Guest Blogger Susan Breen on Prepping for a Pitch Conference

Perhaps this is true for every writer active online: there are some authors who you warm to and enjoy interacting with immediately—and believe you would get along with in real life, if your paths were to cross. That's how it was with Susan Breen when I discovered her online, about seven or so years ago. I'm delighted she's on the blog today.

Susan’s new mystery, Maggie Dove, was published by Random House’s digital Alibi imprint in June, and the next in the series, Maggie Dove’s Detective Agency, will be out in November. Breen teaches for Gotham Writers Workshops and is on the staff of the New York Writers Workshop. She sold her first novel, The Fiction Class, at a pitch conference.

Please welcome Susan Breen

            For nine years, I’ve been a workshop leader at the New York Pitch Conference in Manhattan, where I help participants write pitches for their novels and memoirs. Then I sit with them as they recite those pitches to editors from the big New York publishing houses. Figuring 18 people to a group, meeting four editors each session, four times a year—that means I’ve heard a lot of pitches.

From my unique perch, I’ve witnessed what goes on when an editor listens to a writer’s pitch. I’ve seen their doodles. (Always a bad sign when they begin crossing off your name.) I’ve seen writers sabotage themselves (begging and crying, for example). I’ve also seen editors light up when they hear something that excites them. (At the last conference an editor looked at me and said, “I want this book now!)

So, what can you do to improve your chances at a pitch conference?

1.      Make them want to read your book. This seems obvious, yet often writers get swept up in the rules of pitch writing, or worrying that they accurately convey all the information about the book, that their pitches become brittle. Yes, follow the rules. The pitch shouldn’t be too long. End with a cliff hanger. But the most important thing? Be interesting. It may matter for the plot that the main character gets her teeth cleaned in chapter 3, but does the editor have to know that right now?

2.      Remember, editors judge a book by its pitch. If the pitch rambles, the book probably rambles. If the pitch is unfocused, the book probably is. If the pitch is funny, if the pitch is boring, if the pitch makes no sense… My boss at the pitch conference, Michael Neff, says a pitch is a diagnostic tool, and I agree. When I’m working on one of my own novels, I always write a pitch halfway through. If I have trouble writing the pitch, it usually means there’s trouble in the book.

3.      Setting is an important part of a good pitch. Editors like to know if the book takes place in Paris or Long Island or wherever. Sometimes writers insist that the story can take place anywhere, but that’s not actually a selling point. You want your book to be set somewhere specific, which does not mean it has to be glamorous. Yes, it’s fun to read about Paris, but Long Island can also be intriguing.

4.      Establish an interesting and active protagonist. This is frustrating to a lot of writers, who can cite many classic novels that do not have active protagonists. This is undoubtedly true, and if Proust shows up at one of my conferences, we can debate the point. But I don’t think Proust was going for the commercial market. If your character’s not active, make sure he’s funny or in a lot of trouble.

5.      Credentials help. I’ve had people who’ve won Emmy awards. That helps a lot. But I’ve also had people with stories published in magazines with a circulation of 500. That helps too. It shows the editor that you’re a part of the literary world. You’re serious. Try to build up credentials before the pitch conference. See if you can spin off a chapter as a story. Take a writing class. Join a writers’ organization. Everything helps.

6.      When you are talking to an older editor, do not refer to your work set in the 1960s as “historical fiction.”

7.      Even the best pitches are not successful with every editor. Over the course of the pitch conference, a participant meets with four or five editors. Sometimes every editor will request a manuscript. Other times only one editor will request it. Sometimes that pitch will be a little odd. Or the writer will be odd. And yet, that one editor really connects with it. It’s like falling in love. You don’t need everyone in the world to fall in love with you. You just need one person.

8.      Word count matters. Most editors want books between 65,000 to 100,000 words. If the concept is strong enough, they may ask to see something with a longer word count, but it definitely creates an obstacle.  Publishing is hard enough without adding obstacles. I also work as an editor and I can assure you that I’ve never read a novel that couldn’t be shortened.

9.      Know the comparable titles in your genre and category ("comps"). My agent pitched my new mystery as "Agatha Christie meets Anne Tyler". That gives an immediate sense of the tone. When a writer has no idea of what’s comparable to her book, I feel alarmed, because that makes me think she hasn’t read anything. Sometimes people will say, “I’m writing a romance because I want to sell it, but I don’t actually read this junk.” That’s not an inducement. If you publish a romance, you’ll be meeting a lot of romance writers who will not be happy to discover you think they are idiots. Write the book you want to write, and read other books like it.

10.  Don't argue with an editor. If the editor hears your pitch and says, this would be better if the protagonist were a woman, or this sounds like a YA novel, just say thank you. They might be right or they might be wrong. No one is going to force you to change your book, but it’s worth absorbing the input and thinking about it afterwards. Keep in mind that part of what they’re trying to do is figure out if you’re someone they want to work with. So if you immediately resist or argue back about every suggestion, that’s not a good sign.

11.  If no one at a pitch conference warms to your book, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer, a bad person, or a failure. It just means that the handful of editors you met with, didn’t want your book. There are many other editors. There are many other books to write. My first two books didn’t sell. My third did. My fourth one didn’t. My fifth did. Hopefully, I’ve figured it all out now, but if I had quit after one, I’d be nowhere.

12.  Finally, try and enjoy the pitch conference. Yes, it’s stressful, but you are getting the chance to meet face to face with the people who run this crazy business we’re in. That’s exciting.

Learn more about Susan at her website, or by connecting on Facebook or Twitter.  

Images: Stack of Journals, Jon Betts and Talk Bubbles, Raiznext, both FlickerCreativeCommons. Others, courtesy Susan Breen.

Stuff My Writing Students Say, Part 16

"You're kind of cranky. But in a good way."

Last night, the final night of an 11-week memoir and personal essay class, a writer who attended each session (despite complicating situations in her life), said this to me by way of explaining why she'd always turned up. "It's partly because you're a bit of a grouch, in a good/funny way," she said, and she wanted to see what I might grumble about each week. She assured me my crankiness was limited to instances of lazy writing, sloppy editing, and last minute, half-hearted revising, and that otherwise I'm a nice person.

