The folks at Casual Debris have reviewed Shimmer #15. 
What a nice little publication. I’ve been meaning to get a subscription to this respected quarterly, and as soon as I subscribed online I received an e-promise from publisher Beth Wodzinski that she’ll drop it in the mail shortly. A week later I had my copy. Service like that alone deserves a subscription.
I’ve started researching my next story.
Research! On the one hand, wonderful discoveries await you, to help layer realism into your story and its world. On the other, so does a potential time sink. It’s much easier to read the fascinating history of people and places than it is to write, but write we must. How do you know what to research? Where to begin? It can be a tangled web. I had the basics of my story (characters, one arc, minor plights) but didn’t know specifics (location, date, major plights/obstacles), so it was time to delve a little deeper.
Research always starts innocently enough. When I couldn’t decide on a location (and rolling a die to pick a time zone didn’t help me narrow as much I’d hoped), Shimmer publisher Beth randomly said “New Orleans!” My brain perked up at that. Mardi Gras would be a perfect tie in for this story with its pageantry and deceit. I narrowed the timeframe by stealing the era Beth is using in an upcoming project: the 1930s. Randomly, I picked 1936, but based on other things I’ve done already in this fictional universe, it ties in perfectly: poverty, wanderlust, people looking for better lives but not always daring to hope for them.
Finding a map of New Orleans around that time proved a challenge. What I found along the way were pictures of the farmers’ markets, and these markets were often filled with nuns and pineapples. (The nuns weren’t for sale (I don’t think)).
In my image search, scans of census reports came up. I realized they would be another fantastic source of period information (and would also contain lots of gorgeous penmanship). Census reports contain names, ages, races, house value, education level, where the person’s parents came from (often immigrants), professions, and much more. Census reports are an ideal snapshot of a time frame, a wonderful springboard.
When I mentioned to Beth that the moon would be in its new phase during this Mardi Gras, she wondered if I’ve developed a sense of what to research over the years. What comes up that makes me say say “oh, better check the moon”? It’s dominoes.
Since I was working with Mardi Gras, I wanted to know how the week stretched out, and when exactly Fat Tuesday/Ash Wednesday fell. This led me to a calendar of February 1936, a calendar which also showed moon phases, and I thought “hey, new moon, dark nights, fantastic.” It plays right in. Wondering how the city was lain out–where to put one of my main characters so they don’t draw undue attention–led me to wondering where my train can go, which meant I needed to know railways, which meant I also wanted to know what else was around the city for other atmosphere (cotton warehouses, distilleries!).
I wish I could say I have a constant Spidey-sense when it comes to knowing what to research. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you have to leap in and see where it takes you. This story was not going to involve nuns or pineapples, but now probably will. When you research, one thing often leads to another. You are shown a path you didn’t expect.
But like all tools, it shouldn’t be abused. It’s easy to spend hours and hours reading documents, admiring photos, getting lost on those paths. Part of being a writer is knowing when you’ve amassed enough information and are ready to write. Don’t let the research consume the story. As you leap into your research, sometimes you also have to leap into the story and see where it takes you.
Even if that means nuns, census reports, lots and lots of pineapples.
The Library of Congress is filled with amazing things. It’s like a curio shop sometimes, but doesn’t have everything–you may yet need to visit a library and employ that wonderful tool called a librarian.
Census Reports give you a snapshot of a specific time and place, its people and how they lived.
Sometimes I just wander to the Solar System Scope because it exists. If you are writing science fiction based in our solar system, this is the ultimate tour and exploration tool.
Generate a Random Wikipedia Page can be a fantastic place to start if you don’t already have a start point. Whatever comes up, turn it into a story, or keep clicking until you find something that will shore up what you’re already working on.
If you’re writing in a historical time period, Online Etymology Dictionary will help you learn when phrases and words came into use. It can also illuminate things you never knew, like “baleen” which I looked up for another story (early 14c., “whalebone,” from O.Fr. balaine (12c.) “whale, whalebone,” from L. ballaena, from Gk. phallaina “whale” (apparently related to phallos “swollen penis,” probably because of a whale’s shape).
Research!
Shimmer has put a lot of energy into our digital versions lately: we’re available in Weightless and Amazon, and are currently working on getting issues up at Smashwords and other markets.
Recently, though, someone told us they had no idea we put out a print version. I guess in these increasingly digital times, it’s easy to overlook our print version.
Convenient as electronic versions are, though, there’s nothing quite like getting one of our print versions in the mail. Picture it: instead of the usual clutter of junk mail and bills, you get a sleek envelope from me. You rip it open and pull out a copy or two of Shimmer. You run your fingers over the glossy cover, admiring the exquisite art. You flip through the 100 or so perfect-bound pages. You slip your copy into your purse or backpack to read in a quiet moment during the day — it’s just the right size to carry around.
