One for the road!

One last post for October (before the clock strikes 12!). It's been a long month, with more rejections than I would have liked, but each one makes me harder. Better. Faster. Stronger. Now excuse me, I have to do the robot. Daft Punk has that effect on me.

Anyway, all I can say is I'm keeping up the grind. Work, revise, send in, repeat. I've met some really cool people at the weekly writer's gathering - mostly poets, who I am greatly jealous of, with their ability to distill what I try for (imagery) to the purest form. They are whiskey to my beer.

And as the weather turns, I have a feeling the winter hunker down will polish my manuscript clean. Queries will go out, agents will be found, works will be published. I know this, because if I don't know this, I have nothing. Faith, friends. Faith is what it's all about.

Keep your heads up, and I'll keep up mine.

Wordslinger-117, out.

Reach for the sky

So that fat paycheck from the story that I didn't quite expect to sell never came. Really I think I've found a happy medium for submitting my stories for publication. I'm never scared to submit to these guys, the pros, the big wigs. Am I crushed when I'm not accepted? No.

There are so many great stories out there. Somebody probably had one better than mine, or the editor just wasn't feeling it. Are the rejections going to keep me from submitting to them again?

Not a chance in Hell. Reach for the sky because tomorrow may never come.

One day, my time will come. If you work hard enough and don't give up, you can make it. I believe that with every fiber of me.

It's funny, the words I see most in my 'Submissions' folder of me email are 'Unfortunately' 'but' and 'thank you'. I like Thank You the most. Anyone who's submitted knows that 'Unfortunately' is usually the tenth or so word in the email. At least they don't string you along!

I'm just going to keep on going until I get more tallies in that 'W' column. (That's 'Wins' for the non-sports inclined).

It's not over yet. I've been down but I've never been out.

Wordslinger-117 out.

Rocktober

The summer is over now. My beloved Red Sox are not in the post season. Any day now, the weather here in Tallahassee will take a turn for the bitter cold of... well, it's Florida, so it won't be too bitter. But it will get colder.

What that means is that my summer distractions are mostly done now. I'll be getting that Salinger-esque 'lock myself in the office and write' thing going again, but it's been a while coming.

I made a submission just now to a publication that pays ten cents per word (!) and the idea of getting $290 for a short story is beyond my grasp. It's out there the same way the quantum physics and string theory blow my mind. That is roughly one (1) of my paychecks for a slow week right now working in the garage. I'm not holding out much hope on accepting the story - I think, personally, it's a good story, but the editor might not - if only not to be crushed. But the very concept of such prestige makes me drool.

Interestingly enough, I never know how casual or formal the cover letter for my submission should be. I don't want the readers to think that I've sent them a blanket, form cover letter (though it would only be reasonable, since they send out blanket, form rejection letters). But I don't want them to think I'm just here, clowning around. You want to present yourself as a professional, but also as a human being with plenty of personality.

Like most things in the writing gig, I'm starting to get that you need to find a balance.

Speaking of balance, know what would help balance my checking account? $290 for a short story.

Let's hope I rolled a seven. Or a natural 20, if that's more your bag.

Wordslinger-117 out.

My how the tables do turn!

Let me just say, first and foremost, I'm a great admirer of Janet Reid. Her Query Shark blog takes the time to help out the little people, and it is appreciated. GREATLY appreciated. But I am a sucker for irony.

Yesterday on her blog - I would have a link up, but the iPhone and blogger don't get along - she posted about not getting a book from an author she loves for reviewing on her blog. For a bullshit reason, too. If I had a chance for her to review my book on her blog? I'd slap my mother's mouth to make it happen.

What I find hilarious is that the rejector becomes the rejected. It's a kind of sweet irony that only a peasant in th industry like myself can enjoy. Let me again say that I have nothing but love for her and what she does, but God if I didn't have a good chuckle.

Keep at it, sharkie. Let Harlequin hear your roar.

This guy!

I'm starting to believe that getting published is crowded, but like most other job markets, its crowded with jackasses. I read a lot of sites about getting published (what a shocker, I know) and the more I read, the more I find myself going 'wait, they did what?'

