Athena and Onsmi's Acidic Critiques

I GOT IT

2005-11-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm in, and over the past few days, I've been working hard at a certain New York book publisher! Yeah! I won't give specific details to make sure I can continue to speak completely freely over here; although after you read what I have to say next, you'll see why that actually won't be an issue.

I have some unfortunate news. I won't be blogging anymore. I haven't been posting with regularity, and that's because this blog was never a priority for me. In addition, Athena and I got 3 or 4 critique submissions during our 4-month run, so this blog's primary purpose never came to frutition.

I'm actually starting to enjoy NaNoing, and I want to devote my full attention to both it and my new editing job. That is why I am sadly abandoning this blog. Athena didn't post much anyway, so Critiques is essentially dead.

It's NaNoWriMo, everyone!

2005-11-06T22:53:00.000-05:00

National Novel Writing Month has been under way for the past six days, and for the first time, I'm taking the challenge. My MS is unfortunately stalled at a few thousand words; how do you writers ever FINISH anything? I prefer editing, I must say.

On the job-hunting front, I'm going to learn whether or not I got the job tomorrow ...

Happy Halloween!

2005-10-31T21:49:00.000-05:00

Here's a spooky story for you:

Adam was a middle-aged man with a quickly receding hairline. He didn't have enough money to go out and hire a prostitute, and he wasn't in a relationship, so he decided that the only way he was ever going to satisfy his sexual desires would be to type out a smutty story. Or masturbate. In this case, he did both.

He finished his story and mailed it off to several magazines. A brilliant editor named Onsmi Welcol was working at one of them. Onsmi received the story and promptly burnt his eyes out, as it was hackneyed and full of such brilliant phrases as "her pulsing clitoral maw."

The end.

I have no idea

2005-10-27T22:49:00.000-04:00

Um ... words alone cannot do this justice:

Diary of a Nigerian Con Artist
Dear Diary,
I have been captured in Nigeria. The American Devils refuse to send me their PIN numbers, so I have $10 million and no idea what to do with it. I have tried using it for toilet paper and as toupees. I am a princess.

Dear Diary,
Things are getting worse here. I have sent out 500 million emails to Americans all over the world. No takers. Have they cracked the con?

Dear Diary,
I just hung myself.

No dates for the diary entries, first of all. Nitpicky, but a flaw. Second of all ... well, this whole thing is just plain odd. Hilarious, but still demented.

Sorry about that

2005-10-26T22:22:00.000-04:00

I know I've been gone for a while. I've been occupied with going to job interviews and such, and I think I may have clicked with one of today's. I'd say more, but I don't want to until I have something concrete.

I'm very excited, though, because I think this is going to work out!

Penii?

2005-10-22T11:22:00.000-04:00

Dear Mister Welcol:

I have written a manuscript called Vengeance of Penii [sic], a story about a Sex Ed class gone horribly wrong. I draw heavily on my own experience in a fifth grade Sexuality Education class ten years ago. Now, I am ready to tell my story.

Josh Rivi is your average sixth grader. He goes to school, does homework, and hates school. So when sex ed rolls around, he laughbs [sic] like all the other boys. However, little does he know that sex ed is about to be a nightmare.

"Hey Susy!" he calls to his girlfnied. [sic]

"Hey Josh!" she giggles back. "We have FLE, Family Life Education, also known as Sex Ed, today!"

"I know!"

So they go to separate classrooms. Then --

If you want the rest of the story, please email me at Amateur@Writer.com

Sincerely,
I Am An Idiot

Oookay. Let's start at the beginning of this ... disaster. First of all, Mister Welcol is a little weird; Mr. Welcol is more standard, but that doesn't much matter. The first "This Guy's A Moron" alarm bell went off in my head when I read the title. Is "penii" supposed to be the plural for "penis"? I believe that penises is a perfectly acceptable word; yes, Dictionary.com confirmes that. Penes would also have worked.

Next up, we have the fact that this masterwork is rife with typos, and the fact that this amateur has put the cover letter and actual story into a blender, leaving him with a reeking mess. You don't really need a cover letter for a short story, but if you want to include one, keep it separate from the actual story.

In addition, there's the fact that the ending to this cover letter makes me think that he might really be in fifth grade (or is it sixth? Notice the inconsistency in the letter) himself. "Read the book to find out?" Reminds me of an elementary school book report gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Let's not forget the fact tht story itself is hilariously stupid. If he'd included more, I actually would have read on. However, that's only because:

I'm not employed at the moment, so I don't have to rush through manuscript after manuscript, searching for material.
I'd read on because of the So Bad It's Funny factor, but I would never even think of accepting this bilge.

No good news on the job-hunting front, by the way.

Tart-tastic!

2005-10-19T17:07:00.000-04:00

"They're here."
"Who?"
"The apes ..."

Dear Editor:

The above is an excerpt from my manuscript, Brutality of the Apes. In it, gorillas evolve into an extremely intelligent super-race that tyrranizes [sic] human beings and takes over the world.

I have published three poems with the International Library of Poetry. My manuscript is 68,000 words long and would make a good addition to your publisher.

Thank you for this opportunity. I have enclosed a SASE for your convenience.

{Name Omitted}

This one makes me kind of sad. Poetry.com, aka International/National Library of Poetry, is a scam artist, but I guess this guy fell for their lies like thousands of others. He did at least some of his homework -- he included a SASE, after all -- but this whole letter is just pitiful.

I stole some slush

2005-10-18T11:55:00.000-04:00

As I walked out the door of the Meridian building yesterday, I grabbed a massive handful of slush off my desk and ran for it. Thus, I have enough Tartometer material to last for quite some time. Today, I took a story at random from within the pile, and this is what I found ...

Dying
I am all alone.
Isolated.
Solitary.
I am all alone.

I am bleeding to death.
And possibly suffocating.
With pain.
Oh, the pain.

Please, cherubs, save me from this fate!
Oh, I will worship you with my fists of rage balled into clutching
grasps!
I love you!!!
Please, please, please don't leave me all alone!!

As I drive in my red sportscar, I am sad.

This one had me rolling on the floor laughing. I do hope that it's not for real, but ... well, I have an awful suspicion that it's genuine. My guess is that a middle-aged man is going through a midlife crisis because his spouse is leaving him (the sportscar kinda gave it away).

This one's a keeper -- in my folder labeled "Loony Bin."

The Editor Gets Rejected!

2005-10-17T21:34:00.000-04:00

Well, sort of. You may have read the Office Politics post preceding this one; if not, get to it so you'll understand this one. The Wicked Witch was up to her antics again, and they started shortly after I walked in the door ...

Witch: We're going to print that story "Willow" in the November issue.

Onsmi: What?! Really? Which story are we cutting?

Witch: Oh, you don't need to worry about that; just look at this as your going away present. I was against it myself, but the Managing Editor insisted.

Onsmi: Excuse me?