And you know that anyone who sees you reading it will be drawn to your obvious taste and intelligence.
Our print edition is great, and I want everyone to know about it.
All print editions are on sale! The coupon code “printlives” gets you 15% off any print versions until next Saturday, October 20th. Browse our Back Issues page, and see what delights call to you.
15% off on a sleek and sexy print version!
You know you want to.
Pam Wallace wrangles the Shimmer slushers into a stack this week to see what they really, really want in stories!
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Shimmer currently has eleven volunteers reading slush. Slush readers have two choices: they can either reject the story, or they can forward it on to the board for further consideration. 
How does a writer get their story forwarded to the board? Each slusher is unique, with their own tastes and perspectives, and let me warn you from the start–there’s no way to predict which slusher will be assigned which story. When you send a submission to Shimmer, it’s kind of like entering your story in a game of “Spin the Bottle.” You never know who’s going to get that first kiss, and whether they’ll ask for a second.
For those of you who practice the fine arts of Rejectomancy and Prognostojection (trying to predict why a story was rejected or whether a story will be rejected), we offer you some of our slushers’ personal faves, what we look for in a story, what grabs us and compels us to keep reading. If you look close enough, it’s highly likely you’ll find certain commonalities among the different slusher opinions.
As always, we never say never. Just as soon as we say we like this and don’t like that, a story will come through that rocks our world and yet doesn’t have one item from either “list.” So write that story that you love. Make us believe in it. We read slush because we love stories, and we really do want to love yours, I promise.
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I want a story that grabs me with that first line, nags me to keep going, and surprises me with which ending was chosen from the directions implied by the narrative. I love plucky narrators (I know, I still say “plucky.” Shush.) I love stories where the weirdness is at the heart of the story, but the tale is about the people dealing with that weirdness. I struggle with second person narratives, especially when the presumed “you” and I have nothing in common. I dislike “preachy” works, especially if the proselytizer is trying to justify their particular “-ism” by using junk science and research while ignoring contrary information (especially when that information is in the majority.)
So go ahead. Grab my attention. Wow me. I’m waiting for that genius work.
I think I’m pretty predictable when it comes to my likes and dislikes in terms of slush stories. What I always look for first is voice, because I think Shimmer definitely has a kind of voice that it looks for in all its stories, so when an author sends something that has that shimmery voice I always feel like they’ve done their research and are going to give me a story I’ll like. I also appreciate stories that aren’t set in White America, and stories with minority/LGBTQ characters. I like a rich and varied selection of human characters. Stories that are compassionate toward their characters are always appreciated, as well – I like seeing all kinds of shades of grey and reasons for characters to act the way they do. What usually cinches the deal for me (or, you know, has the opposite effect) is the quality of the ending. I like good endings! I know they’re hard to do, but nothing is more disappointing than a good story with a bad ending. I’m also, unfortunately, not opposed to camp. It’s a flaw in my character. I’m working on it.
What I look for first in a story is the voice–that indescribable, undefinable “Something” that makes a story come alive. I want to be propelled into the story. I want to feel like I’m inside the POV character’s brain and watching events unfold through their eyes and the rest of their senses. I love humor, especially sarcastic humor, so stories with a wry twist that tickle my funnybone make my list. I tend to prefer lyrical writing, but that’s not to say I won’t like a plain-spoken tale. I like the story to be unique in some way. I take more notice of out-of-the-ordinary settings and situations, but again, this doesn’t mean I won’t like an oft-used setting if the story is well done with a unique twist. I prefer to be surprised by the ending. And that ending has to resonate and touch me with an emotional layer. If you make me cry, I’m yours.
In a nutshell, I want stories that don’t bore me. When I read slush, I’m looking for:
Stories with better-than-competent prose. These are stories where I can tell from the first few paragraphs that unless something goes seriously wrong in the middle, I’ll read all the way to the end. (I hope nobody is surprised that most slush stories are not read all the way from the first to last sentence!)
Stories that don’t have obvious endings. Most stories need more than two possible endings. Usually if there are only two possible answers, I get bored because either it’s too clear which option the author will go for, or the protagonist waffles so much that I stop caring what they choose. Note: this does not mean that I’m looking for “twist” endings. Those tend to be the most predictable because everyone goes for the same twists.
