writing

Yesterday I got some terribly exciting news: AE: The Canadian Science Fiction Review accepted one of my stories.

Right, the same new magazine that pays professional rates. Getting published in prozines is, for people in my position, the ongoing quest: they pay a lot. Because they pay a lot, they get a lot of great stories. Because they get a lot of great stories, they get a lot of readers. And, once they’ve been around for a year, placing a story with them makes you eligible for the Science Fiction Writers of America. As an Associate member, yeah. But who doesn’t want to associate? Nobody, that’s who.

Oh, and it makes for a pretty great credit, too.

AE just started up a couple months ago, but they’ve already run some pretty great stories. I’m flattered to join them. They’re the level of market I’ve focused the last year trying to crack.

By strange coincidence, not two hours after I got the great news, I got the bad news too: Reflection’s Edge has shut down for the indeterminate future. Maybe forever. Apparently they posted notice last Halloween. I’ve been so busy dragging this house into the 21st century I only learned this now.

RE was the first place to publish me. In all, they published three of my stories. Editor Sharon Dodge always took an active editorial presence and I learned a lot working with her. For writers, they had an incredibly fast turnaround time (usually 0-3 days!) and, if you could snag the $50 bonus for their favorite story of the issue, paid respectably. For readers, they published just about everything under the sun–bigger genres like SF, fantasy, and horror right alongside erotica, westerns, whatever. There weren’t a lot of magazines like it.

For me, there are none. Because they published me first. They proved to me people would pay for my fiction. It’s hard to say where I’d be without them or where I’ll be five or ten years from now, but the reason I just made a pro sale is I kept writing and I kept submitting. I’m pretty certain I’d have kept writing whether or not I made that first sale to RE. But in terms of the confidence and experience it takes to keep sending your work out when all anyone ever says is “No,” that sale made a huge difference to me.

I had hoped, one day when I was famous, to send Sharon another story.

Got a new story, “Death Among the Grasseaters,” up at Big Pulp (hopefully permanent link here).

Unless I’m mistaken, and unless you want to split hairs about the nature of my other work, which I’d object to except for the fact that means you’re familiar with my entire ouvre, this is my first published horror story–though, as usual, it’s got some sci-fi action. Mild spoilers: I thought of this when I was standing on my porch brainstorming and thought to myself, “What if we were invaded by alien deer? No, wait, that’s moronic. Or wait again…brilliant?

Or possibly in between. It’s a somewhat unusual take on this type of story, though, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that contributed to its acceptance at Big Pulp. That reinforced my notion that, when it comes to short stories, no matter how questionable the idea, you should just write it and see what happens. At worst, you waste a couple weeks on something that just doesn’t work. At best, you make a sale.

Available at Thaumatrope, the sci-fi/fantasy/horror Twitter-zine. The limitations of the format (140 characters, max) are pretty obvious, but people write some damn funny and interesting things for it nevertheless. And at this length, each word is crucial, loaded with meaning–just think if I’d changed the last word of my story to “wrong”!

Incidentally, this is, technically, the first time I’ve been paid pro rates for fiction (5 cents/word), but it doesn’t meet SFWA’s requirements for membership, as they have a $50 minimum payment. Still pretty cool, though.

Stephen Parrish tallies up some numbers on rejection over at SF mag Electric Spec‘s blog.

His numbers–200+ rejections spread over four novels and 25 stories–are nothing unusual, or even surprising, for people in this business, and he’s got a nice illustration of how much rejection even someone like Jackie Gleason endured before breaking into entertainment. Even once you’ve made it you still get rejected all the time, for heaven’s sake.

I’m starting to sell with some regularity, but I got and continue to get my share of rejections, too.

When I started learning kung fu, each trip to the dojo would leave bruises up and down my arms. Big purple lumps from blocking incoming strikes with palms, forearms, and elbows. I’d be lucky if the first set faded next week when I returned to absorb two more hours of punishment.

My knuckles used to get raw to the point of bleeding after a handful of punches into the rice bag, or lightly smacking the concrete as I sat on my front porch.