Okay, I'll take that.

Which gave me a chance to reiterate what I say on the first day of every class or workshop, but students tend to forget: I'm not the sort to spend our scarce few hours together telling you how wonderful your precious prose is, how talented and gifted you are, that your every word sparkles. I don't tell writers, or frankly, expect writers to believe, that I love everything about their work, that they are going to get published somewhere wonderful and quite soon, that an essay or chapter is nearly perfect as first submitted.

I don't laud praise all over a manuscript, and then slip in a few small quiet words about something that you may, perhaps, possibly might consider changing just a bit, because, at least in my opinion, and I may be wrong, it could use, you know, just a bit of tweaking.

I developed this philosophy from having been on the other side of the table for years, sitting across from all kinds of writing teachers, workshop leaders, and editors. Long ago I concluded that if I wanted to grow as a writer, praise is lovely but not entirely helpful. And, it's not what I'm paying for, what I'm there for.

If I'm in the student/client chair, I'll take cranky and tough--which I'm fairly sure is mostly another way of saying demanding--over sweet and nice. Mind you, cranky/tough/demanding has to come along with: helpful, resourceful, encouraging. So I may be cranky but I try hard to be all those things, too.

Cranky/tough/demanding works if backed up by precise feedback, and focused, specific editing suggestions; with questions that help/force a writer to re-think, re-imagine, re-see (revise!) their work. So I work hard to do a lot of that.

Cranky/tough/demanding, when coupled with genuine interest in seeing the student writer challenge him/herself, also requires a willingness--in order to push that writer's craft toward growth--to sometimes not be liked. (Kind of sounds like parenting teenagers, huh?)

I'm occasionally, no maybe frequently, not liked by some folks in the early stages of working together. Most of the time, they like me again later on. But not always. That's okay.

My students and clients can think I'm grouchy or a bit of a crank, or tough or demanding, and I don't mind. As long as they also think I'm helping their writing develop, go new places, leap forward.

Growth, development, leaps forward usually aren't the result of patting anyone on the head and telling them how wonderful their work already is. Let's face it, you can get that from Mom, your best friend, your sweetheart.

The teachers, mentors, workshop leaders, and editors I had who were tough, who seriously challenged me, who were daring and smart enough to draw a line through a paragraph of mine and write in the margin "Who cares? Rewrite," are the ones who propelled me to work harder, to revise, rewrite, shred, and start again-- and to raise my own standards. The ones who were sweet and soft left me feeling good for a few hours -- and then very soon after, I felt cheated, out of money and time.

Anyway, I'm not always cranky. Sometimes I do tell students how much I admire their writing, but this typically occurs when writers have gotten through three or six or 16 drafts, and by then are beginning to be a little tougher, a little more demanding too, of their own work. 

When I can see how hard a writer has worked to make each word sparkle, each page shine – and that they've moved on in their writing development, I've been known to say, "This is GOOD."

I could say "great" I suppose. But let's not get carried away.

Read the other 15 installments of  Stuff My Writing Students Say.

Image:  Flickr via Creative Commons / mootown

Even More Reasons Writing is Rejected: Part Three

In Parts One and Two, I covered 40 reasons why your work may have been rejected – 20 which are easy to avoid, and others which go to the heart of writing craft. Today, to wrap up, 20 or so reasons which may or may not make sense, but turn out to be more or less true

Some Reasons you really can't control…
1. The editor was in a lousy mood that day and didn't like anything that crossed his/her inbox.
2. The editor has seen your work before and just doesn't like it, period.
3. The section in which your piece would have run has just been eliminated.
4. The venue got way more submissions than anticipated and even though your piece is good, they can only publish so many.
5. The publication got way more submissions than they anticipated and since they have far too few staff to read them all, everyone in the overflow lot simply got a rejection.
6. Your piece was read by an overworked undergraduate student on an internship who makes mistakes and overlooks good work sometimes.
7. The editor who read your work just doesn't like ____ (fill in blank with whatever the subject of your piece was – ducks, China, smokers, kids…)

Reasons you can't control, but might have realized before submitting…

8. They only publish work by…women and you're a man; health professionals and you're not; Asian-Americans and you're Greek.
9. You've written about this topic dozens of times in publications similar to theirs, and the editors don't want to be derivative.
10. You have paraphrased too much of another writer's work.
11. You keep sending to the same editor over and over, and keep getting impersonal form rejections (never any personal notes or encouragement). Take the hint. He/she isn't interested in your work. (Probably.)
12. You are not a writer that venue considers established enough for its pages.

Reasons that sound inauthentic, but sometimes really are just plain true:

13. We just ran something similar.
14. We recently accepted something similar.
15. Liked this, but it just missed: please submit again. (You know, editors often really do mean this.)

Possible explanations for: "This is just not for us," or "This doesn’t meet our editorial needs":

16. We just don't like it and aren't really sure why.
17. We have other stuff at the moment that we just like better.
18. Someone here knows you, doesn't like you, and cast the veto vote. (Yes, it happens; though thankfully, not too often.)
19. We're in a budget crunch which is limiting our page count, bandwith, editor and/or contributor budget; therefore, we're cutting back on how much we accept.
20. We're just way too busy to explain why we are passing on this.

Annoying things that, on a good day, probably won't get you rejected on their own, but are just enough to annoy the editor so that if he/she is having a not-so-good day, may just get you the boot:

- You don't know how to properly punctuate or format dialogue.
- You don't use page numbers and it's a long piece.
- You sent it to an editor's personal email address instead of their professional inbox.
- You wrote a rambling cover note filled with unnecessary information.
- Instead of inserting direct links to your published work, you invite an editor to "visit my website (or blog)" so she/he can spend time she/he doesn't have hunting down your published work.
- You mention that you and the editor once met and that he/she indicated your piece would be a shoe-in, when what was really said was more like, "send it along."
- You address a female editor as Mr. or a male editor as Ms.
- You wave your MFA (or other) degree as if it is reason enough to accept your work.

Did I miss anything? Writers, and editors especially, do chime in.