Finally, I love beautifully weird fiction that exists on its own terms, rather than being “yet another X story.” A recent example is Karin Tidbeck’s “Jagannath” from Weird Tales #358, which is very, very strange. This isn’t to say I can’t still be wowed by a really interesting take on a popular Grimm fairy tale or your favorite fantasy creature, but the bar is pretty high. What I want is for a story to surprise me with something I didn’t even know I was looking for.
For me, Shimmer means dark, weird, and lovely. I can be seduced by strong voice, non-linear plots, and savvy humor. I’m less enthused by stories with only one possible outcome or that contain unexamined Western cultural defaults. Once a writing instructor told me, “leave room for the reader,” and I find that’s really important to me. It’s hard to define, but I want to feel almost like the story needs me to put together some concepts (such as who loves who but can’t say so out loud, or why this character is doing something self-destructive) instead of handing me the answers. The more I engage with the story, the more I forget to guard my heart.
It may be due to the fact that I’m in an MFA program, but my first thought is always, “What would I want to say about this in workshop?” If I can find something to say that doesn’t involve expletives, and I could actually use it in a critique, you’ve gotten past my first filter. I’m a grammar nazi, and can’t overlook multiple misspellings/grammar atrocities–unless the voice is spectacular. I love stories that screw with my mind; I’m a post-apocalyptic nut, and I love anything to do with viruses and zombies. If you can create a world for me where you wouldn’t mind sitting next to me at the movie, I’ll love you forever. I’m notorious for picking apart scenes that don’t make sense; world-building is supremely important to me. If I can’t poke your world full of holes, if I want to pack my suitcase and move there even after I’ve seen someone’s head get ripped off–you’re my new favorite person.
Maybe I’m too picky, but a good story should suck me in, and have to drag me out by my toes.
I look for stories that make me smile, make me sad, make me feel excited, or completely sick with writerly envy; the ones that make me feel something. I’m immediately drawn to lyrical language and gorgeous prose, and can be a bit blind-sided as if it’s shiny in that I don’t initially care that the plot may be hobbling along, or comprised of assorted ragged bits and bobs that don’t quite match up; and I often have to fight the tendency to fall in love with stuff just because it’s pretty (shallow, yes, but I have learned along the way). So, to woo me now? Add some strong characters, grab me; take me along on their journey with them (which could be surreal and haphazard, a little ambiguity is fine by me, even with endings); let me feel their emotions; show me something new; twist old narratives into something unique; let me glimpse the weird worlds that lurk behind the workaday; the humanity in the monstrous, the monstrous in the beautiful, and that’s it: I’m yours.
Aside from the basics, such as cleanliness of the technical elements, good pacing, and a unique premise, here’s what I want:
I want a story that cuts like a table saw. I want gleaming, sharp prose with teeth. Savage beauty, if I can find it. Lilting, lyrical language thrills me. Visceral detail and vivid characters hook me and make me want to fall in love. None of this is to say I won’t enjoy a more plainly written story, but it probably won’t excite me in the same way. It’ll take me longer to warm up to it and that’s iffy, given that I have a short attention span.
I really enjoy stories that surprise me, and I love when a writer knows how and when to provide levity to help keep tension from dragging a story to the ground. I love weirdness and wit, monsters and well-written magic. I love surrealism and characters who breathe. I want clever metaphors with a sharp mouth feel. I look for genuine emotion and useful description; I want a punch in the gut and a knife in the heart—emotionally, figuratively, or even literally sometimes. Who doesn’t enjoy a little bit of blood?
Wow, all of my wants sound so violent. I guess I take the whole “grabs you by the throat and won’t let you go” thing to heart, eh?
Whenever I approach a story, it’s a bit analytically. I’m constantly running through questions:
– Does something about the opening–the character, the voice, the situation, etc.–at least engage me enough to keep going?
– Is the premise unique? If not, is it different enough from past takes on the concept to be worth considering further?
– Is there any character I care about or am intrigued by?
– Do the technical elements of the writing keep pulling me out of the story (i.e. clunky spelling/grammar/structure,
– Does any faulty plot logic snag me?
– As the story progresses, do I understand enough of what’s going on? Even if I’m confused about some things, am I still engaged by the style, voice, or otherwise?
– Does the ending satisfy/make sense/have a great twist?
And so on. As long as the story is able to answer these and other questions, it stands a good chance.
Shimmer #15 gets some love from the folks at Fantasy Literature:
Shimmer has recently announced that it is paying professional rates for its stories, which is big news for this little magazine. It publishes contemporary fantasy, with an occasional foray into science fiction or horror, “and the stories tend to be tinged with sorrow,” as its home page says. On the basis of Issue 15, I’d call that a fair description — especially the sorrow part.
. . . a tie.
