I’m going to be rude in this post and just assume that you don’t write perfect first drafts. Right? Your first draft isn’t perfect. I know this because I’ve read tons of first drafts in the slush I know everything. Even this week’s lottery numbers, which is why I don’t buy Lotto tickets, since that’d be cheating.

In any case, the trivial answer to the question is that you should edit after you finish your first draft but before you submit to magazines. In an ideal world, you finish a draft, tweak it slightly, submit, and then get back a glowing response in which the editor begs you to sell them the story. And everything else on your hard drive.

In the real world, things aren’t quite so clear-cut.

While You’re Writing

This really falls under the category of “unavoidable differences in author processes.” Some authors need to have a complete draft before they can edit. Other authors will edit as they go – tweak what they wrote before, and then add another page of new material.

I’m sure you’ve heard this before: “You should never edit before the draft is complete.”

Meh. I often go back and make minor edits while I write. These edits make the plot more consistent or add in foreshadowing and character details. I find that it’s more efficient to just make the changes than it is to write myself a note for later. Such is the wonder of the word processor.

The advice against editing mid-draft is primarily to help new writers avoid falling into a black hole of always-rewriting-never-finishing. If you can avoid that loop? Great. If not, then you should either force an ending to the story and fix it later or move on to a new story.

After You’ve Got a Draft! (But before you submit.)

I don’t have to say much about this, do I? Finish the story, edit it, and then send it out to see the world.

I do recommend at least two editing passes, even if all you end up fixing is a typo or two. If you have a first reader or critique group, edit at least once before you send it to them, and at least once after you get their comments. Why edit before critiques? The cleaner the draft you give to your critique group, the easier it will be for them to see any major structural issues in the story.

That might seem like it goes without saying, but this advice is based on having seen way too many stories up for critique that still need a spell check.

After You Submit

You’ve just sent your story–and two days later you realize exactly how you should have ended it. Now what?

I strongly recommend against beginning to re-edit a story that is currently on submission.

Here’s the thing–editors read and decide on the story you send them. If you make major changes after the story is submitted and you get an offer of acceptance, there’s no guarantee that the editor will also like your changes (and they probably won’t.) Yes, anything is possible, but at that point, you’re essentially taking an acceptance and transforming it back into another submission. This just makes more work for everybody–and I feel confident in saying that no editor wants to send an acceptance and get back, “Oh, thanks, but I’d rather you bought this story.”

I don’t even open the files of stories that are actively on submission somewhere. No matter how much I like the story I sent out, there’s still a temptation to edit and that can only end in tears or vodka.

After a Rejection

Oh no! Your story has just come back with another rejection. Should you rewrite based on the rejection?

If an editor has rejected your story, you have no obligation to pay any attention to the rest of the email. Seriously. The only part that’s important is that they said “no” to your story. (Okay, okay. Exceptions: If the editor tells you something that is specific to their magazine, keep that in mind for your next submission. You know, like if they say, “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD NO MORE VAMPIRE STORIES” totally send a werewolf story next. Also, if the editor says “please send me your next story” they totally mean that.)

Usually the correct option is just to send the story on to the next magazine and write a new story. How will you ever have time to write a new story if all you’re doing is rewriting?

However… it is possible to get a rejection in which the editor is willing to look at the story if you rewrite it. In that case it might be worth rewriting, depending on how badly you want to be in the magazine – but keep in mind that there’s no guarantee that the story will be purchased after rewrites. I also only recommend writing to the comments in that rejection if you find that they inspire you. Do you think these comments will make your story better? Then rewrite to your heart’s content! That way, even if the editor doesn’t want your rewritten story, you’ve at least improved what you do have.

Your Turn

Have you ever rewritten a story after a rejection? Did it help?

When a rejection comes in, if you’re like most writers, you sneer at it for a good long while. Maybe you print a copy and tack it to the corkboard, throw darts at it, and then burn the wilted remains. You circle all the ten-dollar words in red, shred the entire thing, and stuff a voodoo doll named after the editor, before sharpening your pins and…

Wait, no. That’s not what you should do at all. Here’s what you need in your first aid kit:

Item One: Something comforting

Sometimes, I will think a certain story is perfect for a certain market and when the editor tells me otherwise, it can be crushing. It’s okay to be disappointed and its okay to mourn the rejection–allow yourself a bit of comfort. Maybe you’d like to indulge in my favorite double date, Ben & Jerry’s. Beth tells me we can’t go on a week-long cocaine binge, so remember your limits, but do allow yourself some comfort before you plunge right back in.

