It’s not the fact that we are having a conflict that’s the heart of a story; it is, in fact, a central result of what MAKES a story.

What makes a story is depicting a problem and showing it being solved.

All writing is ultimately a question of solving a problem. It may be a problem of where to obtain facts or how to organize the material. It may be a problem of approach or attitude, tone or style. Whatever it is, it has to be confronted and solved.

— William Zinsser

Conflict in a story receives so much attention that one might assume that “if we just pile on the conflict, we’ll have a GREAT story!” And hey—! “If a little does well, then a lot does better!!”

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!

Satisfying stories have an anatomy to them — a structural arc — and that structure comes from showing a problem being solved.

Interestingly, Zinsser isn’t talking purely about fiction writing. He’s talking about what writers do with ALL writing. While blanket statements are usually dangerous (notice my hedge there? 😉), I’ve never not experienced any writing project not to be the simple, beautiful matter of solving a problem by asking and answering a question.

But it has to be a fruitful, meaningful question! Don’t go easy on yourself—dig deep. Readers find existential, “yes or no” questions boring and pedantic:

The best questions are the ones that have answers that are life-changing — at least, for our characters!

The Craft of Research dedicates a whole chapter on how to formulate research statements that will yield fruitful and interesting answers. They break it down like this:

Knowing how to ask shrewd questions allows us to hone in on what the problem specifically is — which makes our plot — and what we want our heroes to solve.

Satisfying stories open with some kind of condition that is not good enough and must be bettered or resolved in some way. Our story moves forward by the hero identifying the (perceived) problem and making attempts to solve it.

Now we have an arc going!

We know in writing that answering our question gives rise to new, little problems to solve in the journey. In real life and fiction, nothing is straightforward — complications arise, and our story stakes get higher as both the writer and the hero get closer to vanquishing the trouble.

Meaningful, exciting conflict doesn’t simply fall into a story. Great conflict and ever-higher stakes — knowing what we’re trying to solve both in plot and for our characters — comes with asking truly astute research questions about them and their world and approaching those problems head-on.

Happy writing!

But if all we have is constant action, it’s going to be difficult to understand what’s going on.

We get to that action with the fine art of . . . the interlude.

If action is the WHAT of our story, interludes are the WHY of our story — WHY the events are happening and WHY we should care.

Probably the most abused element of story telling is the interlude. Because it’s not action, too many writers mistake it for an opportunity to indulge in a bit of rose sniffing in whatever world they’ve set up. However, lulls in action are NOT the time to frolic around with our characters or show off with data dumps! (That’s never appropriate, as a matter of fact, and a great way to lose readers, too.)

So what is it exactly interludes do do?

Interludes advance our plots at least as much as our action scenes.

Prove it, you might say.

Call up a little fable about the two lumberjacks (no: no lumbersnacks today):

Two lumberjacks were working in a forrest. One man stopped to rest frequently while his companion worked without ceasing. At last, ready to collapse, the hardworking man sat down as his well-rested friend resumed his work. The tired man questioned how his friend had cut more logs when he stopped so often: his friend replied, ‘because every time I stopped, I was sharpening my axe.’

Just as a woodsman cannot produce lumber without rests and resets between his actions, the action of a story cannot be executed without frequent reassessments and sharpening of focus.

Interludes, by nature, are more information-heavy with likely far less movement to describe. They may be one-man scenes and heavily observational. If the story is first person, we may be simply in the character’s head. That’s all fine: your story must do what it uniquely needs to move along.

But while interludes are breaks from action . . . they must not be mistaken for breaks in TENSION.

Do not be deceived: just because a lumberjack is sitting does not mean he is not working.

Ever heard the phrase “don’t waste the waiting”? So often in life we’re focusing on attaining certain goals that we miss out on participating fully in the days at hand, only to realize after that those supposed “quiet” times were some of the most life-changing.

Interludes aren’t waiting, either. They build the plot, sharpen the focus, and make us care. They are brilliant opportunities for reveals, red herrings, and complications of ALL sorts. They are the clanking chains of the roller coaster mercilessly dragging us into the clouds before we are slammed face-first back into the action. They are the gasp before the scream, the winding of the spring, the ticking of the bomb.

Interludes are the unsung heroes of storytelling, earning the action we hold so dear. It’s a gift we give our readers called anticip

. . . pation.

If your readers’ knuckles aren’t white the whole way through–during either a talking scene OR an action scene—take a step back and make another drafting pass. Make every line count and every scene contribute. Cut the crap. Double down on the tension.

Tell your story.

. . . And fell your oak, while you’re at it.

Happy writing!

Stripping your story down the bare actions — not describing the setting or the characters — is a great way to determine whether that story will be worth its salt. Don’t worry: once you’re done drafting and actually writing, your characters’ personalities will come through in how they execute their actions, and the descriptions of those actions will naturally betray the setting and world of your story. It all unfolds naturally if we trust the drafting process.