They're ready to query an agent but don't know what an SASE is? (Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope, FYI. For Your Information, BTW. By The W--okay I'm done).

They bemoan having to acquire an agent in their query letters?

They assure people it's a shoe-in for Oprah's (now defunct) book club?

Who the fuck are these people and why are they pissing off agents and their screeners when other writers are... okay, perfect analogy: you're waiting in line to get to your terminal in an airport. Security is a bitch, because hey, TSA. What are you gonna do? One guy has to go through the metal detector twice. He gets all kinds of indignant, and holds everyone else up. He shouts about his rights, about how ridiculous the whole thing is, et cetera. Everyone else behind him, waiting to pass through the required checkpoint, tap their feet and look at their watches, eyes rolling. Maybe somebody says 'Hey, asshole. Do you mind?' Maybe they don't.

See where I'm going with this? Put the research into getting an agent and getting your manuscript published, know what the industry is all about. Get with it or get the hell out of my way. I've got books to publish here.

Or, and this may very well be WORSE, the starving artists of the writing world that seem to come up as examples on many an agent's blog. Where this is their life's work! Their blood, sweat, tears, and various other cliches! It is their art! Change it? Sell out? What do you take them as? Because it surely isn't as an author!

Move along, now, sir, you're embarrassing yourself. By the way, your French Art History degree is showing. (If anyone reading this HAS a French Art History degree, I'm not trying to poke fun at you. I swear to God. I'm so sorry.)

Have an agent wave six figures - Hell, five figures - and see how far I'll go to please the editor, the publishers, my agent. I'm not making art here, I'm telling a goddamned story. Should the antagonist's name be change from Sancho to Samuel? Why the fuck not? Maybe the guy in the second chapter doesn't die. Alright, sure.

Maybe your main character should be a vampire.

...maybe you should go fuck yourself with a rake. A man has limits, you know.

So who's ready to treat his work like a product, that should be sold? This guy. Who wants to work with an agent/editor/publicist/EVERYONE to rock the fuck out? THIS guy.

Who has two thumbs and is an author?

Michael Futch, nice to meet you.

- Wordslinger-117 out.

The game is afoot!

Say that with your best Sean Connery accent and it sounds so much cooler.

So the other night I went to a local bar where, every Tuesday, they have an author come talk about their book. This week was a man who grew up on a South African wildlife preserve during the apartheid era. Very interesting stuff that made for a good read (Especially the part about lions making a kill right next to where he's sleeping). But the most important thing to happen? I successfully said to somebody I met there "why yes, I write speculative fiction." For one, it's a lot cooler than saying "geese guysh I write schi-fi novelsh!!!!11!" But another thing: I don't say "oh I write on the side when I'm not working". I fucking WRITE, son. Dig it.

I almost feel like I'm a spy amongst them. These members of academia, these people who are teachers and students and professional 'thinkers'. Here is this kid from North Carolina with no ties to FSU claiming to write! Almost professionally! "ahem... Gentlemen?"

Writer is spy!

Anyway, while not feeling like I was successfully bullshiting everyone there, I did take a lot in. It was nice.

Wordslinger-117 out.

I have five stories floating through cyberspace

Five. I had to look at my spreadsheet to be sure. Five possible credits (and payments!) and five possible rejections. You know what's kind of scary about the whole thing, though?

I tell myself that after five short stories published, five pieces of work that I get paid for, I start querying for my book. And holy shit does that make things seem pretty real. The book is done and ready to go, but it's always seemed far off. In the future. That whole "one day" thing. But there is a reason I'm reading up on queries and pitches and all of these other things I'll have to do to get the book sold.

While reading up, I've also discovered that everyone and their grandmother wants to be a writer. It's almost disheartening when you read through comments on blogs and websites, and its all to the effect of 'Very nice. MY novel is...' and then a link to their blog.

I think the job market I'm trying to break into is a little crowded. But I'll get this job the same way I got all the other jobs I've ever held: go in there with the ability to bullshit my way into being liked and making them think I have the capability to excel at the work.

