tend to spike in the fall, get heavy up until Christmas time, and then drop off again until about mid-January. This is because writers, like agents, are on vacation in the summer (August is notoriously the slowest month) and during the last week of December. They pick up again in February and March. Agencies review dozens, maybe hundreds of query letters a day. They’re not going to notice a few more.

Do you believe that participation in NaNoWriMo is a “good thing” for inexperienced writers?

Yes. I have been writing all my life, but I found it to be a useful exercise, which is why I’m repeating it this year. To start blank on November 1st with only the vaguest book idea and then to try and produce massive amounts of material by November 30th is an experience that builds stamina and quick-thinking. I am always surprised how much the plot I might have planned will change as I go along.

Do you believe it creates unrealistic expectations for participants?

I don’t think 1667 words a day (or something like that) is particularly crazy, but it’s asking a lot of someone who doesn’t want to write for a living and hasn’t been writing for many years. Many people don’t hit 50K, but the point is, they tried, and they learned. Also, November is generally a very busy month for just about everyone, with the school cycle being what it is and the holidays approaching. In his book, Baty discusses why he put it in November instead of a month like June or July. I don’t remember precisely what he said off-hand and my copy of his book is not at-hand, but I think it was something about how the program teaches you how to make time for writing despite your schedule. If you have lots of time, you may not actually be as productive as if you have to set aside an hour a day and you sit down at the computer knowing you can’t waste that hour sitting at the screen or you’re screwed for the day.

If you were in charge of NaNoWriMo, what rules would you set or change?

I would give people a little star next to their username on the lists for every year they’ve succeeded in “winning” NaNoWriMo. That would make of my friends who have been hitting 50K every year more accomplished – because it is an accomplishment.

The notion that someone who reads queries for a living would still have faith in the principles of NaNoWriMo is truly astonishing.

Then again, the serious (or hopelessly ambitious) writers among may have noticed this little gem in there:

Agencies review dozens, maybe hundreds of query letters a day.

That’s thousands a month, tens of thousands a year. Of which only 5% make it past the first filter.

Now if we could just get that other 95% to stop writing, or at least slow down … would the publishing industry be a better place? Or would it just put The Rejecter out of a job?