writing success

Help An Editor: Follow The Guidelines

So you have written the Great American Short Story or Novel and you want to submit it to a publisher. The next step is to find the right publisher for your work. This post isn’t about finding an ideal publisher. It’s about an equally important item –  the writer’s guidelines.

I’ve been told by quite a few publishers that writers don’t necessarily follow the guidelines when submitting a work. I’m sometimes surprised by the number of writers who don’t follow a publisher’s submission guidelines. I’m not sure why some writers screw up this step, but plenty of them do.

First, find the guidelines on the publisher’s web site. They should be easy enough to find. While each publisher’s guidelines will be different, there are some things that are common to most guidelines.

Make sure your manuscript is formatted properly. The most common font and size for a manuscript are 12 point Times New Roman. Some publishers want a different font. If that’s the case in your submission, duplicate your manuscript and convert it to the proper font. No, you can’t submit in Comic Sans because you like that particular font or you think you’re being clever. Doing such a thing guarantees your manuscript will go into the “trash” file. Follow the guidelines and submit according to the publisher’s specifications.

Another big one on the list of no-nos is using spaces or tabs to indent your paragraphs. This is the one that surprises me the most since many publishers I’ve talked to over the years have brought it up. Your manuscript should default to double spaced and a one inch indent. On the Mac at least, Word has a Format tab and you go to Paragraph to set this up.

Keep an eye on headers and footers and page numbers. Some publishers want page numbers and some don’t. Some want you to put your contact information in a header and some don’t. Most often in my experience, the publisher wants your contact information at the top left of the manuscript without making it a header. It’s important to have your contact info at the top of the page, otherwise, the publisher won’t know who wrote the piece or how to reach you. Most publishers I’ve run into want your contact info both on the manuscript and in the body of your submission email, but as I’ve stated earlier, each publisher is different.

Pay attention to word counts. If the anthology submission calls for works no longer than 5,000 words, don’t send something that is 7,000 words long. Your story may be a work of genius (most likely not), but editors have a limited number of pages to work with. If you are able to whittle down your story to 5,000 words, do it. Otherwise, look for submission calls that allow for longer works. The opposite end is also true. Some publishers include a lower end word count limit, such as no shorter than 3,000 words. Don’t send flash fiction if the publisher didn’t request it. Keep to the guidelines.

If the publisher asks for a photo and bio in the body of your email, make sure you send them. Don’t forget. It can be a bit overwhelming to follow detailed guidelines, but take it step by step and you’ll be fine.

Pay attention if the publisher wants no reprints or simultaneous submissions. If the publisher does allow simultaneous submissions, make sure you notify that publisher as quickly as possible if your work is accepted elsewhere. It’s only polite.

When you follow the guidelines properly, you’re on your way to your work getting a look-see. Publishers will put your submission in the trash if it doesn’t follow the guidelines properly because, in not following the guidelines, you’ve give the publisher more work to do. Don’t do that. The first step in a successful submission is to do it properly. You may also write to the publisher if something in the guidelines isn’t clear. When you hit “send”, that euphoria you feel is in part due to following the instructions properly. When you do that, the publisher knows you’ve taken the time to read and submit in the best way possible. Best wishes for an acceptance!

Doing It Wrong

by Jean Roberta

Over the years, I’ve read a lot of advice on how to write, what to write, and how to promote it. Some of that advice has been contradictory, while some of it might have been brilliantly relevant to current trends, and for particular writers who are not me.

During the Feminist Sex Wars of the 1980s, I was warned by sister-feminists that “porn” was a male writer’s genre, and that its goal was to reduce live women to objects, or sex toys without wills of their own. There was evidence to support this theory, and “jokes” about the sexual abuse of women have not disappeared from the culture. They probably never will.

However, I discovered that sexually-explicit fiction is as diverse as fiction in general. In fact, since most human beings secretly or openly want sex in some form, it’s hard to imagine a narrative about humans in which sex is absent. In some cases, the sex shows up in a central character’s dreams and fantasies. In nineteenth-century fiction, it often shows up in Latin/legal terms. (“They were caught in flagrante delicto.”) In “literary” fiction, the sex used to appear in euphemisms (“And that night, they were not divided”) and metaphors (“The earth moved”).