In other news, I submitted a piece to the Writers of the Future contest. Third prize is $500, so say a prayer for me.

-Wordslinger-117 out.

The Blogosphere

I have just swam the literary blogosphere (Jesus I hate that word) and am now surfacing, gasping for air. Holy. God.

Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, has a blog. Most are interesting. Some are helpful. And others are just full of pretentious dicks. Which is to be expected, considering the kind of blog it is. I'm not going to name names, because that's a form of dickery. But let's just say I would not want to get a beer with these people.

There are some that are helpful but also very... rude. Well, rude may be too strong of a word. Janet Reid's blog, the Query Shark, for example, is a wonderful resource for crafting a great query. She will often go to lengths to say 'this is what you're doing wrong with your query'. But her responses to other bloggers and questions and the like? If you get more than 'no' from her, you have just performed a miracle. But she's a busy woman, and its all from the goodness of her heart. Her icy, blackened heart. So I can understand it.

I think I'll send in a query to the shark and see what she says. If it even gets posted, that is. She says 99% of them don't get on the board.

I think I can make that other 1%.

Wordslinger-117 out.

In the running!

So a magazine sent me an email today. It looked something like this:

Dear Michael,

This letter is to inform you that your submission has passed first reading and will be read by the full editorial board in October. It is not an acceptance letter. You will be notified of our final decision in early November.

Important: Please respond to this notification confirming that this submission is not under consideration elsewhere.

All the best with your writing,

Editor

And my thoughts? Hell YES I will wait for another couple months if that mean's there's a chance it will be accepted!

And the terrible thing? I started reading through it again and, in about the sixth paragraph, slapped my forehead. There was one jumble of words that missed my editing. BUT that's okay, right? Because that's what editors are for, right?

Right. But that's good news, though. Once again, it's that feeling: somebody who I don't know read my work, and they liked it enough to push it forward.

Next step? SELL something. Sweet Jesus, getting paid for my writing? I'll feel like I've up and robbed somebody, as sure as I put a gun to their head, got twenty bucks, and shoved a manuscript into their hands.

-Wordslinger-117 out.

I've read that one before.

Another day, another two rejection letters. FORM rejection letters. The worst was from Lightspeed Magazine, a magazine that seems to have some good shit. And I want my good shit in their shit.

Their notice was something like 'Thanks, but I'm going to have to pass. It just didn't work for me. Thanks and good luck'. This sounded familiar, so I look at my rejection letter from Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine, and weeeelllll! Lookie here! Butter my butt and call me a biscuit, it is word for word the same letter!

Jesus H. Christ, come on. At least put a 'man' or 'bro' or something in there. Throw me a bone!

But like the man said, you gotta keep on keepin' on. Life's a garden, dig it? They haven't heard the last from me.

Wordslinger-117 out.

This is my blog. There are many like it, but this one is mine...

I'm not going to do the whole credo about my rifle/blog. But I need to respect this bad boy some more. I may also have to invest in a the Twitter. See, I used that 'the' ironically, because it's what older people call it sometimes.

I should also not blog late at night. I get stupid.

So, on the writing front: another day, another submission, another reading. I went back and read 'There Will Come Soft Rains' by Ray Bradbury again. It is the pinnacle of what post-apocalyptic fiction can be, I think. Well crafted, with just enough visualization (some of it very stark, carries a lot of impact). You should read it, because it's awesome.

The more I go through the market for short stories, the more I find publications that don't publish profanity or violence. While I respect that it's their publication, they can do whatever the hell they want with it, I can't understand how you can rule out a good story because of these things. Profanity, when done correctly, makes dialogue real. Unless you're a seventy year old lady baking a cake for the church's bake sale, when you stub your toe you don't say 'Oh darn!'. You shout! 'FUCK!' or 'FUCK ME!' or 'MOTHERFUCKER!'. You can be the nicest person, try to live the cleanest, keep your language inoffensive, interjections care not one bit about these things.