Item Two: The next market

The first market didn’t want the story. Check it off your list, and move to the next market. The important thing is to keep the story in circulation. The story can’t sell if it’s sitting in a drawer or your hard drive. Unless it’s in an editor’s possession, it’s probably not going to sell, so make sure the story is in fighting form, and send it back out the door. Tell it not to come home until it finds work!

Item Three: The next story

If you only have one story out there, of course you’re going to be on pins and needles until you hear back from an editor. Always have more than one story out and about. It improves your odds and keeps you from going insane. Write the story, finish the story, send the story out. Repeat. Have stories in the hands of your first readers, too. That way, you can agonize over what they think of it, and wonder if they’re tearing it apart, and…

Item Four: Professionalism

That thing I said about the voodoo doll up there? Don’t do that. It’s normal to grouse about rejections and maybe even editors, but the speculative fiction community is a fairly close one, and word can spread. Act professional at all times–don’t let them see you sweat, or curse, or prick voodoo dolls. And definitely don’t kill the editor in your next story…

Item Five: Inspiration

Sometimes after a rejection, especially if it’s on a story I thought was ideal for that market, I need to fill myself back up. I read a book that’s a favorite, or a new book by a favorite author, or poetry. Sometimes, it’s okay to step away from the keyboard and get full of life before you come back and eye Item Two.

Item Six: Control

You can’t control everything. This is especially true when it comes to selling your fiction. A story you think is an ideal fit for a certain market may not be an ideal fit in the editor’s eyes. Focus on what you can control. Don’t say, “I’m going to sell twelve stories this year.” Say: “I’m going to write twelve new stories this year!” Don’t say, “I’m going to make that editor regret rejecting me!” Say: “I’m going to send that story to another market and then another if need be, and show those editors that I’m dedicated to my craft, and to improving upon it.”

Your Turn

How do you deal with rejection? Tell us in the comments!

The method of submitting manuscripts to publishers has changed–at least in some circles. While not every publication accepts electronic submissions, many do. This is becoming especially true of short story markets. Some markets even have their own online submission forms now, which makes the process easier. …Mostly.

Every point below probably points back to this essential: Always follow the publisher’s guidelines. This sounds easy, but based on what often turns up in the slush pile, it’s not.

Formatting

Typically, the publisher will specify the file format they want. They haven’t done this at random–they aren’t telling you to send an RTF (rich-text format) file because their initials are RTF. If the guidelines say DOC/RTF and no DOCX, you need to be certain that you’re not sending a DOCX file. If you send the wrong kind of file, you are giving the impression that you haven’t read the guidelines, and you’re increasing the amount of wait time on a reply, being that you usually have to submit all over again with the right kind of file. Likewise with the actual document you are sending. If the guidelines say “standard manuscript format,” be sure you’ve followed that. And if you don’t know what it is, the Internet is full of information on that front.

One Story At a Time

Unless the guidelines state that multiple submissions are accepted, only attach one file to your email. (Online submission forms often only allow you to attach one file, which is helpful!) Unless the guidelines state that they accept multiple submissions, only send one email and no other until you hear back on that submission. (Unless you find yourself needing to query, or you forgot to attach your file.) If the market allows simultaneous submissions (one story at more than one market at the same time) and your story is such, make sure you mention this to the editor up front. If another market buys the story while it’s still in submission elsewhere, be sure to send a follow up email explaining this to the other editor.

Body of Email?

Sometimes, the guidelines will say to include the story in the actual body of the email–meaning you cut and paste straight into the email, and you don’t attach a file. If that’s the case, don’t attach a file! Some publishers don’t download anything, for concern over a virus. However, if the guidelines say NOT to put the story in the body of the email…for heaven’s sake, don’t do it. You are only doing yourself another disservice. Shimmer doesn’t want the story in the body of the email.