Witch: The Managing Editor wants to see you in her office, by the way.
(the Witch walks off)

I walked into the Managing Editor's office. Meridian is small enough that she doesn't have a secretary, so I just head right in. She looks up from her papers.

Managing Editor: Onsmi, I hate to do this, but we're letting you go.

Onsmi: I see.

Managing Editor: We feel that you've been causing too much conflict on the staff, and that you're not what we're looking for in an Acquisitions Editor.

Onsmi: (for once, speechless. They stole that almost verbatim from one of my rejection letter templates! How classy ...)

I suppose it's only fitting that the Managing Editor used a slightly modified version of one of my own rejection letters to fire me. That letter is one of five that I keep on hand. I send it out when the story has some promise, but isn't good enough for publication due to a lack of conflict.

Thanks for submitting your story to Meridian. Unfortunately, I'm going to pass on your story. There wasn't enough conflict, and it's not what I'm looking for in a story for the magazine.

Coincidence? Intentional cruelty by the Managing Editor? Or just karmic retribution? Whatever the reason, I'm now jobless, and with only enough cash saved to pay for four months of living. So I'm going to send a resume to all the magazines in my area -- maybe book publishers, too. I live in New York, so finding publishing jobs to ask about won't be a problem.

Office Politics

2005-10-16T20:36:00.000-04:00

Sorry about the three-week hiatus. I'm back now. Really!

There's this absolute hag who works on the Meridian staff -- let's call her The Wicked Witch. She's stubborn and rude, and I have no idea how she ever got onto the staff in the first place -- let alone up to the position of power she's in now. Here's what happened on Friday that ellicited great anger from me:

Onsmi: I think this submission is fantastic; do we have room for it in the next issue? It's "Willow" -- the one I brought up in the staff meeting.

Witch: No, we're already full for this issue. I handpicked the twelve stories myself.

Onsmi: Yes, but that one by Beverly A. Dante was only fair, in my opinion.
(Realizes too late that Beverly is one of the Witch's best friends)

Witch: Well, I disagree. We're printing the stories I picked out.

Onsmi: I'm supposed to be the Acquisitions Editor, but you haven't printed more than a handful of the stories I've recommended during the entire time I've been here.

Witch: I think I know a bit more about this business than you do.

Onsmi: Oh? Then why are you printing a bunch of half-rate stories from your untalented friends? I'm bringing the Managing Editor in on this.

I'm not exactly popular with the Witch now, but any "editor" moronic enough to put friendship over quality has no right to be on the magazine staff. The managing editor was just as intractable. I can't quit, though; this job is my sole source of income, and I don't have any other prospects lined up ... yet. I'm going to start looking, and hopefully I'll find my way onto the staff of a decent magazine this time.

By the way: If you haven't seen my oh-so-clever wordplay yet, Beverly A. Dante is not a real name, of course.

Listed on BlogShares!

2005-09-21T15:41:00.000-04:00

Wow! Somebody listed us on BlogShares, and people actually own our stock! I may just create an account and lay claim to Critiques.

Expect more entries (real ones, at that) very soon!

Dead

2005-09-18T22:35:00.000-04:00

Well, looks like this blog's dead. Depressing.

I think I found something you'll enjoy...

2005-09-16T23:04:00.000-04:00

Hello, sexpots. Sorry about the long time-no post. Perhaps this little gem will make it all worth it.
I recieved this short story a week or so ago, and it quickly became cause for the office uproar of the week. Of course, it didn't get published, as it is immature (Although this can be inferred to be on purpose) and hardly worth the title of "prose".
In any case, it certainly was enteraining and I was sure to write a personal letter to the author thanking him for making my day a little less slushy and dull.

Here it is, in all of its glory:

Darci and the Pretty Pink Pony

Once upon a time in a happy fairy tale kingdom, there was a handsome young prince. The handsome prince had his very own pink pony. He would ride his pink pony around the courtyard and into town for all the villagers to see and admire. The pink pony was the apple of his eye. Its name was Cosmo.

In the village, there was a little girl named Darci, and the pink pony named Cosmo was also the apple of her eye. But that didn't matter, because she was just a poor little girl. Her father was very busy and she had many brothers and sisters that needed to be fed, and their family was happy, but very poor. Darci had a lot of chores to do. She sewed coats for the stray dogs in the town so that they wouldn't freeze and picked flowers to sell at the market. Her main chore was to go get water, because without water, her family would die. So, every morning, she would put on her shoes, which were two sizes too small and full of holes in the soles, pick up her two wooden pails which leaked, and walk down the dirt path that led to a muddy little creek three miles away from the village. It was a long walk, and so Darci contented herself with picking wildflowers from the side of the road, which she would arrange in bouquets and sell.

One day, as Darci was skipping along down the road and picking flowers, she spied the strangest but loveliest flower that she had ever seen. It was pink and gold with a cream colored center and a minty green leaf on each side of its perfectly straight stem. Darci, being in possession of a little girl's brain, knew at once, on some subconscious level, that she absolutely had to pick that flower. She moved toward it in awe and bent down to pick it from its little patch of earth."Stooop!" cried a little voice, barely louder than the sound of fairy dust spontaneously combusting. ...Or, perhaps, barely louder than the flap of butterfly wings in a hurricane? Hmm, nevermind.

"What was that?" asked Darci stupidly to the air. She shrugged instinctually, and reached down to grasp the flower again, and again heard the miniscule little voice."Stop! Don't pick me, please!" Darci hesitated to consider this for a bit, but got bored with her train of thought and ignored the voice.

"Listen, obnoxious little girl, if you don't pick me, I promise I'll grant you one wish," said the flower with a trace of malice. Darci didn't even pause to consider her options at this point. Immediately, she said, "I want a pretty pink pony, just like the one that the prince has in his pretty palace."

The flower shrugged, which was entirely possible, because it had two leaves that could, if you imagined hard, act as arms attached by shoulders to the stem. Right? Riiight?

All of the sudden, there was a puff of white smoke in front of Darci, and there stood the prince's pretty pink pony, his hair perfectly permed and his hooves complete with French manicures. Darci stared in awe, and then ran to the pink pony to hug him (A rather strangling kind of hug, as small children have the tendency to do to cute animals). The pink pony bent his front legs and she climbed onto its back, and off they went into the woods. The pink pony was very graceful, leaping majestically over the streams and ditches as the sunlight sparkled through the leafy canopy above them. Darci was sure that this was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Soon, Darci and the pink pony were no longer speeding through the forest, but actually flying through the air.

"Oh, you must be a magic pink pony!" exclaimed Darci, hugging the pony's mane tightly.

"How could you tell?" asked the pink pony, who, being a magical pony in a fairy tale, naturally had the ability to speak. Darci didn't respond because she had never heard of irony before.

They continued up, up, up, higher than even the birds flew. Neither of them spoke, for they both knew where they were headed: The Magical Animal Dance Party on the Moon.