So let’s look at an example how to break down a story to the bare action:

First, Calvin begins in the midst of action, pulling us in, hitting the ground running with only exciting elements: the exciting object is a sports car and the exciting action is that it’s driving at 200 miles per hour. His opening promises nothing less than high-stakes action.

Next, he introduces . . . a COMPLICATION!

It’s not exciting enough to simply focus on a sports car driven fast. Never rest on your laurels! Keep raising the stakes higher at each available chance, otherwise readers will drift.

The cement truck (a) is very different from the sports car, so there is an element of the unexpected, and (b) guarantees that we have tangible risks to avert (we want readers thinking, “LOOK OUT!” as he says).

It’s good for readers to have a clear sense of the immediate problem of the story, even if it’s not the main problem of the story. It can, in fact, be a brilliant segue into an even bigger problem.

Calvin does exactly that: he ramps up the pressure again, this time with something scarier and explodier!

He had to introduce something that we all know now guarantees nothing less than a huge explosion, in case we weren’t sure enough yet. It’s always good to end big. (Though all three elements are exciting, the cement truck as the third element would have been a confusing letdown.)

Notice that he also has all three elements pointed at each other, promising their alignment for an epic climax. It’s not just helpful for readers to understand how the ending will all come together — it’s satisfying.

Finally, we don’t have to see what happens next with Calvin’s cars. He knows “this ought to be good” because he has set up a clear situation he is guaranteed to pull off.

When we have our elements clearly set out and each follows their natural course (in the most exciting manner possible, of course), then we will nail the landing.

… Probably with a few extra explosions as you redraft.

Happy writing!

Guest editor assigns your homework for the Pet Monsters anthology.

Pet Monsters plays on the classic “Mom, can I keep it?” question. Some strange creature – an under-the-bed monster, critters hiding in the garage, or secret basement friends – end up discovered by our wide-eyed protagonist, but that new pet may not be housebroken.

Themes:

• Unbreakable bonds and unconventional friendships between humans and the unknown. Stories about overcoming differences, standing up for yourself, and finding purpose. Lessons learned for both protagonists and their new friends!

Comparisons:

• Iron Giant, E.T., Short Circuit, Big Hero 6.

  Heartwarming stories that drill into basic human emotions to highlight true friendship in the face of adversity and misunderstandings. Aliens, robots, or monsters are all on the table.

Expectations:

• Heartwarming coming-of-age tales with emotional goodbyes and “I’ll always remember you!” moments will get the nod. Stories should have “hide-the-monster” tension. Parents sniffing around the basement while the young protagonist tries hard to distract them from the beast behind the boiler, or the police knocking on the door wondering if anyone in the neighborhood has “seen anything strange.” All while your best-friend monster-buddy is in the kitchen eating the dishsoap and filling the house with fart bubbles.

Pet Monsters
Edited by David Badurina

Open Call date: 04/03/2026
Submissions Close: 05/15/2026
Contracts: 05/29/2026
Publication Date: 07/03/26

Pet Monsters plays on the classic “Mom, can I keep it?” question. Some strange creature – an under-the-bed monster, critters hiding in the garage, or secret basement friends – end up discovered by our wide-eyed protagonist, but that new pet may not be housebroken.

Armed Forces Imagination Radio presents, “Two Minutes to Midnight,” with your always on-call CAS host, Air Force colonel (retired), Chris “MOGS” DiNote, cleared hot!

Alright, warriors of the weird and writers of wartime wonders, welcome to the show!

It’s time for your homework assignment as we gear up for Wyrd Warfare “III” at Rac Press. The title is TBD, and this one is going to be the end (for now).

The battle is joined, but here’s the pre-brief with some updated Rules of Engagement (ROE).

The core guidelines remain the same, but I’m emphasizing a couple of key points as your editor to make this anthology sing... or scream, depending on the wyrdness.

First off: word count. Our official standards call for 5-8K words—solid, punchy stories that fit a 463L pallet.

We call them standards for a reason.

That’s the sweet spot for maximum impact without dragging on. With that said, I’ll read submissions from 4-10K if they look promising.

However, hear me loud and clear: I won’t even crack open anything under 4K or over 10K (and let’s be real, most 10K manuscripts are probably 7-9K tales begging for a shave). Keep it tight, folks—edit ruthlessly before you send.

Second: variety in conflicts. Not a hard rule, but a strong nudge - a foot stomp from yours truly. Our first two volumes were blessed with several outstanding WWII stories, but in all honestly, I’m over the supernatural/super-science Nazi trope. It’s been done to death (pun intended).

THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT I WON’T ACCEPT WWII stories, I’m just telling you, plain as day, the bar is high. How copy?