More Reasons Your Writing Gets Rejected: Part Two

Yesterday's post noted 20 possible reasons for rejections that are easy to avoid. Today, it gets trickier:

20 possible reasons for rejection, that have to do with your writing craft and skills…and a few tips on what you can do about it next time around:

1. Your opening lines were forgettable.


2. Your cover note summed up the entire piece, it didn't sound fabulous, and so the editor never bothered to read the work.


3. Your piece was riddled with poor grammar, improper usage, spelling/punctuation errors. (Message: I am a lazy writer.)


4. Your piece was poorly organized. (You rushed, or you don't yet understand what you really want to say on the page, or you need more feedback or experience.)


5. Your work is very clearly not at the same level of skill and craft as that which the venue routinely publishes. (You didn't spend enough time studying what's published there or you weren't honest with yourself.)


6. Your work reads like an early draft, instead of a meticulously revised final manuscript.


7. Your work is riddled with adverbs (instead of good verbs) or is written in a passive voice or commits some other obvious crime against prose.


8. Your dialogue is stilted, tedious, inauthentic, or filled with banalities ("Hi," she said. "Oh hi," he answered.)


9. Your work is loaded down with trite and expected clichés, overused idioms, too-common similes, poorly constructed metaphors, tired old phrases.


10. You shift tenses and/or points of view for no reason, or you do so clumsily.


11. It's dull to read. (Your language range and vocabulary inventory need a boost.)


12. Your work lacks conflict or tension; no one wants anything.


13. Your work has a happy-ever-after, all-wrapped-up-in-a-pretty-bow ending.


14. You have a strong opening and/or ending, but a too-soft middle.


15. You have a strong middle, but a lousy opening and/or ending.


16. You didn't tie up (or at least acknowledge) the loose strings the piece raises.


17. Your work makes it clear that you are not reading enough in your genre.


18. You have written about a subject that has been completely over-exposed, or its time has come and gone, and/or you just do not have a fresh enough new angle on it.


19. You have copied another writer's well-known style too closely and your work reads like an imitative writing exercise.


20. You love to use exclamation points !!! or you overuse (and incorrectly use) the ellipsis…or you love the em dash but don't know its proper usage -- or you randomly use § dingbats or white

space breaks in places that make no sense, all/any of which weakens the overall effectiveness of the prose.

In Part One, I discussed 20 possible easy-to-avoid reasons why your work/query was rejected; you can read it here.  

Update:  Now, part three has been posted - 20 or so reasons for rejection that do and don't make sense but are still often true.

Writing Reruns: Posts from the Past.

Over the last few weeks, I've noticed a bunch of new comments here on old posts. Which suggests that perhaps newer readers might find some value in some posts from the past. (How's that for justifying a too-busy-to-blog day?).

So what do editors really do with a pile of submissions? In which I feature excerpts and links from Peter Selgin's cop to how he manages his role as literary journal editor.

A Writer's Creed: Get What You Need. Maybe It's What You Want After All. In which I discuss how getting that MFA, or any good chunk of writing education, will disrupt life in general.

Point of View: A 10-year-old Explains it All. In which my son teaches me something. (Happens all the time.)

Writing the Seasonal Essay: This Time Next Year. In which I advocate getting a really big jump start.

Writing and Kids: Not So Mutually Exclusive. In which I get a little tough with writers who blame poor productivity on having procreated.

Do you write young or old? And does it matter?

I was recently told by an editor who handles submissions at a print and online magazine that she can spot an “older” writer by how that writer observes grammar rules and uses punctuation. For example, old writers, she tells me, often use the serial comma, capitalize the first letter following a colon, put two spaces between sentences, and occasionally use what she calls “grandma” words -- like delightful, lovely and elegant (notice how I didn’t use the serial comma after lovely?).

Also, she says, older writers use too many dashes (both en and em), structure a piece in longer paragraphs, put “the end” or a dingbat after the last line, submit work that has been meticulously proofed, sometimes set up their email cover notes to like traditional business letters, and are often extremely well-mannered. Apparently these last two -- which might strike you as desirable -- can backfire with a much younger editor who is used to abbreviated quick-fire notes, interprets politesse as unnecessary blather, and sees a long missive as nothing more than a time suck.

Younger writers, she said, flaunt rules, get to the point (sometimes too) quickly, skimp on even perfunctory politeness in their cover notes, apparently never print out anything for a manual proofreading and instead rely entirely on spell check (resulting in correctly spelled words that are wrong in context – from/form).

The younger group, she told me, also often can’t correctly identify the form which they’ve written or propose to write (essay, opinion piece, feature, travel narrative), and more or less have never heard of keeping good-faith business interactions confidential, instead posting guarded editorial email addresses, direct phone numbers, fees, contract clauses and other information online, sometimes in an unnervingly near-instantaneous click.

Younger writers, she also observed (or at least those who appear or sound young via email, texts, and Twitter), use more pop culture references, respond much faster to an editor's notes (not, she admitted, always a good thing, often indicating lack of careful thought), and include more personal information in their communications (this she likes, as it gives her a window into a new-to-her writer's worldview).

So who, I asked her, who would she rather work with to fill her magazine and site? "I couldn’t care less. In the end, it's about the voice, the writing, their publishing experience, a great idea, and professionalism. Those come in all ages and styles. The rest is incidental. "

Interesting.

This editor works at a general interest media venue, but I wonder if the same is true for those whose publications/sites which are much more narrowly focused on a niche demographic. Do they weed out writers at one or the other end of the age spectrum based on how young or old they seem to be on the page? And how does one define young and old? Is it simply all relative to the age of the editor at the other end of the exchange? Or to the perceived readership of the media outlet?

Sometimes, when I'm writing for a venue whose readership is a lot younger than I am, I do find myself looking more carefully at my language, the cadence of the sentences, and spending a bit more time researching cultural references that will speak to that demographic. But that's when I'm writing the piece. I never really thought about how the query letters and other editorial communications might come into play. Have you?