Soon, they were flying through space. Darci fell asleep to the rhythmic beat of the pink pony's strides. When she awoke, they were cantering along the deserted surface of the moon. Darci was delighted to find that it was indeed made of cheese, but contrary to popular belief, it was actually blue-veined beaver cheese. She didn't appreciate it very much, and the pink pony told her it was an acquired taste.

"When are we going to get to the Magical Animal Dance Party?" Darci asked the pink pony.

"It won't be long now," replied the pink pony. "It's just over the horizon. Go back to sleep now, and I will wake you when we arrive."

An hour later, pink pony and young girl had arrived at the dance party. There were animals of all kinds: Pandas, platypi, wombats, lions, tigers, and bears! (Oh my!) They all knew her name, even the whales and the kangaroos! Darci was in heaven. She tangoed with the turkeys, salsaed with the swans, and do-si-doed with the ducks. She danced the night away... and the days following.... One after another. They danced for what seemed like years (but it was actually twenty-seven Earth days).

Finally, the party ended, and Darci was exhausted. She clambered onto the pink pony's back, and they began their journey back down to earth. Darci was certain that now she was the happiest she had ever been in her entire life. The ride back to Earth was very peaceful. Finally, the magical pink manicured hooves touched the ground, and Darci ran as fast as she could to her little hut to tell her family about her amazing adventures.

When she got there, her entire family was dead. No one had brought back any water for them, and so they all died of thirst. In fact, everyone was dead. All of the lovers in the village had no flowers to give to each other to raise their self esteems, so they all committed suicide. All the dogs froze to death because no one made them coats to keep out the bitter cold. The rest of the village died in what may be the most tragic example of peer pressure.

"This is all your fault," said the pretty pink pony to Darci, angrily.

Then he ate her.

The end.

Been working

2005-09-16T17:27:00.000-04:00

I've been extremely busy with work. The Meridian is understaffed (we only have 3 editors!), so I've been picking up a lot of the slack.

Journey of a Manuscript

2005-09-10T06:24:00.000-04:00

You may be interested to know the process by which manuscripts move through a magazine. There are two entries for each number; the first is what I wish every writer did, the second is what the majorite of writers do:

You type your shining piece of brilliant prose and edit it.

You write a dull piece of lifeless prose and either don't edit it or edit it poorly.

You properly format your work, print it out on white paper in dark black ink, and package it in an envelope large enough that you don't have to fold it. You may include a cover letter to protect your manuscript, to a degree, from spills and such, but it is not required for a short work.

If you're like a certain writer whose manuscript I read just yesterday, your manuscript looked like it was typed up by an aging typewriter on notebook paper.

You send your work to "Onsmi Welcol, Lord of the Slush" at The Meridian.

If your name is Slushy McSlush, you forget to put any address at all. And most writers are named Slushy McSlush.

The manuscript arrives at our mail room, and from there it is dumped on my desk along with far too many other stories for the day.
I, in between my raging social life and blogging, eventually get to your manuscript. I see that it's in a large enough envelope, and thus slit it open with my letter-opener.

Slushy McSlush stuffed it into a too-small envelope. Folded manuscripts are such a pain -- they never completely unfold. I sometimes reject manuscripts in too-small envelopes automatically, but even if I'm in a good mood, I'll be irked with your lack of etiquette.

I take out your manuscript and start reading it. Your wonderful writing captivates me and leaves me screaming "I want more from this writer!" and I stuff your writing into the Accepted folder. Unfortunately, not all manuscripts that make it into this folder are accepted. Some are cut by the publisher due to space constraints, some by a higher-up editor, but I generally fight tooth and nail to keep the few pieces I accept in the magazine; and generally, the majority of them are printed. I'll proceed to inform the lucky writer, typically by phone or email.

I read your work, which is either limp and boring, hilariously bad, or just plain disturbing. I'll either stuff it into the Suckage folder, which I personally renamed my first day at The Meridian, or, if you included an envelope with sufficient return postage, mail it back with a form letter rejection.

So that's how things work at a literary magazine such as The Meridean. The process is probably different at large magazines and book publishers.

This is sad

2005-09-08T05:31:00.000-04:00

Apparently, Athena has received ONE first page submission (which she will be posting soon, but she still has her cushy job at Soundings and works very hard over there). I've received two cover letter submissions, both of which were Tartified. Pleases send in your materials for critiquing. Raw slush is fun and all, but I like to use my critiquing powers for good as well as evil.

Night of the Living Slush

2005-09-07T20:04:00.000-04:00

See? I told you I wouldn't forget you, Sexpots. Here's some fresh slush I brought home today, complete with Tartometer comments. As at Soundings, I'm working as an Acquisitions Editor here at The Meridian, yet another tiny literary magazine. The pay sucks, but I do it out of love for my Sexpots. That, and my love of snark for its own sake.

Gingerbread House

"Bye Ben," called Mrs. Farmer, as she abandoned her husband to join some friends in a game of bridge," she called out one final time.

"Yeah, I know, I know," replied Mr. Farmer. The door was slowly pulled shut and the old grizzly man was left alone in the cabin at the top of a lovely mountain ...

... BANG, his dream was over. Sitting up with a start he glanced around for the small girl. Realizing it had just been a dream he rolled over and went back to sleep.

I feel violated after reading this story. The absolute worst way to end a story is by making it all a dream. If your writing is any good, the reader will have invested emotions in the character, and you cheapen all that by making nothing the character did matter, as all he was doing was dreaming. Major points off for that.

The unquoted part of the story tells how a little girl darted into the old man's hut, danced on the cabinets, and sang while eating the old man's food. The story was stupid, poorly written (the writer needs to learn all about the wonders of the comma in places), and unengaging. A form letter rejection for the writer; just a slip of paper, too, rather than a full page.

Onsmi has a job!

2005-09-07T06:59:00.000-04:00

Well, Sexpots, I've secured a job with another magazine! I found out yesterday and went out to dinner with my girlfriend, so I didn't get a chance to post about it. Hurray! I may or may not blog for the next few days, as I'll be very busy with the magazine. However, I'll soon have stories about it for you!

Vengeance of the Slush!

2005-09-06T01:03:00.000-04:00

Today we're going to return to good old-fashioned raw slush! The Tartometer has a real winner for ya today:

Sneak Peak

When I was but a teenager, I feel in love for the first time. He was my teacher, and I loved him. I wrote him love notes and kept them hidden in my desk. I sent him flowers and chocolate bars. And sometimes, I would masturbate to him late at night.

Then one day, I told him I loved him. He said "No, I don't love you, I'm married." So I decided to find out if he really was married ...

... So that's how I learned the lesson that love of a teacher can be both platonic and not, and I can be satisfied with the love of family and friends.