Violence is perhaps even more bizarre to me. Any story must have conflict, otherwise its boring and nobody wants to read it. Conflict and resolution drive plot. Sure, there's the court room conflict, the lover's conflict, all kinds of conflict. But there is no baser form of conflict than violence.

That's just me bitching, though. While I have my reasons for thinking that, I'm sure the editors have their reasons for thinking otherwise, and their reasons are just as valid.

Probably.

But maybe not...

Wordslinger-117 out.

Formatting be damned...

...it feels good to see my stuff in print. Well, in pixels.

My story went up today (http://www.necrologyshorts.com/2011/03/11/castle-heldeur/) and good God does it look good. There was some formatting that didn't transfer over from the way I wrote it, in basic manuscript format, but it doesn't really matter. Internal thoughts just aren't in italics. It gives them a Chuck Pala... Pahla... the guy who wrote Fight Club feel. (Chuck Palahniuk, by the way, very talented).

Now we get back to the hard stuff. Writing. Editing. That pain in the ass process of getting the story from my brain to the page. But for now; lets have a drink!

What is this funny feeling in my tummy...?

Go to my email inbox. I see 'From: Sara Ferguson, Editor'. I think "Another rejection slip. Well, at least they got back to me at a good rate."

I read:

Greetings!

This is in response to your submission, “Castle Heldeur ”. We are accepting your submission.

I'd like to thank the Academy.

My first acceptance. It's a little online e-zine, maybe not so little really, called Necrology Shorts. They also have a Kindle deal where it will go out to subscribers on their kindle. I don't get any money, but my name is now out there. My work is published. You like me! You really like me!

So keep an eye out on www.necrologyshorts.com for the debut piece of Michael Futch: 'Castle Heldeur'.

And thank you, Sara Ferguson, for reaffirming that yes; I am an author.

Theraputic work

Another day, another rejection slip. This one from Asimov's (a form letter, of course, but hey, they're big name. So it's understandable). And then you get to thinking in the back of your head "So you wrote a book. Big deal. Everyone's done that, chump."

And you feel unprofessional. You feel like a slob. You think "how in the flaming HELL did they do it? King, Clancy, Grisham, Patterson - these guys are professionals. I want to be a professional!"

You know what makes me feel like a professional? Like I'm serious about my work? A highlighter.

A blue highlighter that I stole from a data entry job I worked at like three years ago. Here's what you do: take that highlighter and a copy of the Writer's Digest. Go to the literary agents section. Read about what kind of agents are out there. Highlight the ones that you think could represent you.

That's it. I think technically it's work - trying to further your career - but something about highlighting an agent (AGENT! Pros have agents!) is kind of fun. It's like wishful thinking that has an ultimate goal. You think of them calling and saying "Why hello, Mister Futch, we received your query letter and the outline of your project and would like to represent you."

Representation! Doesn't the word just make you salivate? Cant you see the line where it says 'Client's Signature'? By golly, doesn't it just make you all tingly?

Are you tingly? You should stop drinking. Seriously. You have a problem and need help.

So whenever the world gets you down, grab a highlighter and highlight the ever-loving SHIT out of something. A book, a manuscript, your boss's desk, the walls of the bathroom, your own body, your kid's face. Highlight and say proudly "I am a professional!"

I'm a professional! But... still, not a writer.

Wordslinger-117 out.

I feel dirty

I just wrote a flash fiction piece. I feel like I need a shower now. Don't get me wrong, I don't think people who write flash fiction are dirty or not writers (I'm not a writer, remember?) or anything. I just... it feels like I had a quicky. Little exposition, no world building, I didn't even name any characters! There were only two of them!

It's like I've taken all the stuff I'm good at and thrown it to the side and said 'FUCK this stuff, where's the dialogue and development?!'. I don't know if that's good, bad, or what. I'm just so confused right now.

Taking an hour to write a completely contained story that should be easily understood is like... I don't know, it's almost like cheating. Like using Cliff's Notes. But there wasn't anything more to the story: a guy is talking to a local grave digger who is more than meets the eye. And he doesn't transform into a robot. That's it, really. It's all dialogue, a bit of build up, and reveal.

Well. I guess now I'll let it stew, edit it, and see if anyone wants some flash fiction.