Personally, I would love to read about underrepresented historical dust-ups for fresh wyrd fodder, in addition to science fiction, fantasy, and the Big Fights. Think the Russo-Japanese War, the Boer Wars, the War of the Roses, the War of Jenkin’s Ear, anything in Korea, the Anglo-Irish War, Cuba, Latin America, Angola, Congo. Go to town.

Because all you fellow GWOT vets showed up strong for volumes 1 and 2, you are cleared hot. Send it!

However, the possibilities are endless—surprise me with something that hasn’t been rehashed a thousand times.

Remember the basics: Times New Roman (or equivalent readable font), 12pt, double-spaced, your name/title/email in the doc. File name: [STORYTITLE]-[YOURLASTNAME]—[WYRDWARFAREIII]. .docx attachment only, no links. Send to racpresssubmissions@gmail.com.

Deadline approaching—time’s caught up with you. Get writing, and let’s make this volume legendary.— Editor

Wyrd Warfare 3
Edited by Chris DiNote

Open Call date: 04/17/2026
Submissions Close: 05/29/2026
Contracts: 06/12/2026
Publication Date: 07/17/26

More Combat! More arcane action! More war and wizardry! Still wyrd! Join warfighters from across all time and space for one more journey into the strange and unknown. Psychic soldiers and angelic apparitions. Will an alien invasion unite East and West? Nations beg for the aid of supernatural allies, but at what price? Rebels and mercenaries aren’t the only threats in post-colonial Africa. Lost submarines “still on patrol.” Nice fleet you have there, be a shame if some old sea god got mad about it…

Find all our open calls for short fiction here!

Guest editor Wally Waltner assigns your homework.

Welcome to your homework for The Muse Within Us.

As storytellers, we are all invested in the belief that the act of creation is meaningful, even if only to ourselves. It cuts across mediums, formats and genres. If you’ve followed my writing at all, you know I’m drawn to stories that treat inspiration as consequential. In my novels I explore what happens when creativity is touched by forces larger than the self, and how responsibility follows creation whether it’s welcomed or not.

To be clear: while this concept is inspired by my novel universe, it is not about my universe, and I am not opening it up currently. (I may open it up in the future, just not for this project.)

That said, the question that is the seed of Muses’ War is the same one that drives this anthology:

What happens when the act of creation itself becomes unearthly?

Not metaphorically or symbolically. Literally.

This anthology is about stories where a painting, sculpture, song, manuscript, poem—or the raw, unformed urge to create—is touched, altered, or claimed by something beyond the human. Stories where inspiration does not arise in isolation, but comes from somewhere: a spirit, a place, a memory, a curse, a voice, a landscape, a presence. Stories where the muse is not decorative, but active, and where answering that call has consequences.

That idea cuts across genres, eras, and tones, hopefully this homework list will help you appreciate how I think about creativity, influence, and the uncanny, and give you permission to take a shot at creative interpretations of the theme.

If you’re considering submitting, I encourage you to read at least one of these.

1. Yarrow: An Autumn Tale by Charles de Lint

This came out when I was in high school, and I remember finding it in Waldenbooks (yes, I just dated myself) and being intrigued by it. Yarrow treats creativity as something rooted in place, as something that arises from listening, from paying attention, from allowing the land and its stories to speak back. Inspiration here isn’t seized or conquered. It’s entered into, carefully and respectfully. The supernatural elements don’t replace the human ones, they deepen them.

I could list other De Lint works, but this is the one that best captures the idea that creativity is a relationship. You don’t just take from the muse. You live with it.

2. The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers

I couldn’t resist using a collection of short stories as homework for an anthology. This also comes from my young adult days, an extension of my delve into the works of Edgar Allen Poe. Later, when I discovered Lovecraft via the Call of Cthulhu RPG it was clear to see how he drew from Chambers. The idea that creative work can outgrow you, betray you, or demand more than you intended to give is very much part of this project’s DNA. If we believe art is transformative, both for the creator and for the audience, then stories like this resonate, and that’s what I want to showcase in this anthology.

3. The Music of Erich Zann by H.P. Lovecraft

And speaking of Lovecraft...

Lovecraft wrote many stories that brush up against art and inspiration, but this one is the clearest expression of what I’m after. The implication of this story, that without the act of creation, something terrible will break through, is quietly devastating. It frames art not as indulgence, but as necessity. That tension between compulsion and protection is fertile ground for the kinds of stories I hope to see.

4. The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin

Le Guin is another natural model for a project like this, but I purposely chose something outside of Earthsea for it. First, Lathe is more science fiction than fantasy, and I think that’s appropriate for this anthology. I want the unifying bond of this project to be the idea, not the genre or setting.

5. Field of Dreams directed by Phil Alden Robinson

“If you build it, they will come.”

That’s supernatural creativity in a nutshell. Creativity that compels you to make something without fully understanding what you’re summoning, or who will answer.