At some point, my arms stopped bruising every week. I punched things and did knuckle-pushups until my knuckles got so tough Mr. T himself wouldn’t say rude things about them in their company. I still get a few bruises and scrapes, but they’re rare, only when I take an odd shot or we’re training especially hard.

4+ years back, I used to trunk short stories (literary fiction, back then) after one or two rejections. Part of this was due to literary fiction markets taking 6-12+ goddamn months to reply (if you’re writing a lot in your early 20s, a story you wrote a year ago is probably going to look like amateurish buffoonery in light of your new experience), but that was all it took for my untrained little ego to bruise up and go home crying.

It’s closing in on two years since I started learning kung fu; it’s been the better part of three since I started writing and submitting sci-fi/fantasy stories. A few of my sales have come on the first or second submission, but others have racked up five or six rejections before an editor (venerable and wise! Or wise beyond the age of their pretty, youthful faces) picked them up.

I still lose faith in some stories; looking at my submission log, I tend to give up on a story after it hits 10-12 rejections. Just as often these days, I’ll reread it, think “Hey, this is genuinely rad, despite all the turning-downs it’s gotten,” give it a little tweaking, and send it back into the world. And sometimes, rejections still hurt, like when I know a market had the story under serious consideration, or an editor replies with the dreaded “We liked this story, there’s nothing wrong with it, it was just edged out by other stuff we like more.”

But for the most part, I wake up the next day unbruised. Getting rejected is like fighting the wooden dummy. It hurts you and the dummy doesn’t notice. Fight for long enough, though, keep returning to the dojo and striking away, and eventually the dummy won’t be able to hurt you, either. Then you can train without fear.

Why isn’t this book selling? First, let’s rule out a few variables.

1) The writing blows goats.

As mentioned, I’ve already sold most of these stories somewhere. You know how hard it is to sell a single story, anywhere? Even to a market that pays the princely sum of $10? It’s pretty fucking hard! Even those markets reject 90-99% of the stories they see. They get a lot of material and only buy the stuff they really like. That doesn’t mean what they buy is the awesomest thing since dinosaurs fighting with shotguns, but it does imply a baseline quality. Either the writing or the story or both were enough to hook an editor who reads scores of stories a month. I’m not gonna get all “Kneel before Zod” here, but I’d put the writing in When We Were Mutants & Other Stories up against the average self-pubbed Kindle title no worries.

2) The packaging (title, description, cover art, etc.) is the blowful part.

The price is $1.99. That’s right in line with this market. Still, I’m dropping it to $0.99 to see if that changes anything.

Whatever else you might think of the book, you gotta admit that’s a sweet title.

I’ve written several hundred movie reviews in the last three years. I know how to write a hook. The description may not sell ice to a wampa, but it’s fine.

The cover art’s more subjective–it’s definitely not your run-of-the-mill “photograph of a hot chick with some huge sans serif text pasted over it”–but I happen to think it’s pretty damn cool. It’s eye-catching. It’s nontraditional, and maybe that’s turning people off, but I feel like it’s a great representation of the work.

3) I’m not a very talented whore.

I haven’t done a ton of self-promotion. This is true. But the places I’ve promoted it have been the right places. Result: nothing. I should send it out to some review blogs and see what happens there. I’m getting the impression recommendations from trusted sources are a big factor in selling unknown works. That, uh, may not be news to anyone.

Here’s some variables that might make a difference.

1) It’s a short story collection.

Konrath, and nearly all the self-pubbed authors I’ve seen, sell novels. Maybe people hate reading short stories. Maybe short stories threw sand in their faces as children. Maybe, for some reason, customers aren’t interested in buying them when there’s all these actual novels available just a click away. I could address that by listing a previous novel of mine and seeing how that does, but I’m kind of busy with this detailed dissection of a niche subject right now.

2) I’ve only got the one work available.

Konrath writes about success coming from “shelf space,” or having a number of different titles for readers to find, get engaged by, and scoop up the rest of your work. I think this is a really strong point, actually. Single-title self-pubbers may find it much more difficult than people with 3+ books online.

3) My fiction career doesn’t have much of a platform.