Wordslinger-117 out.

The waiting game

So, this is what happens when you're trying to submit stories to magazines and you've got no credits to your name.

1. Submit story to a publication (usually one at a time. They dont like it when you send it to them and somebody else. They're special.)
2. Wait a month.
3. Wait another month.
4. ???
5. Profit!
5a. Rejection!

It's agonizing waiting for that rejection (or maybe profit! you never know!). You're sitting there scratching at an itch to submit, but the itch doesn't go away. "It's okay," you tell yourself. "I've submitted a piece... they'll get back to me soon."

"NOOOO!" Your itch says. "Submit it again! To somebody else! At the SAME TIME! Consequences be DAMNED!"

And you fight it. And fight it. And then you get an email from somebody you submitted to and it says....

Dear Michael Futch,

"Thank you for sending your manuscript "Pinked Void," number 19818, to us here at Blahblahblahmagazine via the online submission manager.

We are sorry this particular manuscript was not selected for publication in Blahblahblahmagazine. We hope you will send us another soon, though. We could not publish Blahblahblahmagazine without the fine writing submitted to us. While we regret that the large number of submissions we receive makes it difficult for the editors to respond personally, we want to emphasize that an editor personally read your manuscript. Devoted reading is part of the Blahblahblah magazine editorial mission; it is also our own personal one."


A fucking FORM LETTER! GODTROHEORGMQERGOQW$%H RAAAAAGE. But they did read it. I think. That's what they say anyway. OR DID THEY?!

Well. That's the way it goes. I can submit it somewhere else now and rage again a couple months down the road. At least Asimovs has online submissions now (you Luddite bastards). Maybe someone else needs that, too... I'm LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU, F&SF MAGAZINE! YEAH, YOU SEE ME!

Wordslinger-117 out.

To the editor: personalized rejections plx

So I've resubmitted to publications that had previously rejected one of my stories. I sent them new ones. Why? Well, for one, the story I sent in was kind of... an experimental piece. One big internal dialogue, really. But mainly it's because they read it and had something to say on it.

The rejection notice had a little something in there more than "We're going to pass on this one". One wrote me saying the character was very believable (score!), but it was mostly world building and exposition. Little action. And I agree; the story was just something I came up with while listening to Rocket Man on the radio. Another one told me that it fit too comfortably into the sci-fi genre, and their magazine is more of a subsection deal. Fair enough.

I read a few stories on one of them - Ideomancer - and thought "Yes. Yes, I can do this. This is good shit they've got up. My stuff belongs here. So I sent 'em another one I wrote. Dear Lord, let them read it and think the same thing.

So editors, keep the personalized notices coming. I'm going to feed on your recognition that I've written something like some kind of nerdy genre author vampire. I von to read your rejection.

Wordslinger-117 out.

Tom can read?

It's the weirdest feeling, having a friend say they like what you wrote. Especially one of your guys, your homies, your brudders from another mudders. Case in point, my friend Tom. Tom is in the army. He's high speed, Rangeriffic, leads the way all the way. And I hear that he not only reads a lot, but liked what I wrote?

On the one hand, hey, alright. Thanks, man. On the other hand... Tom can read? You have to understand the relationship between us - us being all of my friends. We drink and make fun of each other. Constantly. "Dumbshit" is a term of endearment. A fun, memorable night should involve a) bleeding from the face, b) "Wow, did I really say that?" or c)bar tabs that we cant afford. Sometimes they're all interconnected.

So to not only have proof of something so nerdy as writing genre, but to have it read and then liked? Weird as hell. But it's a good weird.

Of course, it's criticism from a friend, which will always be good. I suppose it's biased, by in On Writing, King said something along the lines of "would you rather have some random asshole critique you first?" I suppose he is right.

Now I've just gotta get the damn thing published. Anyone want to take a risk on a newcomer, nothing under his belt and nothing to his name? Come on. It worked for JK Rowling. I think Clancy and Grisham were more or less the same way. I'll knock your damn socks off if you give me the chance.

Wordslinger-117 out.