It’s a story about faith in the act of making as much as it is about baseball. By including it here, I want you to take away that it’s okay for your story to be quiet, hopeful, strange, sentimental, or pulpy. What matters is that the act of creation does something.

6. Overture of Shadow by Wally Waltner

I hope this doesn’t come off as hubris; it’s truly not my intent. I’m certainly not claiming to be on the same tier as Lovecraft or Le Guin. With that in mind, I have spent a lot of time thinking about these themes; the role of art in society, how creativity shapes us as individuals and communities, and how art reflects culture. When done right, art in all its forms is a wonderfully diverse expression of the Good, the True and the Beautiful. All of us write things that we want to read. If you want to understand how I think about creativity, influence, and myth, reading what I’ve written is a reasonable place to start.

Across genres and decades, these stories agree on a few things:

· Creation is a threshold, not a hobby

· Inspiration comes from somewhere, and that somewhere has its own agenda

· The muse gives, but it also takes (and sometimes demands).

· Art can protect, summon, heal, fracture, or spread

· Making something is an act of faith, whether or not you’re rewarded

That’s the conversation The Muse Within Us wants to continue.

You don’t need to echo these tones. You don’t need to match these aesthetics. You don’t need to write horror, fantasy, or science fiction in any particular ratio. What you do need is a story where creation matters—where it changes the creator, the world, or both.

Show us the muse within.

And show us what it demands.

The Muse Within Us
Edited by Wally Waltner

Open Call date: 03/06/2026
Submissions Close: 04/17/2026
Contracts: 05/01/2026
Publication Date: 06/05/26

Stories where the act of creation itself becomes unearthly. Tales in which a painting, sculpture, song, manuscript, poem, or any creative impulse is touched—or possessed—by supernatural forces. Tell us about people whose inspiration springs from uncanny sources: muse spirits, cursed artifacts, spectral patrons, cosmic whispers, haunted landscapes, or otherworldly entities. Show us the muse within—and what it demands.

Find all our open calls for short fiction here!

OPEN CALLS

I am presuming that anyone reading this article can read a book. However, can you read a book cover? Book covers aren’t just for pretty, although they should be that, too. They are a whole coded language intended to convey the entire book in a single graphic that will intrigue, inform, and influence you into buying that book.

I am told fairly often by people that they proudly ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’ Which is, to begin with, patently untrue even if they have convinced themselves they aren’t going to do that. They cannot help it. The cover speaks so loudly, it is the first thing a reader sees of a book, although these days, at thumbnail size on a device like a phone does make it more of a challenge. Secondly, you should be judging a book by its cover. That is the point of a cover, and someone paid money1 so you could look at it and judge it. Please. Judge a book by the cover.

This could be rather lengthy, so I am not going to delve into all of the minutiae I have to think about while I am creating an effective cover design for a book. We here at Raconteur Press were asked recently a very specific question, and I’m going to address that, while breaking down some of the coding for our other readers as well. The question was: how do you know if there may be inappropriate content in a young adult book based just on the cover? The first, easy answer is: if there is a bare-chested male on the cover and you do not want your teen to read a steamy romance, avoid that book. After that, it gets a little trickier. If you are trying to avoid romances for children who aren’t yet ready to be reading about that phase of life, avoid covers that have a man and a woman, not necessarily embracing, although that is common, in very close proximity or touching. Read the blurb, if you’re not sure. If you are concerned about violence, look at the cover: is there a weapon in use? This book contains violence. If you want there to be violence, well, this is the hot ticket for you. Those are all the easy examples. The hard part is looking at the current cover trend in what is called ‘icon’ covers, which are a simple graphic almost like clip art and text overlaid on it.

As you’ll see in figure 1, the trend for young adult covers is relatively simple in terms of artwork. Aside from the classic book ranked at #1, a public domain reprint of Wuthering Heights with a somewhat unfortunate choice of fonts and colors making the title unreadable at a thumbnail size, the others are majority audiobook covers2 telling you that is the most popular format for this category. There are two authors clearly winning in this category, and one of those is a well-known series which has been made into major films. Having read the first book in the series when my own daughters were teens, I can tell you that’s a dystopia3, violent, and heavily angst-romance based. It is hugely popular with the young women, and I understand why, even though I wouldn’t have been a fan even at their age. The others are the four (that is a huge percentage in the top ten, which tells you how popular they are) from the Throne of Glass books, which is a dystopian young adult romance series. Due to their huge popularity, they created a trend in cover designs strong enough that you can now spot young adult romance based on the cover’s similarity to these books: a graphic element overlaid by the title centered on the book. So now you know. The book at number seven, not by the same author, will also be in that particular sub-genre. The book at number ten is an outlier in this data set: from the font placement, and color schema, I can presume that it is a thriller/horror book with a high level of drama. Checking the blurb, I see I am correct.