Interview: Verna Dreisbach, anthology editor & agent

I've loved horses and writing since I can remember liking anything. As a young child, I wrote about everything and read about and pined for horses before getting my first horse at 14. Soon I was submitting work to equine publications and Horse of Course magazine gave me my first clip. I went on to support myself for several years post-college as a freelancer for equestrian media. Then, about 20 years ago, I stopped -- riding and writing about horses. I had other things to write about and no longer had the time or budget for riding. But more recently I began to think about what horses have meant to me beyond the pleasures of the saddle, and a series of essays emerged, one of which, "It Always Happens One Summer," is included in Why We Ride: Women Writers on the Horses in Their Lives. The editor of that book, Verna Dreisbach, is also a literary agent, and of course she's a rider and horse owner, too. She recently agreed to answer some of my questions.

LR. You are a busy literary agent, and also a graduate student, mother and horse owner. With all that on your plate, why this collection, and why now?

VD: Surprisingly, the opportunity came to me. I attended the Willamette Writers Conference a few years ago where I met editor Krista Lyons from Seal Press. After talking literary agent/editor business stuff, we started talking freely. I talked about my love of horses and how, because of horses, I found my own passion for writing. Little did I know that Krista was looking for an editor for an anthology about women and horses (later to become Why We Ride). By the end of our conversation, we were both jumping up and down because I had a dream opportunity (anything to do with horses) and she had an editor to the anthology.

LR: You were able to secure a foreword from Jane Smiley – quite a coup. How did that come about?

VD: I met Jane Smiley at the East of Eden Writers Conference a few years ago. I asked her if she’d be interested in participating in a written interview for a newsletter for the young writers organization I founded and we started a correspondence then. Since we both obviously have a love of horses, it was just a simple question and she happily agreed to write the foreword. I am so grateful to her and I have no doubt that part of the success of the book has to do with her contribution.

LR: Did any of the contributor pieces surprise you? Make you cry?

VD: I’m a softie for those father/daughter stories. I felt the loss and cried over "Owning Clydes" (Kate St. Vincent Vogl), felt the pain in "Getting Back on the Horse" (Kara Gall), and felt the jealousy at the fun Michele Scott and her dad had in her story "The Billy Dal Gang."

LR: What can you tell us about the selection process?

VD: I waited until I had the majority of the stories in hand before reading them. I wanted to keep the experience all within a short period of time so that I could get the full feel for the momentum and diversity of the book – the same way a reader would. I wanted to make sure that each story was unique.

I had innumerable “first horse” stories that didn’t go much deeper than that. For instance, I knew when I came upon Dee Ambrose Stahl’s story, "Painted Christmas Dreams," that this was the "first horse" story I wanted to include in the anthology. Not only was this her first horse, but she didn’t get her first horse until later in life and it was her husband of many years who finally helped make her dream come true. This is an example of where the horse becomes much more than a horse and becomes an integral part of our lives and the lives of the people around us. I stayed on task with my goal but found that near the end, I had to seek out a few stories that were different enough from the others, leading to the inclusion of Jacqueline Winspear’s story, "It’s All in the T – or Perhaps the D" and I’m fortunate to have her contribution in this book as well.

LR: Some writers think that editing a collection is a relatively easy venture. I know it’s not. Can you break it down a little?

VD: If you’re only choosing stories and sticking them together in a book, then sure, that’s easy. I doubt it will bring much success or good reviews, so I’d advise against it. An editor’s job is time consuming. I had to make sure the stories I chose were diverse and unique enough for an entire collection, one that would keep the reader entertained and not feeling as if they’ve read the same story over and over again, 27 times.

There were some contributors who needed minimal editorial advice and some that needed more. I enjoyed the diversity of writers as well as the diversity of stories. I did have two people who refused to make any changes to their stories and subsequently, they were not included. I didn’t feel that they had gone deep enough into their story, the connection between writer-life-horse to make a story that would make enough of an impact on the reader. We can all enjoy our horses, but I was looking for the stories about the horses that helped shape us as women and the way we looked at the people and the world around us.

As you can imagine, my job as an editor is far easier working with writers who are willing to revise and edit their pieces. And, my job as an editor is to work with the writer so that they feel they’ve maintained the scope, purpose and voice of the story intact throughout the revision process, if it’s a major revision.

LR: As a physical object, how do you feel about the finished product? I notice it’s slightly smaller sized than many trade soft covers, includes photos of the writers with their horses, and makes generous use of white space.

VD: I’m very happy with the finished product. I actually like the size, somewhat unique. It also follows the same pattern as the other books in the Seal series, Woman’s Best Friend and Cat Women. Inside, the reader gets the sense that they are reading through either a diary or scrap book, the way the photos are positioned within the text and with the photo corner tabs (also on the cover). I’m very glad that photos of the writers with their horses were included!

LR: What did you enjoy the most about bringing this book to fruition?

VD: The best part was meeting (eventually I hope in person) all of the contributors from the book. I feel like I have 26 new girlfriends that I hope to keep in touch with over the years. I’m thinking about an annual or semi-annual riding trip with all of them. What a great way to stay in touch and keep up our horse riding/writing skills!

LR: Anything you hope not to go through again?

VD: There were a couple of crazy stories - one woman wrote about how she smacked her horse on a regular basis with her riding crop to get it to mind her. I really wonder what she was thinking submitting her story to this anthology? The collection is supposed to be inspirational stories about women and their horses and the only thing I was inspired to do was to call animal control.

LR: I understand you have some readings and other events lined up.

VD: Yes! A number of contributors will be reading at Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle, WA, on June 5th at 4:00 pm and then the following day, June 6th, in Portland, OR, at Powell’s Books at 7:30 pm. I’m looking forward to it.

LR: Many people who read this blog will want to know more about what kinds of books/authors you are on the lookout for as an agent.

VD: As an agent, I’m looking for something unique and well written. Unfortunately, the majority of submissions are from writers who have not taken the time to perfect their manuscript or hone their craft. I’m also looking for professionals – those who view this industry like any other profession and take it seriously and act accordingly. Also, many writers who query agents are just plain crazy or rude. We get really excited when we see quality writing and a sane person all at one time! Other than that, I’m looking for both fiction and non-fiction authors, especially books with a political, economic or social context.

LR: Do you have another book project of your own in progress?

VD: I would love to do another anthology and I’m not all that particular as to the subject matter. I enjoy working with writers, helping them deepen their stories to share their memories in a way that moves readers. I’m finishing my MA degree this year and I don’t have as much time to write what I’d like. Once I’m done with my degree, I’ll have more freedom, less time constraints to write more – something that’s not necessarily “assigned”.