I suspect this might be the biggest fly in the ointment of selling your work to strangers. Thing is, if you’ve already got a decent chunk of readers, they’re not really strangers anymore. They’ll pick up your book on your recommendation. Suckers. These suckers, in turn, will recommend it to their friends and communities. Hooray! Sales!

I’ve actually got the opportunity to increase my platform here by a ways, which I intend to do just as soon as I’ve beaten The Legend of Zelda: The Twilight Princess again. Hyrule’s in danger, people.

Conclusions, Week One

Caveat: these are preliminary conclusions based on an initial week of data. That’s very little info, really. At this point, Shit Is Subject To Change.

I’m honestly not disappointed in these results. My expectations were low–people can’t shut up about ebooks these days, and I wanted to see for myself what it’s like to actually try to sell one.

However, it seems to me that ebooks do not, despite all buzz to the contrary, sell themselves. To achieve sales, you need either a preexisting readership or to do a lot of self-promotion. Again, this really isn’t news, but I mean you need that just to sell a copy. So far I could sell more books through bagpiping in the subway than by listing them on Kindle.

My initial suspicion is the amount of time you need to spend self-promoting is not going to be worth it. For authors seeking a career, that time is, in almost all cases, better spent writing, or at least pitching your writing to agents and editors. Because until you reach critical mass, you will have to keep pumping your own work All. The. Time. Self-promotion is a hydratic beast with an empty belly. It demands constant nourishment or it will eat you instead.

Well, possibly not, at least about the eating you part. Again, my opinions could change if the data does. But for now–and Konrath says this himself, to his credit, though possibly he should say it more often–the self-epubbing route is not a game-changer for those of us who aren’t already established. In fact, so far it resembles the bulk of my fiction career: a bushel of effort for a withered cherry of financial gain.

Well, maybe not. But you gotta have a catchy title to draw them in.

Joe Konrath, who writes novels under the name J.A. Konrath, is the leading light of self-publishing electronically. His ebooks are on pace to make him more than $100,000 this year. On Kindle alone. He’s done so well Amazon is publishing his next work. He blogs with great transparency about his sales and methods. Lest there be any confusion about what’s to follow, let the record state I think he’s a cool guy, and that it’s wildly awesome he’s been able to seize such a successful independent career.

I, like dozens, possibly thousands of others, was inspired to follow his lead. Last week, I uploaded a collection of my short stories to the Kindle store. I see it as a very low-risk, high-reward venture: I’ve already sold six of the eight stories here. The seventh was previously self-published as part of a charity event. The eight and titular story’s a strong one, but none of the major markets I submitted it to picked it up.

I probably could have sold that story to a smaller market, so my lost opportunity cost was $10-50. It took a few hours to format the text properly, and several hours more to cajole my sexy talented girlfriend into finishing the cover art. That’s it. I’m still seeking the normal route to publication for my sci-fi novel, The Roar of the Spheres.

You know how many copies of WWWM&OS I’ve sold so far to people I don’t know personally? Zero. None. As our friends south of the border would say, absolutamente nothing!!!

Yet I didn’t just post it and move on, like a fire-and-forget missile made out of words about wizards. I introduced When We Were Mutants & Other Stories on kindleboards.com and did some light interaction. I introduced it in the proper section of the Amazon boards. I mentioned it here, and linked to it from the sidebar. Results: nothing.

Not quite the outcome I was expecting after reading up on Konrath’s blog.

Let’s be clear–I wasn’t expecting to be able to fund a wardrobe of gold top hats and sable-fur tighty-grayies off this, either. I would have been happy with $10 a month. Seriously. I hoped to repeat this with other collections down the road and build a small but steady income stream to supplement the other ways I make money, e.g. dancing on the sidewalk for nickels.

One week is not enough data to draw any strong conclusions over. It’s just another production of Small Sample Size Theatre. But so far, my experiment is showing me it’s not as easy as the self-epublishing all-stars make it out to be. I’ll plunge into analysis in my next post.

Actually, this one’s a reprint, so maybe it should be Sale #10.1? Whatever the case, Cossmass Infinities has picked up 10% for publication. Should publish in October.