When I am designing book covers for the young readers of Raconteur Press books, I lean into the pulp aesthetic we adopted almost from the birth of the press. What that means on a younger book is that I want to show the action inside, with the art in some way. I try to convey the age of the protagonist for the reader to know this isn’t a ‘grown-up’ book. I use fonts to help show what genre the book is, be it fantasy, science fiction, or historical to help the readers know what to expect. It’s neat to see how much the shapes of letters can influence our expectations! I also use color to convey messages. Red is urgent, can stand for fear or tension. Blue is calm, cool, and collected. In an age where an awful lot of young adult books are black, with text and a graphic on that, real art showing real action stands out as being different, a throwback to an era where books were in some ways more innocent, and less focused on being dark fantasy romances. Parents, if you are concerned about what you are letting your children consume, pay attention to the signals before you spend the money or bring it home from the library.

For you grown-up readers, there are a lot of subliminal tells you use in selecting a book, even if you never think about it. You choose books based on what the cover tells you. You like a book to look a bit like another book that you really loved and remember fondly. You do pass judgment on a book because of the cover, and if you start to think about it, you may find that it helps you find stories you enjoy reading that much faster when you’re scrolling online or standing in a bookstore staring at the shelves. What is your favorite book cover of all time, or more recently?

In a chat with some RacPress staff, the copyright infringement lawsuit that Akilah Hughes (aka Akilah, Obviously) brought against Carl Benjamin (aka Sargon of Akkad) came up indirectly, and I was surprised that I was basically the only one who knew about it. (I should not have been surprised, I know that very few people are copyright nerds like I am).

Revisiting the case and its (frankly hilarious) outcome, I realized that it exemplified a deep misunderstanding of what copyright is (and is not) that, probably, many people share. Some of this misunderstanding is due to the relentless overreaching in areas of intellectual property (this post is not the time to go into it, but that term, “intellectual property”, is a big problem because it gives people all sorts of wrong ideas; another time) that the recording and film industries have engaged in for all of my lifetime, and likely longer.

So let’s go over the case, and see what it light it can shed on the limits of copyright.

In the aftermath of the 2016 election, Akilah Hughes posted a video of her experience of that night, and the conclusions she reached afterward, entitled “We Thought She Would Win”. It was about what you would expect, content-wise, and ran to about nine minutes long. (The original video is no longer available online.)

Soon after, Benjamin edited her video down to just under two minutes, and posted it, savagely juxtaposing a glaring contradiction without any further commentary, except for the title he posted the video under: “SJW Levels of Awareness”.

After some private communications between the two, Hughes sent Youtube a DMCA takedown notice. Benjamin responded to the notice by (correctly) claiming fair use, and his video was reinstated. At this point, most people who are not recording companies would shrug and go on with their lives.

Hughes, instead, sued Benjamin for copyright infringement.

After the first round of motions, the court (i.e., the judge) advised Hughes that she would almost certainly lose the case, calling Benjamin’s video “quintessential fair use”, and suggested that her lawyers give his lawyers a settlement offer. She offered to settle if Benjamin paid her over forty thousand dollars. (If you’ve ever known a woman with borderline personality disorder, or a narcissist, this tactic may seem familiar.) Benjamin declined, and requested the court dismiss the case. The court did, with prejudice (meaning the case could not be brought again) and explicitly stated that the dismissal was based on the two videos and the context in which they were posted, and no amendment of the complaint could possibly overcome those facts.

Hughes, in her infinite wisdom, slagged both Benjamin and the judge on social media. So Benjamin asked the court to make Hughes pay his attorneys’ fees and court costs since, under the statute, that was the only avenue available for deterring her from such actions. The court held her liable for his full costs, noting that she had brought the suit in bad faith (and that her suit was “objectively unreasonable”), for improper reasons, and that she seemed not to have learned her lesson.

(The above is an extremely condensed description of what happened. Here is a LawTube video covering the judge’s ruling that Hughes was liable for attorneys’ fees, which also summarizes most of the important points of the case.)

I have left out two further salient facts.

First, Hughes bragged publicly (on Twitter and elsewhere) that her intention in bringing the suit against Benjamin was to bankrupt him. Not to stop him from copying her work, but to punish him for mocking her, by taking away all of his money.

Second, someone on Twitter asked Hughes if that wasn’t a bit unhinged, as Benjamin had young children. To which Hughes replied that Benjamin should have thought about his children’s welfare before daring to make her look foolish publicly. Since he did not care about his children, why should she? (See previous parenthetical about BPD and narcissism.)