Spam, spam, spaaaaam

If you are submitting to a market and don’t have their email address on your “approved bust through the spam wall” filter…you are screwed. Your submission should be seen as the opening of a dialogue between you and the editor you are approaching. If you put up walls or flaming hoops dangling above shark tanks for the editor to make their way through in order to reply to you…what’s the point of opening the dialogue? You know you want to hear back from them, so be certain they can reply without the circus act.

Link vs. File?

If you use Hotmail, be sure you aren’t sending a simple link to a file somewhere on the Internet. Be sure you are sending the actual file to the editor.

New Threads

Gmail has an often-wonderful tool where they will thread your email messages, thus keeping everything in one nice, neat stream. Sometimes this is good, sometimes this is bad. If you are making a submission to a gmail address, be certain you start a fresh email, and don’t reply to an old one. The old one will carry the old subject line, and the editor you are sending to will likely never find the new story attached.

Who Are You?

Editors like to know what your name is! They like to know what to call you (especially if they’re about to send you a check for a story!). Be sure it’s clear. We often receive emails with three or more names on it. Email may read janedoe@gmail.com, while the name at the top of the manuscript says Sally Fawn, while the name under the story title says Elizabeth Deer. Who are you, really? If you’re writing under a pseudonym, it’s easy. Your legal name goes at the top of page one; your pseudonym goes under the story title.

When in Doubt

Read the guidelines. We’re all human, and we make mistakes (like forgetting to attach the file and having to send a second email). But the closer you come to making your submissions perfect, the closer you come to presenting yourself as a professional, and making professional sales.

Your turn

What’s the most boneheaded thing you’ve done with an esub? Like ’em? Hate ’em? Tell us in the comments.

Everyone sets them. Everyone breaks them. As January of a new year arrives, have you made a list of goals? If you’re reading this blog, I would venture that some of them are writing related. But goals can also be a black pit of despair–can you set a goal too high and always find yourself falling short? You bet you can.

What You Can Control

Don’t say: “I’m going to sell twelve stories in 2011.”

Say: “I’m going to write twelve stories in 2011.”

You can’t control how many stories you sell, but you can control how many you write. In 2010, I set the goal for myself of twelve new short stories. At the year’s end, I didn’t end up with twelve. I ended up with five new shorts, one novella, and half of a novel.  I didn’t plan on doing Nanowrimo at all. At all. And yet, there it was. You can’t control how much money you’ll make as a writer, but you can control the projects you pitch, the writing you do, the number of submissions you make. You can control the amount of time you spend on the internet (doing anything other than research or networking), the conventions you attend, the workshops you partake in.

Words Every Day

Write something every day. Even if you only write for twenty minutes, write. In the piece I wrote about Nanowrimo I talked about making the Play-Doh from which stars could be extruded. Getting words on the page is so important–it’s the first step. The words don’t have to be perfect. Just write. If you find them in the wrong order later, you can rearrange. That’s part of the fun in being a writer–the story doesn’t have to be linear for you. You can flit back and forth and back again.

I didn’t reach my goal of twelve stories in 2010, and that’s totally my own fault. Nothing else kept me from doing it; I just didn’t write every day. The Nano novel didn’t even keep me from making short story words.

Make your Play-Doh, and then turn it into stars.

Finish the Story

I know a few writers who skip from project to project and they never finish any of them. Worse yet, they moan about not finishing, how they have no focus, how they can’t get started. Well no, they get started just fine, but they have no staying power. Learning to how finish the story is an awesome goal.

Beginnings are easy–they’re shiny, they beckon. When you get into the guts of a story, it’s harder to stick it out. It’s easy to set a story aside and not figure out how it really works. Put an ending on every story you write. Let the story sit for at least a week, then go back and look at it. Does it work? If it doesn’t, maybe you can see where it falls apart now, and know the proper ending.

Read

Read whatever you can get your hands on.

I usually set a goal of 52 books a year–sometimes I make it, sometimes not! (In 2010, I read 46 and didn’t finish 4 others.) Most of them will likely fall into the genre in which I write, but I also read outside of my genre because books call to me. They know my name too well. If you don’t read in the genre you want to write in, how can you excel in it?