This marks many firsts for me: the first time I’ve been paid in pounds (instantly converted to USD by PayPal–the modern age is certainly convenient, but in some ways it’s less fun); the first time I’ve sold a reprint (this is a highly technical industry term for “story you’ve already sold elsewhere”); and the first time I’ll have a piece appear in audio or podcast form (at least, for public consumption).

Actually, I’m not completely certain this counts as a reprint, given that it’s in a different format from the original form of publication. In any event, this is an important part of being a professional: selling the same shit repeatedly to different people. I’ve wondered how much money there really is in short fiction, but this is something I didn’t take into account. I heard Ellen Datlow and others speak about this on a panel on reprints at RadCon, but Dead Wesley Smith explains it best in his post on the writer’s Magic Bakery.

Available for Kindle owners, and those with Kindle-running apps, here. The complete product description etc. hasn’t shown up yet, but it’s a collection of eight of my sci-fi and fantasy stories. In terms of bulk, they’re 50,000 words total, or about 150 print pages.

This is an experiment, really. Among all those other titles, When We Were Mutants & Other Stories might not sell at all, and if it does, it likely won’t comprise a significant income stream. But most of these stories are ones I’ve already sold, and thus dodge some of the normal self-publishing bullets: they’ve already been vetted and proofread. Someone already paid something for them; why not bundle them together, along with a couple new pieces, and see what happens?

If “what happens” is “it makes me some money,” I may put up a second collection, or even the epic fantasy novel twiddling its thumbs on my hard drive. I’m still pursuing the traditional publishing route–that has always and continues to be my career goal, lots of books with logos like Tor and Baen and Ace on the spine; right now I’m seeking representation for The Roar of the Spheres, and while I wait to see what happens with that, I’m woolgathering for my next project–but nobody really knows what’s going to happen with epublishing just yet. I thought I’d find out for myself.

Just heard today Big Pulp is picking up my story “Death Among the Grasseaters.” As a story about malevolent deer, I almost didn’t write it–my instinct was to dismiss the idea as too silly–but then I thought it could work if I played it straight, and that the challenge of writing a spooky story about Bambis could be a cool challenge.

Slated for publication in November. Meanwhile, my stuff in The Aether Age: Helios sounds like it’ll come out in August. Ain’t gonna be rich any time soon, but it’s emotionally rewarding to have more publications coming down the pipeline, and I’m sure those emotional dollars will be redeemable for federal currency any day now.

“The Battle for Moscow, Idaho,” available at Reflection’s Edge.

This story’s from the start of a period when I was trying to get all my short pieces to capture a single emotion. In this case, regret–and how it keeps on hurting you long after the regrettable incident’s forgotten. Back then I’d hardly written any short stories since college and had just spent half a year writing and revising an epic fantasy novel, so it’s more than a little possible my so-called “short” work was bloated as a dead comedian. I revised it a couple times and that only made it longer; I was fleshing out the speculative elements and doing my damnedest to clear up the logic in a story where the main character’s barely aware of what’s happening to him.

When I sent it off to Reflection’s Edge, editor Sharon Dodge noticed that bloat at once. She’d only done some line-editing on my two previous stories over there, so her suggestion I make major changes–to tighten it significantly, basically–caught me by surprise. When I waded into the story, I found it shockingly easy to cut 6800 words down to 5400 without losing anything I loved. (Well, there was one paragraph I thought was awesome but didn’t advance the story. RIP, mini-rant on whacked-out survivalists.)

Her own pass shaved it down to 4700 at the sum cost of a whole lot of blather and a single half paragraph I considered plot-crucial. That part’s back in. The rest is gone, and I don’t regret losing any of it.

Some people question the value of running stuff in anything that pays less than the prozines or is less prestigious than Electric Velocipede, but this made me a bit of money and earned me a few readers. Just as important, working with Ms. Dodge has taught me something every career writer needs to know: how to take editorial direction, and when to argue with them over a proposed change. The answer to that, it turns out, is “Far less often than I thought.”

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