Hughes believed that owning the copyright to her work entitled her to use the court system to punish Benjamin for using the work without her permission, for mocking her, and for making her look foolish. The problem being, “fair use” is part of the copyright law, which includes the right to use others’ works for the purposes of satire and criticism, which is precisely what Benjamin did. Copyright also does not entitle the holder to punish people for any reason they feel. If a copyright is violated, the law allows only for the owner to be “made whole” — that is, to be recompensed to the extent that the violation cost them profits from the copyright. Only that, and no more.

(Yes, there are many, many cases that are clearly an abuse of the law. But the law remains clear.)

So Hughes bragged, publicly and in writing, that she was pursuing the lawsuit for a purpose at odds with the law, to achieve an end that the law does not condone or support, and made clear that she was fully aware of both of these things.

Further, she whinged in public and to the court that Benjamin crowdfunded his legal defense, because she wanted to damage him personally, and he should not be allowed to raise funds.

All of these public statements by Hughes were cited by the judge in declaring that the suit was brought in bad faith and was objectively unreasonable.

Real galaxy-brain, that lady.

And, of course, to this day she still thinks she was wronged, and the court was corrupt because it didn’t give her her way.

Copyright is one of the relatively few things included explicitly in the Constitution (alongside patents), and the Constitution even explains why it was created: to encourage creators to create more. And the Constitution makes clear that copyrights (and patents) are limited, because locking things up in perpetuity is also a hindrance to creation.

This is why it is not useful to view copyright as a right akin to the right to free speech, the right to liberty, or the right of property. Copyright is more a limited license of monopoly, to encourage you to keep making things. And the fair use exception is to encourage others to look at what you made and either support or critique it, and satirize it.

That’s right: Written into the US copyright law itself is the right to mock the creation or creator that copyright protects.

Why did I say the outcome of the case was hilarious? I mean, the very public spanking that the court gave Hughes is funny enough. But also, within a year of winning the case, Benjamin launched the Podcast of the Lotus Eaters, either with the payment from Hughes, or the overage of the funds he got from crowdfunding his defense (or both). In trying to punish Benjamin for wounding her vanity, Hughes caused and funded the creation of an institution that probably offends all of her views and values. Entirely because she was too arrogant to consider that what she was doing might be wrong, even after the court literally told her she was going to lose.

The chance to make a brilliant first impression is fleeting. If you are the best candidate for a job, but you wear your pajamas or your yard-work togs to the job interview, it is unlikely the interview panel will see beyond the disheveled appearance to your true fitness for the task at hand.

This equation is skewed slightly by the fact that your interview may be online and you could wear your Savile Row jacket with a nice shirt and tie, with only tighty-whities down below. No one need ever know that you’re only work appropriate from the waist up. In this case, you may get away with your half-hineyed effort to appear presentable. However, submitting creative writing for consideration is another matter entirely, as the stakes are high, and there is no modesty rail behind which to tuck grass-stained knees or lack of pants.

This little essay is offered in the spirit of reminding you to make your best impression.

Standing out from the crowd can be a wonderful thing, but care must be taken to ensure that one is not standing out in a way that is undesirable. At an audition for live theatre, very often the panel has seen the more common monologues more times than they can recall, so when a petite blonde lady rocks a Cheech speech from Up In Smoke, the panel will be apt to smile upon her prospects for their production. In the case of theatre, novelty can be a great way to get one’s hooks in with a tough crowd of casting directors. However, the issue of submitting stand-out writing is tough because there is no faking exciting, original composition, but the aesthetic error of guideline-non-compliance can be fatal in the publishing field.

Submitting a work that is not compliant with the submission guidelines of the publisher is the equivalent of showing up sans culottes, big time. When scores or hundreds of stories have been submitted, the need to weed out becomes all the more pressing. I admit that when I’ve read 136 stories and have a goodly pool of “maybe” candidates for the precious ten berths in my anthology, the fatigue of the situation will have some weight in my consideration of the final story, unlucky number 137. At this juncture, I may have been sitting for hours, my eyes are tired, and slogging through an unconventional typeface that is single- rather than double-spaced may just be a bridge too far. Wading through other flourishes like a cover page or extraneous information may be a straw/camel scenario, and then the story is starting with two strikes, in my eyes.

When the first page is rife with typographical errors, combined with other flouting of very clear submission guidelines, an editor may be confident that this person will most likely be noncompliant with other asks in the call for stories. This is the express lane to having your story rejected without even a cursory reading. To combat having your story routed to the circular file1 forthwith, I offer the following suggestions:

• Read the story prompt and the publisher’s submission guidelines twice before you begin composing your story

• Re-read the story prompt several times throughout your composition process to stave off mission creep, in which your story strays from the prescribed path

• Proofread your story carefully when you’ve finished writing, and look for issues with continuity, spelling, and grammar

• Reading your story aloud can be the most direct way to find its shortcomings. Reading aloud to another person, when possible, may also be a way to short-circuit your brain to hear the work with fresh ears wherein the errors you previously glossed over will jump out at you. If a person is not available to lend you their ears, I find that a small dog is often a good human proxy2

• Before submitting your work to your prospective publisher, re-read the story prompt and publisher guidelines and use them as a checklist to be sure your story meets all enumerated criteria

Please believe me when I say that we love to read your stories and want you to do your best. We want to publish your work, but please in the name of all that is fluffy, help us help you. We hope these tips will be useful as you prepare to send stories to us in the future. We can’t wait to read what’s been bouncing around inside your head, and your attention in these details will help us to better focus on the content of your writing, rather than the form of its presentation.