Note: I am giving away a copy of Why We Ride. If you'd like to enter the random drawing, post a comment here by midnight, Sunday, June 13. Be sure there is a way for me to contact you via email to obtain your U.S. postal address.

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: December 4 edition

A short list of links this week – hope you find something you like.

► Editorial cartoonist Steve Greenberg on his laid-off, forced-into-freelancing, one year crappy anniversary. Well done.

► Over at Nathan Bransford's blog, the agent is in the tables-turned position of having his own manuscript out on submission to publishers, and offers this advice for writers on responding to feedback from publishing house editors.

► Just discovered this site, with extensive listings of writing conferences and workshops. You can search by state, genre, or other criteria.

► Stephen Elliot on why he writes. No surprise, it's not for the big bucks! While on the Word Pirates blog, look around a while for some interesting posts and great links.

► And finally, did you know that there is already a 40-year-old hand-held, mobile reading device? Watch and grin.

Have a great weekend.

Interview with Grace Bauer, Guest Editor of Prairie Schooner's new Baby Boomer Issue

Literary journals often dedicate single issues to major themes – grief, transformation, technology's effect on humanity, birth, hunger, so many others. Prairie Schooner is a terrific read no matter what, but their Fall 2009 Baby Boomer issue especially captured my attention. I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek and to ask guest editor Grace Bauer some questions. [Note: a Prairie Schooner subscription give-away is underway – see note at end of post.]

Lisa Romeo. How did you prepare for the role of guest editor?

Grace Bauer. I was very excited and also somewhat nervous about taking on the task of editing this special issue of Prairie Schooner. I had served as Acting Editor seven years ago when Hilda Raz (the Editor-in-Chief) had a semester’s leave, but then I just put finishing touches on an issue that was pretty much together. This time I was, by choice, taking on much more control – and responsibility. Many years ago, I worked on a short-lived little magazine called Pontchartrain Review in New Orleans, and have also co-edited an anthology, so I wasn’t completely lacking in experience. I’ve been reading literary journals for a long time -- but still, being at the helm of The Schooner was a little daunting.

The first (and probably smartest) thing I did was to sit in with Hilda as she put together an earlier issue. Hilda and I have worked together on our own books -- she was instrumental in helping edit my last collection, Retreats & Recognitions -- so I had some idea of how her editorial mind worked, but the journal seemed like a different kind of creature, and I wanted to see how she tamed it.

Over the course of an entire afternoon, I observed how she made (and often re-adjusted) her choices for ordering the poems, stories, essays, and reviews with an eye toward achieving some balance while making connections and creating interesting segues from one piece to the next. I asked a lot of questions. I had confidence in my ability to recognize good work when I saw it, but I am notoriously “technically challenged” and had a lot to learn about some of the “nuts and bolts” aspects regarding the journal’s formatting template, etc. I knew I had a capable managing editor, James Engelhardt, to rely on for much of that (and I did so). I asked more questions.

And then, not having much choice, I just got into it!

LR. Writers who submit to journals would love to know more about how the editorial mix comes together, particularly for a themed issue. Can you talk about the kinds of decisions you made, where you agonized, etc.? Did you get any inappropriate material?? Did you solicit specific writers, and if so, did you then have to turn down any piece that came about from those requests?

GB. As I discuss a bit in my Introductory essay, the work in The Boomer issue came to me in three basic ways: 1) solicitation 2) the back files of already accepted work at the journal, which I combed through, looking for anything that might fit the boomer theme, and 3) announcements we handed out at the AWP Conference.

Part of my challenge was time. I was technically only serving as guest editor for one semester – and doing it while teaching and keeping up with other obligations. I got a bit of a head start towards the end of the Fall 2008 semester (soliciting the essay from Dorothy Barresi early on, because I knew it would take her some time to write it) but for the most part, I started working on the issue in January, and had to have it to the printers by April. This did not allow for a “general call” or to advertise a special issue.

I solicited from people I knew, and from total strangers whose work I knew – mostly by email. Many responded enthusiastically and promptly sent work my way; some said they’d send me work, but never did. Some responded that they had no available work that seemed relevant; some never responded at all – whether because they were too busy or uninterested or never got the email, I don’t know. Some people told their friends, who also sent work, or recommended people for me to contact, which I usually did. The Schooner staff at the AWP Bookfair handed out flyers, and I found myself walking up to people and saying “hi, were you by any chance born between 1946 and 1964? And have you written about it?” -- which resulted in a flurry of post-conference submissions.

I was, from the get-go, more anxious about the prose than the poetry. I knew that, because of length, I would have to choose fewer pieces, so I was prepared to agonize over that, but both Marianne Boruch’s hitch-hiking piece (an excerpt from a longer memoir) and Marly Swick’s story seemed so perfect for the issue, it was easy to say yes to those – (I did work with both authors on cutting for length) though I then had to say no to other long stories and essays. I was happy to be able to include a few “short short/sudden” fiction pieces – because I’ve always been intrigued by that genre, and it seems to have flourished among boomer aged writers.

With poetry, I had lots to choose from, and once certain choices were made, they influenced other choices. While I expected – and wanted – some recurring themes and motifs, I also wanted variety -- in subject matter, style, tone, perspective, diversity of writers, etc. I wanted some “big name” writers, but was open to including anyone whose work spoke to me. I went out of my way to solicit from formalists as well as experimental writers, and everything in between. I didn’t get much that I would call “inappropriate,” since I was thinking “boomer” in the largest possible sense.

I didn’t want an entire issue full of work that looked back on “the good (or bad) old days” -- though I counted on getting some of that (and did). As things were coming together, I tried to follow Hilda’s lead in terms of making connections and interesting segues, which meant I sometimes turned down work I thought was very good – and relevant to the issue – but maybe too much like something I’d already accepted. Or, conversely, I might accept something because I thought it would work well with/speak to -- or against -- another piece I’d already taken.

It’s little comfort, I know, but I think that’s something all of us need to keep in mind as writers – getting rejected doesn’t necessarily mean the rejected work isn’t good or that the editor didn’t like it. So many other factors might influence a decision – especially, I think, when it comes to theme issues. In the end, I had to reject work I liked quite a bit – including work I had solicited from people (I tried to be clear when I did so that I wasn’t making any promises). A journal is finite, and I simply ran out of pages.