Our congratulations to K. M. Ferebee, for “The Bird Country,” and Milo James Fowler, for “Soulless In His Sight.”
Both authors have graciously allowed us to post their stories online, so click the links above and get reading!
Reader’s Choice Artist is Sandro Castelli; that’s his amazing cover to the left.
Thanks to everyone who participated in our survey — and to the talented writers and artists who make Shimmer thrive.
That you may have more fodder for your rejectomancy, here’s a behind-the-scenes view of how the submission and decision-making process works at Shimmer.
Submissions arrive in our submissions email: shimmersubs@gmail.com. Currently, the volume is about 25 to 35 stories a day. At that rate, we’ll handle over 10,000 stories in a year. I do think that volume will continue; it’s about double what we were getting before we raised our pay rate (and has stabilized from more than 50 a day right after the announcement).
At most, we’ll publish around 30 stories a year, which means we need to be very good at rejections; otherwise, we would drown. (Want to improve your odds? Read an issue or two. Issue 10 is even free. Read our guidelines. Also, be completely amazeballs.)
Every day, our Minister of Distribution, Sean Markey, distributes the day’s submissions evenly and randomly among the slush readers. (Sean gets that fancy title because he also helps out with distributing issues of the magazine: he’s the one who handles our conversion to other electronic formats, and gets them into Amazon and Weightless and other outlets.) We currently have 8 volunteers reading slush, and sometimes I’ll read some as well. You can see our current staff on our Shimmery People page.
Slush readers have two choices: they can either reject the story, which is what happens the vast majority of the time, or they can forward it on to the board for further consideration. It’s our goal to read each submission and make this first decision within three weeks. Often we’re able to reply much faster; currently, the oldest unread story in our submissions is dated August 21, which is a bit over 2 weeks. The biggest variability in response time for the first reading is the amount of time and energy the slush reader assigned to the story has.
We also do our best to write useful and friendly rejections; over and over again, we get feedback that writers appreciate them. We could probably reject stories a lot faster without this, but we have chosen to retain the personal touch. We don’t enjoy form letters any more than you.
Once a story reaches the board, Senior Editor Elise Tobler or I (sometimes both) give the story an initial read and give the story a “no” or a “maybe.” This usually happens within a week, but can take longer depending on personal circumstances. The “no” stories are rejected promptly, and the “maybe” stories rest.
Every year or so, there’s a story that we’re positive we’re going to accept from the first moment we read it. “Bullet Oracle Instinct,” by K. M. Ferebee. “Seek Him i’th’Other Place Yourself” by Josh Storey. There are a few others, but not many. Even those stories rest; we don’t accept them immediately. Why? Because sometimes a story that seems really shiny on the first reading doesn’t hold up on a second reading. We give ourselves the gift of distance and perspective on a story before making a final decision. It’s exactly the same dynamic as advising authors to take some time away from the story between drafts.
We let another week, or two, or more pass before the second reading. The decisions can get really tough at this stage. Are the story’s flaws fatal for us, or can they be fixed with edits? Should we ask for a rewrite (always fraught)? Am I reading this story fairly, or is my bias against, say, unicorns clouding my vision? What does the author intend in this section–do we agree with that intent, and can we bring it out more clearly? Do we still love the story after some time away, or was it forgettable? Even if it’s completely awesome, is it Shimmery? Occasionally, we’ll consult outside readers for their opinion on a technical matter or a style issue. Staff members comment on the stories, and Elise and I discuss them offline, sometimes at great length. Each story’s such a unique and personal thing, and we each have our own unique and personal takes on it
The decisions are very rarely clear or easy. They take time. Yeah, there’s some procrastination and avoidance at this stage — but it also just takes time. Elise tells me the longest wait within recent memory was about three months (which I think is shamefully long); our fastest was turned around within a week. (It is at this stage that sim sub withdrawal notices are problematic, especially since we do not accept sim subs.) We put a lot of careful thought into stories at this stage; we’re not just eating cake and watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race while your story languishes forgotten. I promise.
Will the decisions get easier now that we’re paying pro rates? It’s too early to say. Maybe there will be more obvious Yes stories; or maybe the decisions will get even harder when there are even more good stories to choose from, and the stakes are higher.
It’s easy for me to look at other editors and assume they all have the gift of instant clarity and make decisions faster than a speeding bullet, without any doubts or missteps. It’s easy to hear the chorus of voices that say UR DOIN IT RONG. It’s the same trap I fall into as a writer, when I begin to believe that all other writers are constantly inspired and motivated and disciplined, and I’m the only one playing Plants vs Zombies instead of writing. It’s the trap of comparing my insides to everyone else’s outsides.