Blowfuzzy von Sassy

The gentleman discuss their origins blogging and collaborating in their active-duty military days. They delve into the difference between anecdotes/ideas vs. storytelling, the Lester Dent pulp writing method, the market for short fiction, and what the heck a Fraggo is and how they used one for backstory.

Most importantly, Nick establishes a new rule:

“THROW THE PIE, DAMNIT!” 🥧

Titles/media/authors mentioned

• Duffle Blog

• HP Lovecraft

• The Citizens anthology (eds. Brian M. Thomsen and John Ringo)

• Kacey Ezell

• Lester Dent’s Doc Savage stories

• Alice Sudlow’s podcast Your Next Draft

• novelist/screenwriter Steven Pressfield

• Scott Lynch’s Locke Lamora series

• Flannery O’Connor

• Susan Glaspell’s A Jury Of Her Peers

• Edgar Allan Poe’s essay “The Importance of the Single Effect in a Prose Tale”

• TC Ross

• Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s “Therefore/But” story drafting format

Thanks for watching! 📺

Jesse is a “Best of 2024” Raconteur Press author who is also regularly featured in the Haunted Libraries Anthologies. He’s our social media guru and Muppet aficionado in addition to being an all-around tech-wizard and superdad.

Jesse drops a few bombs this episode about storycraft, Spearman talks about crisis and buying Lisa a booster seat, and Lawdog at one point turns into a Swedish climate activist (wait for it).

So what’s the bottom line on storycraft? Take the guidelines…then, fold, spin, and mutilate them. Make your story YOURS.

Thanks for watching! 📺

Titles/media Mentioned

• The Neverending Story

• Louis L’Amour’s Sackett’s Land

• Jesse’s W.A.R.P. in Sector 3!

Embarrassingly, one of the things we didn’t cover is how y’all get paid.

It’s a forest for the trees issue. If you’re a publisher or an author who’s used to working with Pubshare, well, of course you know how that works! You don’t even really think about it. That is, not until you put up an open call and someone comments:

Equal royalty share isn’t a meaningful description of compensation.

Oooooof.

Because you know what? They’re absolutely right.

Sometimes, “equal royalty share” means “all the authors get paid after the publisher makes back their expenses”. Other times, it means “The publisher is taking 50%, and the authors split up what’s left.”

So, what does Rac Press mean by “equal royalty share” on an anthology?

When Amazon sells a book, there’s some chunk of change left over after their expenses (printing the book). The Big River takes 30% of that as their cut. From that remaining 70%, Pubshare takes 10% as their share for handling all the accounting, 1099 paperwork, and whatnot. So, basically, for $100 in net sales, the Press gets $63.

Now, we don’t take anything off the top for expenses. Instead, everyone involved in the project—artists, editors, the Press itself, and so on—is considered an equal contributor. We take that $63 and split it up equally among all those people. Aside from ten or eleven authors, you will usually have the lead editor, copy editor, illustrator, project manager, and the Press itself.

And, just to make sure you understand: this is how all those people making the anthology happen get paid. They don’t get that share of the royalties on top of anything else. It’s the same deal as the authors get: when the anthology sells, they get a cut.

That usually means for an anthology with ten authors, any individual ends up getting roughly a 6.5% - 7.0% of the net.

So for $100 in net sales of an anthology…

• Amazon gets $30

• Pubshare gets $7

• Each contributor to the anthology gets paid $6.50 - $7.00

That’s what we mean when we say “equal royalty share”. When Amazon sells a book, we get some money. That money gets split up equally among all the contributors.

Even better for you: those payouts keep happening as long as the book is available on Amazon. Those royalties keep coming to you for as long as the book is in print, even past that first year of exclusivity we ask for in your contract. So if you place a story in one of our anthologies, and someone buys it five years from now… you’re going to get paid.

Got it? Excellent! Now go write stories and promote your books. That’s how we get paid, and that’s how you get paid.

One all too frequent mistake we see with short story submissions is the lack of an opening hook.

Assume you have maybe one page (250-300 words, and that’s being generous) to grab the reader’s attention and make them want to keep going. In the pulp era, you might have had one sentence, or if the editor was feeling generous, a paragraph. If you couldn’t make them want to keep reading from the opening of the tale, the story would get tossed back in the slush pile, or ‘file thirteen.’