First of all, the writer used the wrong form of "peak" in the title. I don't want to be sued for copyright infringment or something equally unpleasant, so I unfortunately had to cut a lot of the story. The writer tells of how she found the teacher's home address and watched him, "sneaking peaks" as he got dressed. Now that's just creepy.

The story suffers from a case of "not much plot." It was a 3000 word piece, and probably a good two-thirds of it was spent on the writer talking about how much she still loves the teacher and sometimes wishes they'd ended up together. I'm not interested in your life; I'm interested in your story. This one just wasn't compelling enough. For sheer entertainment value, it went into the "Maybe" folder (although nothing in the Maybe folder was ever published).

Sexpot Poll: What do you like best?

2005-09-05T07:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, Sexpots, Athena and I have decided to poll you about Acidic Critiques. Which of the following do you most like about this blog?

The "Avoiding Rejection" articles
The writing site reviews
The Tartometer
Onsmi
Athena
Just the acidity in general
Other

Respond with a comment.

Let's read something GOOD

2005-09-05T01:29:00.000-04:00

Time for a break from slush to read something I actually like.

The courtroom was dimly illuminated by a dying ray of sunlight, casting a distorted shadow across the speckled linoleum.

Coursing down my face, weaving through my eyelids.

An ancient fan circled above. Useless in a room of 100 people, it was more of an entertainment device than a cooling system for most of the attendees.

Forming salty passages on my raw cheekbones, blurring my vision with crystalline specks.

The jury whispered, and cold shivers ran down her spine as the spectators whispered. "I wish she'd get a grip," one voice murmered. "I don't know what's worse, having your friend commit a horrible crime, or having her break down in sobs when she finally has to face the law.

Gently pooling on the mahogony, every intake of oxygen quivering.

The murmer ended with a dramatic pause followed by smug, taunting giggles. 'Friend?' she thought bitterly. 'More like double-crossing traitor ...'

Suddenly, the judge spoke. "We have a verdict."

"We find the defendant guilty as charged. Case dismissed."

Forcing my eyes shut, only to have them flutter with every passing water droplet. Expressing my outrage with silent emotion and filling my brain with the noxious fumes of injustice.

It's not perfect. It's rough in places, and when I first read the unedited versioun in the slush pile, it was rougher still. However, the fact remains that this story just works. The writer filled this piece with emotion and made me actually care about the main character. The alternating 3rd person and 1st person POV was daring, and in this case, it worked. This story was published in Soundings, and it was probably the best story in that issue.

By the way, Athena, it's about time you post one of your first pages! I'd post cover letters, but I'm not getting any new ones. Come on, people, send 'em in!

Return of the Slush

2005-09-04T08:51:00.000-04:00

A mere three months ago, I walked toward the looming AMC Theatre on a sweltering July day. I had no idea that the terrifying movie I would soon watch would cause a mortifying experience that night. ...

...The 28 Days Later incident taught me an important lesson about myslef. I have a much better understanding of my limitations - I have a low tolerance of sugar and caffeine, and I will not be repeating that occurence. I have one main regret - going on a day Dumb and Dumberer had not been sold out!

Um ... what the hell? This writer has overloaded his writing with adjectives. I think there really is an adjective for 90% of the nouns. The whole piece is a bunch of overwritten, flowery prose. It reads like something written for a Creative Writing class.

The writer submitted a picture of a snake curled around an apple with the story? What?! I see no relevance between that and the story. The story basically told of how this guy watched a movie, got the shit scared out of him, and spent the night tormented by paranoid delusions.

Let's look at another excerpt:

"Sorry," he parroted. "It's sold out. The only movie that's on right now is 28 Days Later. [The writer didn't include quotation marks to mark the end of the dialogue]

Parroted!? That is one of the most fucktarded said-synonyms ever, especially when you're not even referring to somebody repeating somebody. Aggh! What, did the writer randomly pick a said-replacement from some fucked up, misinformed, writing-killing "Said is Dead" sheet they pass out in college English classes?

Definitely a pass for me. The piece is overwritten, has a few typos, and annoys me.

The slush chronicles continue

2005-09-03T18:23:00.000-04:00

While Athena diddles around and doesn't post any of her first pages, I'll run another story from the slush pile through the Tartometer:

"When the car rolled into the parking lot, the sudden scent of seaweed filled the air. "Come on," my mother called. We got out of the car and started walking on the rocky pavement towards the old beach ...

... You can learn a lot when you least expect it, just like I did. Things like that you'll cherish forever, so it's impossible to forget. Kind of like a person.

I yawn. It's a fairly well-written piece, but there's an adjective for almost every noun and things like "kind of like a person" that don't really make sense due to awkward syntax. This piece mainly suffers from being incredibly dull. Soundings is a publisher of short fiction, poetry, and artwork. I like my short stories to be exciting. They should start out with a bang and maintain the action throughout.

Sappy, sentimental bilge like this bores me. Into the Suckage folder with it!

Oh dear, I'm distraught

2005-09-02T04:49:00.000-04:00

>Goddess Athena may use any
>cliches she wants.

Not on this bored visiter.

He's gone from here.

Hint: don't reply; he won't be here to read it.

Lame blog.

Lame.

Oh dear, I'm ever so distraught. I'm sure the Divine Athena is as well. We lost a snotty reader who posted two comments: a spam-rific advertisement for his site and this little gem.

Just a note to my dear Sexpots: you don't want to come off like this guy when contacting editors and agents. That'll get your manuscript sent straight into the Suckage bin.

Slush!

2005-09-02T04:09:00.000-04:00

Hiya Sexpots! I have a treat for you this morning: raw slush! That's right, I'll quote snippets of material that never made it out of the slush pile and Tartify it just for you. Let's start out with My Six Flags Adventure, a story sent in by some kid. He had no cover letter, so I was tempted to just Suckage-ify his work outright, but I read through his short little composition out of the kindness and generosity of my heart. Or at least, what little kindness and generosity remained after working the soul-sucking job of "Acquisitions Editor" (read: Lord of the Slush) for much too long:

Whoosh! The roller coaster started going down very fast. It had gone up slowly, and I was filled with anticipation. Higher and higher up the steel summit went the roller coaster.

... When I got out of the car, I smelled fresh popcorn while walking down the sidewalk. Although I still felt somewhat dizzy, and still felt a little discomfort in my stomach, the anticipation of getting some nice hot popcorn made the roller coaster ride not too bad after all.

Was "anticipate" this kid's spelling word in English class? Let's start with my small peeves and work our way up. The grammar and mechanics of this story were mostly fine, but sentence syntax was awkward in many instances and commas were used improperly. The manuscript was in 12-point Times New Roman and the MS was 1.5 spaced. There was no cover letter.

The story itself is boring. Why the hell do I care if you rode a roller coaster? This kid must be like eight if he's still excited about his very first roller coaster ride. I don't know if he actually is a kid, of course, but it's pretty obvious from the way his story reads.

Learn to wipe your own ass before sending out submissions, kiddo. Your mommy ain't on the staff.