LR. The issue wrestles with the notion of nostalgia. Some pieces look backward, but they resist sentimentality. Even your intro celebrates the boomer generation's achievements but also points out its excesses. When writing a piece that looks back over a life or an event, what strategies can help avoid over the top sentimentality?

GB. Wallace Stevens famously said that a poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully. Note the modifier. Also the one in your question: over the top sentimentality.

Because there is a good bit of work in this issue that “looks back,” there is a certain amount of nostalgia, and some of that may risk sentimentality, but hopefully resists it almost successfully. I think any adult who can look back at the life they’ve lived and not feel the occasional pang of nostalgia for things that are gone – youth, love, time, people, places, brain cells or whatever – has not faced up to their own mortality.

Over the top sentimentality can certainly make for bad writing because it’s too easy. It may mean the writer hasn’t looked closely enough, felt or thought deeply enough, or – even more likely – struggled enough with the language to really get it right. On the other hand, I sometimes read work that seems so determined to not be sentimental that it’s devoid of any human emotion, or even consciousness. While over the top sentimentality may make me cringe, its polar (as in frigid) opposite doesn’t speak to me either.

As for strategies for staying on the right side of that fine line – attention, vigilance, a bullshit detector in good working order?

Note from Lisa: Prairie Schooner editors would like to give away a one-year (four issue) subscription to their excellent journal. Simply leave a comment on this post before midnight on October 17. If you like, share a boomer memory, an experience submitting to or editing a literary journal, or a response to something discussed here. Please include a way for us to contact you.

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Long Weekend Edition

Hope you find something of interest here for your long weekend.

•Short story writer extraordinaire Alice Munro has withdrawn her latest collection from the running for Canada’s largest (and richest) literary prize, “clearing the way for younger writers,” and some wonder if that’s really such a good thing.

• Say it isn’t so. After 26 years, Reading Rainbow ends its PBS run.

• I just discovered that one of my favorite writers/editors/agents, Betsy Lerner, keeps a blog on her site. She’s the author of The Forest for the Trees, not exactly a new book for writers, but a must-read.

• Etude is an online journal with a special emphasis on the craft of literary nonfiction.

• Want to play with type and fonts and the like on your site or blog?

• Five female authors whose books will debut in 2010 are blogging about their experiences in the run-up to publication, over at the Debutante Ball.

• Protagonists in young adult fiction who happen to be plus-size: Does this even have to be an issue?

• Check out the Editorrent blog for interesting examples, advice, tips, musings, do & don’t, and rants from two acquisition editors.

• Beginning tomorrow through January 3, the Myrtle Beach Art Museum presents Faces and Stories: A Portrait of Southern Writers.

• If you are a fan of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, and eagerly awaiting its theatrical release, with a screenplay by (McSweeney’s editor & memoirist) Dave Eggers, you may like New York Magazine’s interview with Eggers, here.

• Why should writers care about Twitter? A lot of reasons.

• And finally, having trouble finding the words to explain to some recalcitrant publisher or clueless prospective client why writers should get paid? Well, you may not be able to use these exact words, but I guarantee you will enjoy listening to Harlan Ellison explain it all.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Writers' Stew

• Gerry Marzorati, editor-in-chief of the New York Times Sunday Magazine, spoke last week about long form journalism at an industry conference. I found this excerpt of interest:

"Always, always, it requires a tremendous amount of reporting. Weeks and weeks of reporting. Hanging out with the subject of your piece, hoping some scene will emerge that because of where it is and what the dialogue is, will reveal that subject. Journeying to all sorts of places, hoping the trip will encounter drama, and meaning. Painstakingly re-creating a moment – like the one when the tsunami hit – through hundreds of interviews. It is arduous, all this reporting. The weeks, the months. And all this time, of course, costs money. A typical cover story in the Times Magazine, when you add up what we pay the author and what the expenses for travel are -- and this leaves out the editing and fact-checking costs, the photography, and so on -- the tally is north of $40,000, and often, if a war zone is involved, considerably more. Do we still have the time to report and read such pieces? And will we have the money? If the reader is an on-line reader, paying nothing, who is going to foot the bill?"

You can read the rest here.

• Was glad to read some good news apparently for some smaller independent book stores.

• Author Allison Winn Scotch (novelist, magazine freelancer) regularly answers readers' questions about writing and publishing over on her blog.

• This week, another media outlet asked -- for what, the thousandth time? -- if poetry is dead. Funny, the question keeps being asked, year after year, for decades. And yet, poetry thrives.

• Simple, short advice, on so-called(?) writer's block and first draft phobia, via WriterJenn blog, which also frequently posts interviews with authors of new books –
"Write. Write it well, write it poorly, write it with margin notes and incomplete sentences; just get it down. Write."

•In my writing classes I don't have to "grade" papers, but if I did and it was getting to me, and I thought I needed a proven scientific guide, I might seriously consider this stress-free grading method.

Have a great weekend!

Three Takes on a Poem from Prairie Schooner: Editor, Poet...and Me

To mark the first day of National Poetry Month, here's a treat.

The venerable literary journal Prairie Schooner, published by the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, celebrates its 83rd anniversary this year, and I'd love to bring your attention to their wonderful contribution to the literary community. In their current issue (volume 83, number 1), published last week, the editors put a focus on Portuguese poets. James Engelhardt, Prairie Schooner's managing editor, was kind enough to share the poems with me before publication, so that I could choose one which spoke to me and feature it here. Here are the first lines from the poem below.

Why I Sang at Dinner
Roberto Christiano

I was not permitted a word at dinner
because you were too hot from laying
brick in the sun to bear the voices
of children, and mother too tired
to oppose you. My sister and brother,
five and six years older, had graduated
in allowance to one sentence
and on your good days two.

Click here to read the rest of the poem at the PS site. Then, pop back here for an inside view of editor Engelhardt's reaction, my own thoughts on the poem, and some insights from the poet too (all below).