Since the sex is already there, I thought, coyly lurking between the lines, why not bring it out into the light so we can see it? If the sex is meant to violate the will of one or more of the participants, an explicit description makes that clear, and readers can respond.

Writing about sex felt thrilling when I first tried it. I knew that most of my relatives, not to mention friends, coworkers and other acquaintances, would probably disapprove and consider me misguided at best, but it was still a big relief to describe things I had actually done as well as things I had only imagined. Okay, I thought, call me a slut if you want, but if you never think about such things, why do you read my stuff?

The Erotic Readers Association (as it was called in 1998, when I joined) was a great source of support. Other members consoled me when I complained on-list that my stories seemed to disappear into the Bermuda Triangle when I sent them off to editors in response to calls-for-submissions. (My first three erotic stories had been “accepted” in the 1980s by a small publisher that mailed me a letter, then immediately went bust.)

I began getting stories published in anthologies, and I thought the thrill would never wear off. It never completely did, but as Lisabet has mentioned, books are more ephemeral now than we bookworms of the Baby Boom generation ever believed in our youth. Having dozens of erotic stories in anthologies has not made me famous on any level, nor has it provided a reliable income. Thousands of books are published each year, and most of them probably won’t be remembered in another generation.

Besides all that, as M. Christian has said somewhere (probably in a blog post), there are only so many ways to describe sex. Characters, situations and plots can be different in every story, but body parts are limited, and what can be done with them fits into a few categories. I grew tired of repeating myself, and I hesitate to go far beyond my own experience in describing elaborate scenes that might be physically impossible. (And on that note, unclear sentence construction can suggest that a character has three arms, three breasts, or three balls, or that two characters can grope each other from across a room. The logistics of a sex scene have to be carefully managed.)

My age has probably played a role in my desire to write about something other than sex. I doubt if I will ever completely turn off like a burned-out lightbulb, but I no longer feel as if I will just die if I don’t get some. And if I don’t need it desperately, it’s hard to convince myself that my characters do.

In short, I have begun to stray into other genres. According to those who advise writers to discover their “brand” and stick to it, this is a problem. If I have a brand at all, it is clearly erotic fiction.

During the past two years, I’ve written several stories that are not sexually explicit, and most are still unpublished. My story for an anthology that is meant to tweak the imaginary world of a famous horror writer was tentatively accepted, but I haven’t been offered a contract, and this project seems to have no clear completion date. I wrote a queer mystery story for a Sherlock Holmes-flavoured anthology, and I haven’t had a response yet. (In fairness to the editor, he probably hasn’t had time to make decisions yet.) I sent a fantasy story to an editor who said explicitly in the call-for-submissions that the anthology was not meant to include erotica. This editor sent me a flattering rejection (“This was an enjoyable read, but it’s not quite right for this collection”), so I sent the story to a speculative-fiction magazine that rejected it.

I feel as if I have started over. If I continue to write fiction without sex scenes, I will continue to send it to editors and venues that probably don’t recognize my name. The competition might be even more intense than it is in the erotic fiction market, though this is debatable.

I am grateful that the “Writers’ Block” I thought I had when I was responsible for a child and for too much unpaid work, while scrounging for a living, seems to be permanently gone. As Virginia Woolf put it so well, a woman writer needs a room of her own, and I now have several. And while I’m on sabbatical, I’m not distracted by the day job.

What I didn’t expect, and what writing coaches never seem to acknowledge, is that the Muse changes over time. For that matter, individual identity changes over time. As long as that is the case, I’m not sure how more “successful” writers (in terms of royalties and name recognition) manage to promote their “brand” for a lifetime without burning out. That seems to be one fate that ever-changing writers don’t need to fear.

Hot Chilli Erotica

Hot Chilli Erotica


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