You should know what your fellow writers are doing. You also never know when something you read might inspire a story of your own. One of my stories was written in a fit after I read a brilliant short story by Patricia Anthony, and later went on to sell. If I hadn’t been reading, I don’t think that story would have presented itself to me.

Your Turn

What are your goals for 2011? Share them with us in the comments!

Once, I operated under the idiotic impression that I could do almost anything on my own without needing help, and guessed that probably went double for writing. I’d heard writing was the lonely profession, and there was some appeal to the Lone Writer silhouette—my six-guns holstered, a full canteen, a brimming flask, and my trusty horse, Beaulah cantering into the southwest sunset. After a while, I found myself bogged down, discouraged, and lonely, and no amount of nipping at that flask did any good. Maybe you’ve tried going it alone too. Maybe you’ve wondered, as I did: do I need other writers?

Yes, you absolutely do. Other writers can give you the three Cs, which cannot be acquired alone: the three Cs of Companionship, Connections, and Critiques. People don’t thrive in a vacuum; we thrive in fellowship. So, the three Cs; what can they do for you?

Companionship

You already have heaps of friends, you say? Lucky bastard. Even so, I’ll bet those very friends roll their eyes and bust your balls just for the way you think and express yourself. “There goes Suzanne and her crazy imagination again!” This won’t happen with your writer friends, because your writer friends will understand you and your crazy monkey moon language. Writers speak the language of What If; extra imagination just gets bonus points. Okay, acceptance and understanding is nice, you say, but it’s not like writers are just hanging out at the local 7-11 guzzling Slurpees. True, but finding writers in the wild isn’t all that difficult. You can try signing up for a local convention in a genre of interest or sign up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and you’ll practically be wading through writers. You’re an introvert? So are at least half the writers I know, yet that is not what defines them, rather they are defined by qualities of acceptance, wit, and intelligence. Not shabby companions, right?

I wrote in solitude for years before venturing out for companionship myself. My first attempt was to attend the 2006 NaNoWriMo kickoff event in Salt Lake City. How exciting to meet others who were as passionate about writing as I was; finally, other people who actually spoke my language! By November’s end, I had accomplished my 50,000 word goal, but more importantly, I had found some real kindred spirits, one of whom happens to be Shimmer’s very own editor-in-chief. I’d begun to find my people.

Connections

Connections, networks, community; they’re not very sexy words and sound exhausting to boot. Do you really need to build a connective network in the writing community? Having support from a network of friends and industry professionals is priceless. If you don’t like being too connected, it’s okay, there’s no contract to sign. Ultimately, you control of the level of commitment you’re comfortable with making. But putting in some time and effort here pays off big and helps you stay abreast of new information and opportunities.

Writer’s conventions (or cons) are wonderful places to meet other writers, editors and publishers, plus it’s some of the most fun you can have with your clothes on. You don’t have to know a secret handshake; you just need to save a little money, figure out your transportation and roommate situation, and bone up on vitamins, because cons whir past like a cicada in heat, and then they’re gone. The best reason to attend a convention is to meet and get to know people, and maybe acquire a card or two from interesting editors and agents to query later. Twitter, LiveJournal and Facebook can help you keep in touch with the friends and connections you’ve made, as can Goodreads and a plethora of other social networks that keep springing up overnight. Just don’t stay so connected that you forget to muck out your horse’s stall and give her some oats from time to time.

Critiques

But I’m not a cowpoke; I’m delicate flower, you say. What if getting critiqued stomps and kills my fragile soul? Anyway, I’ve never really critiqued anyone else, and wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to find a good critique group.

There are many levels of critique, from light to intense, most of them useful for learning to become better at the craft of writing and developing a thicker skin. Online writing groups can be a non-threatening place to begin for wary writers. There, you can learn to take criticism and give your best constructive feedback to others, all without leaving the comfort of home. If you’re a delicate swamp orchid and fear some jerk will stomp your dreams, join some groups, but lurk around for a while to see if the vibes are amenable. Most groups work on a system of cooperation, support, and feedback. There’s a chance trolls may exist in the mix, but one can learn a lot from watching how others handle a troll. If a troll controls that group, however, it might be a good idea to pack up your soil and find greener pastures.