Lisa: As a nonfiction writer with particular interest in family narratives, I had little trouble selecting Why I Sang at Dinner from the packet of poems Engelhardt sent me. Not only does Christiano's poignant piece tell a compact, unique, but also universal story about a father and his adolescent child, it does so in a way which allowed me to enter the world on the page without losing the battle of slippery imagery which poetry often presents for this prose writer.

From the outset, I'm pulled in by the narrative mood of the piece, a feeling of frustrated static within a family situation which is also changing as we progress through the poem. The voice is charged with the pain of naiveté and longing, as the narrator transitions to puberty, and the more nuanced understanding of a parent's existence as a person apart from his familial role. The poem pivots on that unavoidable but bittersweet time when a sensitive adolescent realizes things about a parent which cannot be unlearned. The emotional transition and sadness are palpable, as is the lingering childlike wish that things will change, that a father will look at his son, see what's behind the hope-filled eyes, and make a change. Instead, Christiano takes us, quite correctly and understandably, into the painful territory of the moment when a child gives up that hope, because a parent has already given up on it himself.

Roberto Christiano:

"It is my belief that writing should stand on its own without any qualifying explanations from the author. That said, I usually draw encouragement from Rilke's exhortation to mine one's childhood as a source of inspiration. The fabulous thing about this endeavor is that the writer can alter events that he was often powerless over when they originally happened. Sometimes poetic license doesn't just make for a better poem, it also makes for a better recollection. I have also taken inspiration from my friend and fellow poet, Norma Chapman, whose poems reflect on the major events of her life with as much clarity as she can muster. "

For those of us who submit any kind of work to journals, here's a small glimpse inside editor James Engelhardt's thoughts:

"There’s a bit of received wisdom in the writing community that editors stop reading after the first few lines (three or five, depending on who heard what from whom), so you’d better have a strong opening. The latter half of the advice is right: have a strong opening; but most of us do read the rest of the poem—you never know what delights await.

Looking at the Christiano poem, the opening is incredibly strong and assured. The opening line speaks back to the title and sets up a tension that follows throughout, a tension between what the reader might expect from family life and what happened in this particular family. The line ends on the syntactic unit – "a word at dinner"-- but that expectation of regularity is immediately shaken in the second line when the break occurs in the middle of the phrase – "from laying / brick." I’m delighted he didn’t describe the father as tired, so that we get “hot” and “tired” in two different places but still in one sentence, still calling to each other.

So that gives you an idea of how an editor might read openings. Throughout the poem, the tensions invoked in the opening play out clearly, but never explicitly. The father silences the boy with “You have no responsibility.” But the boy wants “to loosen the knot / between your brows”—a kind of responsibility he feels toward the father, born of love. The end of the first stanza strives, when describing the abuse the father had received, to explain the source of pain, even if the passage doesn’t excuse the father. The boy feels the weight of responsibility so heavily, he sings: “Slenderly, I quavered out tunes.” So the son breaks the imposed silence, but to what effect?

At the end, the father has not “softened,” and instead it is the boy who changes, at a point traditional for coming of age, thirteen, his “new male voice was starting to break in / and I couldn’t care anymore.” The responsibility has shifted, and the boy turns outward, but the tensions between father and son are never named exactly. The boy is looking for affection and connection, and he finds something like it in the music they don’t quite share, but have in common. What’s particularly nice is that song sets the boy free, and we can always read “song” as “poetry.”

I want to note how tightly the poem stays to this small narrative about family dinners. One night becomes many, but the focus remains on how this relationship intersects so profoundly at this one ritual so many of us recognize. It takes a long time to center a poem so neatly, pare a story down to be available to many people, and lose none of its impact."

For a chance to win a one-year subscription to Prairie Schooner (four issues, $28 value), compliments of the editors, please leave a comment below (and be sure there is a way for us to contact you). You have until midnight PST, April 15 to leave your comment. Good luck. And if you can't wait, check out the subscription options here.

NOTE: IMPORTANT -- please leave a way for us to contact you if you win the sub, either an email address or a link to your site/blog/Facebook profile/whatever, so we can contact you if you're the winner!

P.S. Also, check back here again in a few days, when Engelhardt and I will introduce and discuss a personal essay from the same issue.

Writers, Make Peace With Submissions

Submissions are fun, right? Okay, not exactly. But does the whole process of submitting one's work have to be such an angst-ridden, anxiety-producing activity for writers? Or is there a way to transform the experience -- the submitting, waiting, interpreting the feedback, and yes even the rejections – into a more creative part of the writing life?

I think there is.

During my workshops, I mention this from time to time when the subject of publication comes up, but tonight I'm making a presentation entirely on this topic.

So I found it quite fitting that when I sat down a few hours ago to get my final notes in order, I took a quick detour to my email inbox -- where I found a rejection from a magazine editor in response to an article idea I'd queried about.

I don't know this editor and have never written for her magazine before, but I'm pretty sure the first paragraph of her note was pretty standard; that is, short on specifics, one of those mixed efforts at tact and firmness. But the second paragraph, in which she talks about my idea in specifics, and includes a piece of personal information which tells me she not only read and carefully considered the pitch, but also has some personal understanding of the topic, seemed to me an encouraging sign. If my query made her think, caused her to deliberate, and to call up her personal connection to the idea, then perhaps I'd gotten in the vicinity of her (and hence her magazine's) editorial radar. In other words, as rejections go, a pretty good one.

Not more than an hour later, I retrieved my postal mail. You know what's coming, right? Another rejection, this one from a literary journal to which I had submitted an essay a few months back. Again, the standard preprinted thanks-but-no-thanks two-sentence form, but at the bottom, a hand written note from the nonfiction editor (whom I met once at a conference), explaining exactly what he felt this particular essay lacked, suggesting how I might revise it, and inviting me to send it again if I choose to rewrite.

Now, as rejections go, a fabulous one.

Don't worry, I get plenty of the normal "bad" rejections, too. I especially growl at the emailed one-liners: "We're going to pass. Regards, The Editors." Okay then.

Over the years, I have developed coping mechanisms for what otherwise might be considered the drudgery of dealing with rejections, with never hearing back from publications at all (my favorite), with the stalled inertia of a submissions drought, and the (rare but occasional) acceptance flurry.