(Note that I'm not saying minors can't produce quality work. I'm saying eight-year-olds shouldn't submit to magazines unless they're exceptionally talented prodigies, which this one definitely was not. I think that young writers can and do produce excellent writing.)

The Tartometer sucks up fanfiction

2005-09-02T01:46:00.000-04:00

This fanfiction HAS to be a joke. It just has to. If it isn't, I'm going to go boil my eyes in acid to cleanse them of reading it. I may do that either way. Here's a story with the brilliant title of "Untitled" for your reading pleasure:

Harry Potter Wakes Up With an Uncomfortable Problem
Harry sleepily blinked at the canopy above his four-poster, and sighed. It was going to be another meaningless day spent stopping the siege between Ron and Hermione. Suddenly, something strange alerted him. His lower regions seemed to be surrounded by an odd…substance of some kind. Quizzically, he peeled back the sheets from his sweaty form. It felt as is he had wet himself, but he hadn’t felt a sensation like this since last semester…err…I mean SINCE HE WAS A BABY. The substance was sticky. Trying to reach a decisive conclusion, Harry determined three important things: 1) The substance didn’t look like pee 2) The substance didn’t smell like pee 3) The substance didn’t taste like pee.

The author of this is "DanzS3xiiBiatch." I suppose she's yet another Danielle Radcliffe fangirl. Personally, I can't see why he's attractive to anyone. He looks like a crackwhore doped up on Alfonso's special pills.

Looks like poor Harry's "becoming a man!" The last thing the fanfiction world is yet another "horny puberty" story about our angst-ridden main character. Hilarious in its stupidity, but according to herself, DanzS3xxiiBiatch is "an aspiring literary author seeking to help teens push through their personal problems." Erm, right.

I'm rolling on the floor laughing, hun.

Tartometer Updates

2005-09-02T01:43:00.000-04:00

I haven't gotten any new Tartometer entries, and Athena hasn't told me yet whether she's received any. I'll ask her about it soon.

Another story from Soundings will rear its ugly head sometime later today. Stay tuned!

Calling for First Pages

2005-08-31T20:05:00.000-04:00

My first undertaking as co-author of this blog will be to critique the first pages of anything that volunteering sexpots happen to be writing, or would just like some advice on.
Keep in mind that I'm looking for original and interesting writing, I want to be grabbed from the first sentence. I have only one plea to you, sexpots: Please edit your work before sending it to me! Onsmi can tell you how many pieces with potential were submitted to Soundings with spelling and mechanics errors or run on sentences and consequentially trashed. A sloppy manuscript will not be taken well*, so it doesn't matter how intriguing or thought out the story is.

Of course, I'm sure that sophisticated writers such as yourselves already know this and I'm probably preaching to the choir.
So, on that note, let the games begin!

*In fact, it probably won't be read at all. And if you catch us on a bad day, you'll find us dancing around a bonfire of sloppy manuscripts during our lunch break. You'll have missed the daily shredding and derogatory comments party at coffee break, but if you're smart, you won't stick around for the afternoon water cooler group temper tantrum. It isn't pretty.

Send entries to oxymoronic11@gmail.com .

Athena has entered the building.

2005-08-31T19:51:00.000-04:00

Good evening, sexpots.

Since we worked so well together during our time at Soundings, Onsmi has invited/begged me to join him in keeping this blog, and there was no way I was going to let him have all the fun. Plus, that bribe was simply an offer I couldn't refuse. ::Wink::
So, I expect you'll be seeing a lot more of me-- I'll be critiquing your first pages, should you choose to send them to me, and you can rest assured that I am every bit as acidic as Onsmi.
Now, on with the show!

Send entries to oxymoronic11@gmail.com .

Goddess Athena has joined us!

2005-08-31T19:50:00.000-04:00

Her Divine Majesty Athena has deigned to join this blog's staff, and she will be posting the details of the material she's currently requesting soon. Let's give her a warm welcome!

Here's what a cover letter should not be

2005-08-31T15:03:00.000-04:00

I'm going to show you, my dear Sexpots, snippets from awful cover letters I received at Soundings.

Dear Mrs. Welcol,

Enclosed is my 20,000 word novella Midnight Breezes. This novel is better than anything you've received before and a cut above the trash your magazine usually publishes. It was rejected four times by editors with less taste than you.

Yours sincerely,
[Name Withheld]

This person loses major points for calling me "Mrs. Welcol." Either make SURE to get your editor's name right or address it to "Dear Editor," which loses you fewer points than getting my sex wrong!

Second of all, Soundings does not do novellas. We do short stories, poetry, and artwork. And that "trash" happens to be trash I picked out and edited. And you do NOT tell editors that you've been rejected. You just ... don't. It's not the kind of information you want editors to know.

The only good thing about this letter was that it was properly formatted. I tossed it into the Suckage folder without bothering to read the novella.

Time for a second cover letter:

Onsmi Weclol;

I would like you to consider for publication my short story Fresh Prince of Medlair. It is a parody of the very popular Fresh Prince of Bel-Air show and it is 1000 words in length. I have two children and I live at home. Thakn you for your time,

[Name Withheld]

This one isn't as bad as the first one, but it's still subpar. First of all, she misspelled my name and used a semi-colon, which is unprofessional. Secondly, she misspelled "thank" and didn't pu commas in two places where they should have been. Finally, her closing starts out as part of a paragraph, which is unpopular. None of these errors are damning on their own, but they add up to make the writer look amateurish.

The content of the letter also has problems. Fresh Prince hasn't been popular for like 8 years, I don't care whether you have children and live at home, and there's not enough information on the actual story. This was an automatic pass for me. I tossed it in the Suckage folder and moved on.

Imitation?

2005-08-31T06:17:00.000-04:00

Apparently certain Sexpots think that I'm imitating Miss Snark *cough*Anders and Kayla*cough*. I assure you all that this is not the case. Has Miss Snark ever concocted as wonderful a story as Arthur?

I'm wounded, Sexpots. The two offending Sexpots have been sucked into the Tartometer, from which they will never be released.

Onsmi dumps toxic waste onto Volunteer #2

2005-08-31T04:32:00.000-04:00

[Onsmi's Address]

[My Address]

August 31, 2005
Dear Mr. Welcol:

In a world that resembles nothing so much as a bad epic fantasy, can an incompetent cyber-geek save the world from enslavement by a stereotypical villain? Melvin's about to find out. After being lured from his mother's attic through a portal to the world of Aldaplast, Melvin must embark on a nonsensical quest to save this new world.

The Magician's Rock is an 80,000 word manuscript that parodies the fantasy genre. I'm an avid reader of fantasy and know all about the good, the bad, and the really ugly of the genre. While it will probably best be received by young adults, The Magician's Rock should appeal to readers of all ages.

