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.)