These include mental gymnastics such as understanding that although one may amass a dozen or more NO responses, it only takes one YES to get published, and that theoretically the more rejections one accumulates, the closer one gets to that singular yes. (Math and statistical wizards -- in case I’m a bit off base here -- please don't disabuse me of this notion; it keeps me sane.)

Then there's the old-fashioned physical pleasure of crossing a publication off the scribbled list I keep in the front flap of the file folder for each essay, and also the fun of strolling over to the shredder and inserting the rejection into its sharp teeth. On a bad day, I've even been known to print out an emailed rejection just so I can put it in the shredder and hear that grinding whir. Listen, on some days, we writers need these small acts: take that, editor!

On a more serious note, I am adamant in my opinion that a robust submissions strategy can complement the craft side of the work. Marketing is not evil; it's a must for every writer. Rather than avoiding it, or only tolerating it, why not integrate the submissions process into the writing life in a welcoming way?

One important shift is to create a highly personalized submission plan that takes into account not only which piece to send to which publication, but also addresses the nuances of why. For example, Why this publication? Not in general terms that apply to any writer -- "because this journal has a great reputation and would look good on my CV"; but Why this publication for my (current and future) writing career? Why for this piece at this time? Those answers will vary for each writer.

For example, the answer might be, because this piece is set in the southwest and this particular journal is published by an Arizona university and often publishes material with regional themes. Or, because this journal pays well and right now I need to generate more income from my writing. Or, because I respect the editors of this journal and want to see how they react to my work. Or, because right now I need more publishing credits and even though this publication is not as prestigious as I'd like, it seems like exactly the right home for this particular piece, so my odds are good.

In other words, if a writer can integrate the goals of their submission plan with the goals and needs of their writing career (current and future), then the odds of having a submission practice that feels like a creative aspect of one's writing life -- instead of a pain-in-the-neck part -- greatly increases.

There's a lot more to it, of course. I'll be coming back to this topic again. Because there is one thing I hate more than a bad rejection, and that is hearing a writer say, "Oh I hate sending my stuff out. It's all just sitting in my computer (or desk)."

Because guess what? If that's where your work is, you've already rejected it before anyone else can.

Publishing House Editors Share Inside Scoop

Let me call your attention to a long but informative and lively roundtable over at Poets & Writers, with four publishing house editors. A few of the take-aways:

P&W: What do you wish writers knew about you that they sometimes don't?
GARGAGLIANO (Scribner): I think most writers don't realize that every editor goes home and reads and edits for four hours—that they're not doing that in the office. That in the office they're advocating for all of the authors they already have….
P&W: What else?
GARGAGLIANO: I think it's important for writers to remember that we're not their enemy. We love books and we're looking for books that we love. CHINSKI(Farrar, Straus and Giroux): And ads are not love. GARGAGLIANO: And ads do not equal sales. BOUDREAUX (Ecco): If those two things appear in print—that we're working nights and weekends and ads don't sell books—we have all done a fine job here….
P&W :What have your authors taught you about how to do your job?
GARGAGLIANO: To be honest with them. I often have the impulse to protect my authors and treat them as if they are more fragile than they actually are. It's better if I can have an open conversation with them. If I start that early on, the better our relationship is going to be going forward, and the easier it will be to talk about tough things. That took me a while to
figure out.
BOUDREAUX: They teach you over and over and over—and this is so obvious—but they will always have a better solution to an editing problem than anything you could come up with. If you just raise the question, they will solve it. The universe of their book is more real to them than it could ever be to anyone else.

In addition to the above topics, they discuss a wide range of publishing issues, from how to tell an A+ agent from a B+ agent; the impact of electronic books; and many other areas.

Read the whole interview here. At the end of the attributed quotes is an "after the interview" section where the editors get to anonymously vent a little and also call out their current favorite agents and competitors. Definitely worth the time to read the entire piece.

Friday (the 13th) Fridge Clean Out: No Unlucky Writers Here

• I attended a reading last night, and during the Q&A, an audience member remarked that the alliteration and rhythm of a particular sequence was especially appealing. The author, looking surprised, said she'd never noticed it before. This was a happy instance of when reading work aloud resulted in a good discovery. And it's why I swear by the wisdom of reading everything I write out loud at some point in the revision process -- alone in my office or living room – because more often than not, the opposite happens: some rough language or clunky construction only becomes apparent when it's heard.

• Take a first look at Second Pass, a relatively new books and reading site.

• Jean Hartig, writing on the Poets & Writers website, makes several good points about the challenges of life after the MFA.

"….writing programs don't tend to teach the skill set required to work fruitfully—and joyfully—beyond their gilt walls. The MFA experience does not necessarily prepare us to be writers in the world. Our time as students is set apart as a sacrosanct period during which we perform the very important work of honing and polishing our craft, but little guidance is given as to how we might preserve that sacred lifestyle (as well as the more profane, yet necessary, moments of criticism and editing) once outside the bubble. On the other hand, no one could have told us then that our devotions would flag and that distractions—such as earning a living and making our way in the world—would threaten to prevent us from writing altogether."

You can read the rest of her thoughtful essay, which also has tips for creating a writing community post-MFA.

• When I was a public relations specialist and a freelance reporter (in the dinosaur 1980s and early 90s) the telephone was the best, fastest, and often only route to information. On a busy day I spent hours on the phone, and at some point began to loathe it; while these days I can go days without once reaching for it. But yesterday, because email was not getting me the information I needed in a timely manner, I made actual telephone calls.

The first was bad news -- the publication's current issue would be its last, and my previously accepted piece was now once again in need of a home. Disappointing, but good to know. Next, I left a message (with a human) and got a return call within minutes: So glad you called, where is the response to the edits we sent last week? Huh? Turned out someone had transposed letters in my email address. In the third case, I reached voice mail, and an hour later, received an apologetic email about staffing disruptions and assuring me my essay was still scheduled for publication.

Maybe it was just me, but it seemed as if each editor was either pleased to take a phone call, or at least appreciated the chance to quickly clear up misunderstandings, and not annoyed by the telephone contact, as I think many writers fear. Could it be the never-empty, guilt-inducing email in-box is actually making the phone look good?

Have a great weekend.