Based on the wild success of Xanth, it's clear that there's a large market for light-hearted, funny fantasy. Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,

[Name Withheld]

A second volunteer has presented his cover letter to my acidic guillotine. Let's see exactly how much toxic waste I dump on it.

The formatting was perfect: one-inch margins; Courier New font, and double-spacing. The summary is intriguing and entices me to give the manuscript a close read. The second paragraph is so-so. The second sentence is unnecessary. I'm also not sure about the third one: though it's good if the author has a good idea of how to market the manuscript, I don't like people telling me "it's clear." Sounds almost patronizing, so I'd change that if I were the author. "Thank you very much for your time" is the standard sucking-up.

Overall, a solid cover letter that would cause me to read the manuscript with interest. I bequeath it with the rating of:

8/10
1-3 means you sound like a psycho
4-5 means you're boring or annoying
6 means I would read on, but only hesitantly
7 means you have everything I asked for and it's all in the right spot
8 means you have an above-average letter that intrigues me
9 means I would be very excited about reading your MS
10 means your cover letter is the best it can be

Onsmi juices an orange over some poetry

2005-08-31T04:14:00.000-04:00

A GLASS ROSE: A tribute to Axl Rose

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER MAKE

WOULD BREAK MUCH TOO EASILY

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

WOULD BE BROKEN JUST THE SAME

BUT NE'ER WAS THERE, A ROSE BY THE NAME

OF A PART OF A CAR THAT ALWAYS STAYED The SAME

A Sexpot sent in this poem and asked for a crit. This was before I started my policy of only critting sumbissions that fall under my current requested category, so I'll give this poem some commentary.

I'm not personally familiar with Axl Rose, so the poem probably loses a lot of significance to me. It's nice and brief, which is a definite advantage over the purple prose-laden submissions Soundings often received. The poem reads smoothly, and I like the subject area.

However, the last line is confusing to me. I assume it relates to Axl Rose, but to someone who isn't familiar with Axl Rose, it doesn't make much sense (aside from the obvious correlation between a car and an axle).

I can't see this poem being published, due to its dependence on the reader being familiar with Axl Rose. That does not mean that the poem is bad. In fact, I think it's quite good. Congratulations to the poet on composing a nice piece.

Onsmi drops lemon juice into Volunteer #1's eyes

2005-08-31T00:05:00.000-04:00

Okay, Sexpots, time to rev up the Tartometer and review our first cover letter:

Dear Onsmi Welcol,

Attached is my 200,000 word, high fantasy story, Diamondsfire. After leading a life of a thief and mercenary for eleven years, the heir to Eldrinn must make a choice: either to claim her right to the throne and heal her Realm, or to back away completely.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

The first problem I see is that there's no return address. I realize that this person probably doesn't want to give out his/her address to random people on the Internet, so I won't take points off for it this time. Henceforth, please use [Return Address] to show where you'd put your return address.

It should be noted that this person's letter was double-spaced and typed in Courier New, but that it lost its formatting when I copied it here. Thus, this person has currently lost no points.

My only problem is with "Dear Onsmi Welcol,". This should read "Dear Mr. Welcol:" This is a business letter, so a colon is used over a comma, and it is generally proper to refer to people you don't know as Mr./Ms./Mrs./Miss Lastname. However, that's only a minor issue, so it doesn't irk me much.

This person worked in the wordcount, genre, and title for her story in the first sentence -- very good. The description is also very good, as you would most likely send a synopsis and either sample chapters or the full manuscript with a cover letter.

The "thank you for your time" is a standard nice touch. This cover letter would not cause me to discard the author's material unread. I shall now bestow my Tartometer Score:

7/10
Scoring Guide:
1-3 means you sound like a psycho
4-5 means you're boring or annoying
6 means I would read on, but only hesitantly
7 means you have everything I asked for and it's all in the right spot
8 means you have an above-average letter that intrigues me
9 means I would be very excited about reading your MS
10 means your cover letter is the best it can be

My suggestions: spice up your summary. I like to see 3-4 paragraphs in cover letters: one with the wordcount, genre, and title, in addition to any other information you think I need to know. One with a brief summary. One with publishing credits (if you have none, then don't tell me!). The last one should be the obligatory "thank you for your time" one.

To spice up your summary, let me know in a few extra sentences why your work is unique. I can't tell you how to do that; you're the one who wrote it, after all!

Onsmi critiques cover letters

2005-08-30T22:14:00.000-04:00

Hello, Sexpots!

I've decided that, due to the frightful number of bad cover letters I received at Soundings, I'll help all of my Sexpots to improve their own. Thus, please send me a typical cover letter you'd use for your manuscript.

A cover letter is different from a query letter. A query letter is sent, usually alone, to an editor or agent to try and get that editor or agent to request your manuscript. A cover letter is sent along with your material, and it exists to:

*Protect your manuscript from coffee spills.
*Show the editor/agent how professional you are.
*Give basic details about the story.

I like cover letters sent to me to contain the author's name, the story's genre and wordcount, and a very brief summary of the story. You may add more if you feel you must, but be warned that Onsmi does not like cover letters to be longer than a page.

Please send cover letters to me as RTF attachments. Your cover letter should be formatted in the standard way. (Double-spaced, 1 inch margins all around, ragged margins, in a monospaced font.)

Send all cover letters to onsmiwelcol@gmail.com .

The Story On Sexpot

2005-08-30T12:27:00.000-04:00

The name "Sexpot" came to pass from a manuscript one of my friends sent me to critique. Within that manuscript was a talking teakettle character who was just pulsating with sex appeal. I started calling her Sexpot. I really liked the story, and especially the teakettle character, so I have endowed my fans with my nickname for the teakettle.

Arthur: Before and After

2005-08-30T12:00:00.001-04:00

Well, dear Sexpots, you've asked for another story from my days as an editor at Soundings. I once had the pleasure of reading a story entitled "Arthur." This story told this guy's childhood story of his dog dying. Now, though it may be cruel, I found this story hilarious. Not because of the subject matter, but because of the way it was written. Here's "Arthur" for your reading pleasure:

Arthur

We were sitting on a white flowery couch when my dog fell down the steps to the kitchen. Arthur was ancient. He was 98 years old in dog years. His once smooth, black hair was now gray and shabby-looking. He was on a mission for some water before he tumbled. We watched in horror as he tried to crawl toward his dish. To ease his pain, we brought him his dish. While he was lying on the floor, lapping up water half-heartedly, he looked like a ragged old sponge.

My mom called my Aunt Lynn in desperation. Somehow she knew the fate of our dog before anyone else, and she realized she needed my aunt's help. Aunt Lynn told us she wold be right over. Those few minutes before she arrived, started an evening of a lengthy wait. When she arrived, she brought her husband and daughter. My mom whispered quietly with my aunt and uncle, discussing what they were going to do with Arthur.

Nervous energy forced my cousin, two sisters, and I to watch a movie ; it was intended to take our minds off Arthur and cheer us up a little, but none of us could concentrate. We were more interested in listening in on their conversation.