Publishing constantly teaches me to trust myself. This is my process. This is how I fall in love with Shimmer stories: slowly and carefully and deliberately. And that’s just fine.
Within 1 to 3 weeks, you should get a rejection or a hold notice. If it gets to be four weeks, by all means query; it is most likely that either your submission or our response went astray.
If you get a hold notice, you may get a rejection within 1 to 2 weeks. If it’s longer than that, your story is under very serious consideration, and you should hear one way or another within a few more weeks.
Questions?
Jennifer Rickard at Shiny Shorts takes a look at Shimmer#14, and finds some stories to treasure!
“Shimmer is a very rewarding magazine to read because it always contains a real mixture of different genres, worlds and characters within it, and issue #14 is no different, with a range of different stories and different talents within it.”
Thank you, Jennifer!
And a quick reminder: take our reader survey on Shimmer #15 to be entered in a drawing for a free back issue of Shimmer! The survey ends tomorrow!
It’s possible that Shimmer is a new market to you. It’s equally possible Shimmer is a beloved market to you. Either way, welcome! This entry is intended to help you rock your submissions to us, by giving you the insider information you crave!
Shimmer is unlike any other publication out there. When you read widely enough, that’s probably true of any publication–a story that may be well suited for one magazine is likely not as well suited for another. Beth recently told me that Shimmer is like the song “Hallelujah.” Cold and broken, but there’s still that glimmer of hope somewhere. If you haven’t grabbed an issue of Shimmer, I encourage you to do so (and issue ten is still available online to read for free). You can also check out our other online content, to get a taste of what else we have published.
Strange, right? But just as you wouldn’t shove a manuscript into an editor’s hand at a convention, we don’t like to be faced with only a stack of stories to read. We want to know who you are, what you’re about. Have you published? Let us know. It’s equally okay if you haven’t–we all started there, it’s not a barrier to getting where you want to go. But say hello. Tell us the word count of your story. (Including your word count is especially useful as we put an issue together–if I need a 1000 word story to fill specific space, you want me to know your story is 1000 words.) There are plenty of cover letter primers on the Internet, but I’m going to point you toward Grá’s, which is clear and concise.
Shimmer does not accept multiple submissions or simultaneous submissions. We like to see one story from you at a time, so we can properly consider it. We want to be the only publication reading it at that time, so we don’t discover it has sold elsewhere when we’re ready to buy it. I didn’t think I would experience that, but I did and it was crappy to lose a story that way when our guidelines ask authors not to do it. It makes us wary of future submissions from you.
There are no new ideas, so the saying goes. I don’t believe that, but I do believe there are some ideas that are continually recycled. Unicorns, mermaids, muses, devils, and werewolf detectives. We see a lot of these. I’m not going to discourage you from writing such stories–I would never tell someone not to write something–but I am going to encourage you to be original and inventive when you do. If you can approach an old idea in a new way, we will love you.
Shimmer publishes speculative fiction. That doesn’t give you a license to be racist, misogynistic, or homophobic in your writing. Catherynne M. Valente wrote an excellent piece on this for us and I’m going to link it here, because anything I say will pale in comparison to the truths she lays out.
“Picking apart one’s own assumptions and personal narratives is uncomfortable, unpleasant, difficult duty–but that’s no excuse. Just like learning where the commas go (and where they don’t), this is simply part of the work of being a writer. It is not optional. It is not an elective.”
In this business, submitting stories is about making a good impression of yourself, it’s about establishing relationships, and making the editor’s job as easy as it can be. Help us say yes to your stories.
Related: check our full guidelines for fiction, for word counts, formatting tips, query procedures, and payment info! We are so excited you’re here!
I am absolutely delighted to announce that starting today, Shimmer will pay $.05/word for fiction.
When we started Shimmer back in 2005, we paid five dollars per story. We said right from the beginning that someday, we’d pay pro rates. And now, thanks to the generosity of Art Director Emeritus Mary Robinette Kowal, we’re there.
Why? Ann Vandermeer took Weird Tales in a wonderful direction — and it always seemed to me to be a direction very much in alignment with Shimmer. The new publisher, however, is taking things in a very different direction. Even without publishing the overtly racist chapter of Victoria Foyt’s novel Save the Pearls, it’s pretty clear that Weird Tales is no longer interested in publishing the kind of beautiful, dark, and original fiction that I adore — and the vocal outrage from the entire speculative fiction community shows that we are not alone in loving these stories.
So Shimmer and Mary Robinette Kowal are taking a stand.
We’re saying: We love these stories.
We believe in these stories.
We believe in excellence.
Won’t you join us? Read our guidelines here, or subscribe.
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