There is a metric shit ton of writer’s groups out there. If you’re willing to do some research, chances are you’ll find one that fits your needs. Here’re some great places to start online:  Critters Workshop, Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror, and Hatrack River Writer’s Workshop

(Other invaluable online resources worth your while are Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA), and the Romance Writers of America (RWA).

For something more intense and one-on-one, there are many writing workshops that can help hone and refine your talents (Clarion, Viable Paradise, and Odyssey to name but three). Critique is about getting better, but it’s true that it’s not always easy to take. The best advice I’ve heard is to thank your critiquer without trying to defend your choices. Give their advice a day or two to settle. (Yell disparagements about their mother in private later all you want.) From there, you’ll figure out whether it was useful feedback or just grist for the mill.

It’s never too early or too late to begin seeking out your three Cs. The friendships and sense of community built today can benefit your entire career and lifetime. There are few things in life better than knowing there’s a well-armed, smooth-talking posse at your back, especially when Bad Bart rolls into town. Writing might be a lonely profession, in that we alone are responsible for getting the words onto the paper—but it doesn’t have to be lonesome.

Your Turn

How have you gone about trying to find your fellow writers? Do you belong to an online crit group, or maybe an in-person writing group? Tell us in the comments!

I know I’m going to reject a story before I hit the end of the first page. The more slush I read, the more I find that I know by the end of the first sentence. I will often continue reading in order to give personal feedback, but in a lot of cases, that is the only reason I’ve kept reading.

I can’t count the number of times that I’ve heard people say things like, “You only have two paragraphs to impress the editor.”

Or, “The beginning of your story needs to be the best part because that’s the hook.”

Well… not really.

I’m also going to go out on a limb here, and say that I don’t think there’s anything particularly special about The First Line. The reason that editors can confidently say that they usually know whether or not a story is going to be a “No” after the first sentence or paragraph is that in a good story, the first sentence gives an accurate representation of the high quality of the writing in the rest of the story.

The first line of your story does not have to sell the entire story. Sure, sure. The most perfect first line of a story would be the sort of sentence that leaps out of the page and smacks me in the face; that tells me exactly how everything is going to end, but in such a way that I don’t realize it until I’ve finished the story; that also bakes cookies and brings them to me while I’m reading.

Except that all the first sentence must do is convince me that the second sentence is going to be worth my time. The job of the second sentence is to convince me to read the third, and so on. You have the entire story to impress me with, and it’s your job as the writer to convince me to read until the end of it.

How does a first line signal to the editor that the story is a rejection waiting to happen?

Boring – nothing is happening

Sometimes this feels like the author is trying to tell the reader that there is a story happening now. This could either be a tacked on Beginning that needs to be cut or an indicator that you’ve started writing at the wrong place in the story. This would be the first line in which the protagonist walks home. Or opens a door. Or does nothing. Or in which the author basically seems to be stalling for time.

Overwritten

I can tell when you’re trying too hard, honest. Relax. Take some of those adverbs out.

The Return of the Overwritten

The first paragraph of the story promises exciting adventure!!! But then we go back in time ten years to the beginning of the story and are slowly introduced to the main character… yawn.

Extraneous Words

Example: “Joe entered the room, through the door, and…”

Most extraneous words and phrases are not quite that bad, but they do pop up in first lines. They’re a more subtle indicator that I want to reject the story, but they do serve that purpose. If the first line has sloppy phrasing, the rest of the story does too.

Telling me stuff I already know

This is the story opening that is supposed to be a deep insight about human nature, but falls flat. Or it’s something that would fit better in a Wikipedia entry.

So how do you write an amazing first line?

Here’s my advice. Don’t waste too much of your time on the first sentence of your story. You can use the rough guidelines I’ve mentioned above, but those are just a few ways that first lines can go wrong.

The best way to learn how to write great story openings is to read and write stories. That’s such typical advice!

Your Turn

How about you? When you read the beginning of a short story in a magazine, what convinces you to keep reading? Tell us in the comments!