After what seems like an eternity, my mom decided to take Arthur to the animal hospital. He wasn't looking like himself at all. It was almost as if someone had let the air out of his tires.

When the adults left with Arthur, my older cousin, Amanda, watched all three of us. We sat in the living room which now seemed empty and remorse laden. A heavy, stale air lingered over us on the couch, thich with the forboding notion that something horrible is about to happen.

We stayed up till ten, waiting for the four of them to come hime. When they finally came back, something was missing. My mom was crying, convulsively, her shoulders heaving.

It was at that moment that I realized Arthur wasn't coming back.

My family spend the rest of the evening sharing memories of our beloved pet. We were so attached to him because my dad gave Arthur to my mom before any of us were even born. I truly believe that each one of us cried ourselves to sleep that night. Losing Arthur made me realize that you don't know how much someone means to you until you lose it. It too me a very long time to get over his death.

Poorly written drivel cracks me up. However, I realized that this story could be made so much more entertaining with a few improvements:

Arthur

We were sitting on a white flowery couch when my dog fell down the steps to the kitchen. Arthur was ancient; 98 years old. He was so old that long gray nostril and ear hairs sprouted form his battered body, covered with wax. His once young body had transformed over the years into a decrepit bag of bones mottled by patches of mold. He was on a desperate mission for water that crumpled my heart into a crinkly web of pity. We watched in horror, our faces stretched to breaking point like that famous painting of the guy screaming on a bridge, our hearts ripping soundlessly in two as we watched our dear friend fall to the unforgiving floor. While he was lying on the floor, lapping up water half-heartedly, he looked like a ragged old sponge torn apart by savage hermit crabs.

My mom called my startlingly sexy Aunt Lynn in desperation. My mother was a licensed psychic who regularly hustled peoples money by giving them false fortunes that could pertain to nearly anything or anyone, and she knew the fate of our dog before anyone else. Her horny sense tingled as she realized she needed my aunt's help.

Aunt Lynn told us she wold be right over. Those few minutes before she arrived started a lengthy wait. When she arrived, she brought her husband and daughter. As they whispered, I started trembling. They were plotting against me, I just KNEW it! My paranoia took over and I ran to the kitchen, seizing a butcher knife so I could depart from this world, angst filling my pores. My aunt turned and announced they were taking poor dear Arthur to the vicious veterinarian. I hurled the knife to the floor, tumultuous thoughts flooding my mind.

Each second of suspense was counted by my trusty cuckoo clock. Each tick slammed into my mind and each agonizing tock sent another hammer down on my nerves until I was a nervous, rabid, bipolar wreck, frothing foam oozing from my mouth. I screamed Arthur's name and commanded him to pass the mustard! WHY WOULDN'T HE? WHY?! Nervous energy forced my cousin, two sisters, and I to watch a movie; it was intended to take our minds off Arthur and cheer us up a little, but none of us could concentrate. We were more interested in listening in on their conversation.

After an eternity of ripping at my pulsating heartstrings, my mother decided to take Arthur to the malicious vet. Arthur didn't look like himself. He was even more decrepit and sickening than usual. He was a monstrosity, drool oozing from his lip and his eyes rolling back into their sockets. I began to have visions of my beloved pet dead, with maggots creeping through his nasal passages, and vultures picking at his innards and remaining flesh. I shook my head and hugged Arthur in what would be our last goodbye.

When the uncaring adults left, my repugnant cousin Amanda babysat us. We sat in the living room, which now seemed empty and remorse laden. A heavy, stale air lingered over us on the couch, thick with the foreboding notion that something horrible was about to happen.

We stayed up till ten, waiting for the four of them to come home. When they finally came back, something was missing. My mom was sobbing convulsively, her shoulders heaving. Her luscious bosoms heaved like bowling balls and her buttocks hurled itself into the treacherous air. Why must the cruel world deprive us of Arthur? Gigantic tears, filled with the power of despair, rolled like gooey gumdrops into my waiting tongue. Mmmm. But why did the world throw us aside like a prizeless lottery ticket? WHY DID THE WORLD PLUCK OUR HEARTSTRINGS, PLAYING THEM LIKE A SORROWFUL HARP OF HUMANITY'S GREATEST ANGUISH??!!

It was at that moment that I realized (although this had been obvious for hours) Arthur wasn't coming back because I am dimwitted and relied on the wonderful and talented editors of Soundings to make my story heavenly and glorious.

Athena and I made all the changes, which changed Arthur to a shining piece of stellar prose. However, the managing editor had the gall to say that our changes were "cruel," and she actually accepted the monstrosity in its original form.

*uggh*

The moral of the story, Sexpots, is that managing editors can be very, very annoying.

(By the way, the fan contest is still up -- unless you like Sexpots?)

Fan Contest

2005-08-29T17:27:00.000-04:00

Fans of this blog, I need your help! Aid me in coming up with a name by which to refer to you. This name must be more clever than "Snarkling."

The winner gets something nice as a prize. I'm not sure what it will be, though.

My Psychotic Writer Stalker

2005-08-29T08:46:00.000-04:00

Back at Soundings, I had to deal with weirdos every now and then. Because let's face it: a lot of unpublished writers are weirdos. Possibly even the majority. The weirdest one of all, though, was a very creepy stalker.

It started out with a more-or-less ordinary cover letter. The cover letter followed all of my standards, so I read on to the actual story. The story was good, but nothing special. It was better than probably 80% of the submissions to Soundings, but it didn't make the cut. Thus, I sent out one my nicest ever rejections. It said:

Thanks for submitting. Though you're a competent writer and your story was interesting, it wasn't quite right for me. I encourage you to submit another story to Soundings.

I sent out VERY few personalized rejection letters, and if I submitted something to a magazine and received a letter like that, I would be flattered. As I read through the slush pile each day, suffering through brain-deadening crap and stumbling upon a few buried gems, I kept hoping for another submission from the writer. However, it never came. Instead, I received this little jewel:

You're a hack with no taste! I submitted this story to another editor and she loved it, so take THAT! You're probably going to die alone and friendless because you have no literary taste!

[Two more paragraphs of raving]

I was very tempted to respond with a blistering letter of my own, but I (for once) decided to hold my tongue and simply add this writer to my list of writers for whom I should return manuscripts unread, in case he submitted to Soundings again.

One must wonder how my supposed lack of literary taste is going to lead to me dying alone and friendless. A few days later, the phone at the office rang ...

Me: Hello?
Caller: Is this [Onsmi Welcol]?
Me: Yes. To whom am I speaking?
Caller: This is [Name Removed], and you rejected one of my manuscripts! I'm going to track you down --
Me: *hangs up phone*

Oookay. That was more than just a little bit weird. According to the caller ID, this person was a "Private Caller," so I had no idea where the call had come from. I decided not to take the call seriously ... And yes, I actually did say "to whom am I speaking?"

A few days later, I got a call at home:

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi. *voice seems familiar*
Me: You're that psychotic writer, aren't you?
Caller: No, but I would like to tell you about --
Me: *hangs up*

Lol, just a telemarketer. I'm happy to say that the writer never bothered me after the call at work, but it was still a disturbing experience and I will never buy anything from him. This is one reason why most editors don't bother with personalized rejections, though. There are too many psychos.

Forward Motion

2005-08-28T17:31:00.000-04:00

Time for a new Writing Site of the Week. Forward Motion is the second of the two best writing sites on the Net, and probably the better of the two. There are over 8,000 members, the community is supportive, and the main page has tons of content, too.

Of special interest to writers are the writing progress meters and the many writing dares. The progress meters are the easiest to maintain and update on the Net, and the writing dares are creative and fun. The chatrooms don't usually have more than 10 people, but the other facets of FM easily make up for that. All in all, Forward Motion is the embodiment of what a writing community should be. (Although I don't think it has many agents or editors as members at all, if any.)

Main Site: 5/5
Forums: 5/5

Meh

2005-08-28T10:56:00.000-04:00

Is everyone too busy reading Miss Snark to read and comment on this poor little blog?

Avoiding Rejection 4: Professionalism

2005-08-26T18:19:00.000-04:00

Writing is more than an art. It is a business and, for those who manage to make it, a career. The business end of writing is a convoluted one, but like with any other career, you need to present yourself professionally. This holds especially true when you're querying editors and agents.

As editor of Soundings, I received a few submissions from absolute nutcases. In their cover letters, these people told me that even though other magazines had rejected them, they knew that I would accept it because I was smarter than the other editors. One of them was extremely rude to me, and another told me that "Satan and God told me that this book would be a bestseller, and I know that you don't want to bring their wrath upon you!" Riiight. Soundings is a magazine, not a book publisher, and even if we did accept books I would have rejected that particular book unread.

Needless to say, I didn't accept any of those submissions. Even if the actual stories were good, I didn't bother reading past the cover letter because I knew those writers would be pains to work with. Thus, you need to present yourself professionally. If you're querying an agent or editor, then your query letter should be short and to the point. If an editor or agent accepts unsolicited submissions, your cover letter should give your name, the name of your story, your story's wordcount, and a brief description of the story. I don't really care if there are beams of light shooting out of your eyes, or if Satan told you what to write.

Absolute Write

2005-08-25T21:39:00.000-04:00

This blog's first featured Writing Site of the Week is Absolute Write. The main Absolute Write site isn't anything special; it's been ages since I've seen any new articles. The existing articles and other content are okay, but there are sites with more comprehensive ones.

However, the Absolute Write Water Cooler is one of the top 2 writing communities on the Internet. Rivaled only by Forward Motion, the boards are active and friendly. Unlike the viperous Writer's Net boards, the Absolute Write boards are actually interesting and don't talk about the same things over and over again.

I especially like Absolute Write because there are other editors on there, and some agents, too. Highly recommended.

Main Site: 3/5
Message Boards: 5/5

Well, this is depressing

2005-08-24T22:41:00.000-04:00

I haven't had a single visitor to this blog yet. Not one. I set my counter not to count my own hits, so I'm the only one reading my own blog!

10:56pm: Oh wow, 8 whole visitors!

Avoiding Rejection 3: Write Well

2005-08-24T14:25:00.000-04:00

I know that some new writers read stories or articles in magazines and think, "Oh, if that got accepted then anyone could do it!" Well, you're wrong. Soundings accepted a far greater percentage of submissions than your average magazine; but we had 60 pages to fill, and we didn't have any advertisements. Thus, we ended up accepting 46 combined short stories and poems.

I'm going to be honest. Soundings is not the most professional magazine by a long shot. It's a very small start-up magazine, and during my second year with them I grew disgusted and quit. So out of these 46 accepted poems and stories, I only really liked 10. The rest of the staff was too quick to accept submissions for my taste. Most magazines will not accept nearly this many story and poem submissions.

However, even Soundings received probably 300 or 400 submissions. Many larger magazines get thousands of submissions, and will accept even fewer of them. So if you want to be accepted, your writing has to be exceptional. You have to put real effort into writing and editing it, and if you can convince a friend to help you edit it, so much the better. Make sure your work is the absolute best it can be before you submit it.

Avoiding Rejection 2: Grammar

2005-08-24T01:22:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm back again, this time to talk about proper grammar in your writing. Note that when I refer to grammar, I'm using it as an umbrella term to include grammar, spelling, and punctuation.

If you don't use proper grammar in your submission, then I will very quickly become irritated. You don't want me to be irritated, because I'm one of the people deciding what goes into the magazine. Back at Soundings, I did not read every submission that came my way. I didn't bother to even read probably, oh, 60% of the manuscripts submitted to me.

Improper grammar gave me an excuse to instantly reject them. If I read the first few lines of a submission, and those lines don't use proper grammar or contain typos, I will either chuck that submission into the "Suckage" folder for shredding or become rather ticked off at the author of that submission, and likely reject it a few lines later.

Proofread your work (and not just with a spelling and grammar checker, because those DON'T WORK well). If you're not good with grammar, then don't bother submitting manuscripts until you learn the English language better. Because I guarantee you that you won't be accepted.

Avoiding Rejection 1: Manuscript Format

2005-08-24T01:21:00.000-04:00

As editor of Soundings, I received hundreds of submissions. And so many people submitted their manuscripts horribly that I felt like screaming. A big reason for why I rejected submissions was the format.

Your manuscript should:
# Be typed in a monospaced font (preferably Courier New)
# Be double-spaced
# Have one-inch margins all around
# Have your name and return address on it
# Not be sent in a letter-sized envelope

If your manuscript is handwritten, I will NOT read it. If it is typed in Times New Roman, or anything but a monospaced font, I might read it, but I will be very testy toward it. If your margins are either tiny or huge, I'll be annoyed. If it doesn't have your name, I'll reject it. If it's folded up, I'll be highly annoyed.

There you go. Format your manuscript correctly, and you'll have a greater chance at acceptance.

About Me

2005-08-24T01:16:00.000-04:00

Well, my side profile says a lot, but there are a few details I left out. I've been described as having an "inflated ego," and in all honesty I do think a lot of myself. In addition, I enjoy helping new writers progress through this crazy industry, and I am willing to read and critique unpublished material. Since I'm not revealing my true identity, I won't have any nutcase new authors trying to sue me.

Please note that material sent to me for critiquing is not eligible for inclusion in the magazine I'm going to start editing, although if I had any say it would be. I will not critique everything that comes my way, and small (anonymous) snippets of poorly written submissions to the mag and submissions to me will be ripped apart online if I'm in a frustrated mood.

You can send me your material for a free critique to onsmiwelcol@gmail.com .