In a recent vlog, Ian mentions a story where he was 18 pages in, and it was still describing the moons orbiting the planet and setting up background world building.

That would be extreme for a novel by a well-known author, much less a little/unknown short story writer. When you only have 5k—8k to work with, you don’t have time for extensive world building. This is where the use of tropes and genre conventions come in, along with dialog to BRIEFLY explain any background that is absolutely necessary to this point in the story. You want the world building to be as invisible as you can make it, rather than massive, Weber-esque info dumps.

As a writer, you may have 10k words (or more) of background and setting detail for your SF world, but if the short story requires it, you are writing a future history not spec short fiction. This doesn’t mean the background info is wasted or useless. Knowing those details can make for a stronger story, but they don’t need to be IN the story. There simply isn’t enough bandwidth.

Instead, you’ll want to work with oblique references and use the background structure to make sure that your story is consistent with its own setting.

Another good example came from the same vlog, where Spearman Burke used the analogy of a heist movie.

To paraphrase; in a heist movie you start with establishing the target, then building the team, planning the job, executing it, and finally the getaway. Each will have their own special complications and subplots.

If you are writing a heist short story, the vault is opened on page one, the team is introduced as they become relevant to the story, and the complications around the getaway are already in play.

In other words, you cut as directly to the action as possible.

In media res; a Latin phrase meaning “into the middle of things.”

With short fiction, there are definite benefits to dropping the characters—and therefore the reader—directly into the action.

Finding out why the building is on fire, or where the shot came from can make for a strong hook, and then you gain a bit of room to set things up around the character(s) reaction to the events.

Keep the action moving.

You can’t cut away for an extended monologue, but you can let the reader in on what the characters are doing, and why it all matters.

For Example, now might be the time to introduce Thrag, the Transgenic Bounty Hunter, but it’s not time for 5k words on his tragic backstory. Something more appropriate might be ‘grown in the black labs of Sirius Zero, Thrag was the perfect killing machine, and he’s never failed to deliver a bounty, warm or cold.’

One sentence, and we know that Thrag is a major badass, and the heroes are in trouble.

From here we detail a bit more of the world immediately around the action and start building towards the primary complication before the final resolution.

In short, remember the pulp roots of the form, and make sure you grab the reader’s attention from the opening words to the very last sentence.

Jesse A. Barrett

Hi, everybody!

If you don't already know, one of the requirements of this Intern Steve gig is being the guy who gets to make uncomfortable posts. However, there is a method to the madness, and the goal of these posts is to help everyone improve as a writer. As I’ve said in a previous post, part of that improvement is the learning to accept constructive criticism with grace and an open mind.

Sometimes, that means getting uncomfortable, and hearing things you don’t necessarily want to hear. Remember, this is professional, not personal.

All of us at Raconteur want to see you succeed—all of you. Selfishly, as I’m about to make the terrifying professional leap from intern and small fish author to editor, I want the book RP has entrusted to me to be the absolute best it can be.

So buckle up:

Word to your moms: I came to drop bombs.

Now watch this. All done?

Great. Did you really watch it? I’ll wait longer just to make sure.

That’s the point I want to make. We’ve heard tell of frustration among authors, everyone from first attempt n00bs to experienced pros to everyone in between that they just can’t seem to nail down whatever the “secret ingredient” is to getting selected for a Raconteur anthology. That’s led to speculation there are some secret criteria or a list, or a specific formula.

Like Po says in the movie clip, there is no secret ingredient. I’m dead serious. There is no magic key, there’s no Rosetta Stone, there’s no “checklist.”

No one is walking around with a clipboard. I can’t speak about anyone’s experiences with other publishing houses, big or small, but there is no Raconteur Press secret ingredient. That’s it. That’s the entire post. Bye now.

Okay, not really the entire post.

Keep this in mind: editors have preferences. To help people understand those preferences, and expectations, we started the Homework series. There will be more of those coming, as well as more in-depth articles.

Beyond editorial preferences, we have standards. There aren’t many of them, but you can all probably quote them by heart now: No grimdark, no nihilism, PG-13-level language, onscreen violence, and gore. That goes for adult themes and sexual content, as well. We DO NOT publish porn or erotica. Don’t bother sending anything that doesn’t conform to these standards. Those things we just mentioned, don’t do that with, to, or about children. Period-dot.

If you go back and read that again, you notice it’s an awfully brief list.

Now, let’s talk about writing itself. Here are some points to ponder, courtesy of the RP staff, and there are some good lessons to be had here.

First, if you find yourself constantly running into brick walls and rejections, you may be focusing too much on a gimmick, and not enough on the story.

What do I mean by “gimmick”?

A noun. According to Schoolhouse Rocks, “A noun is a person, place, or thing.”

Now, a gimmick could be conceptual, like Mother Theresa, but in Space!

Or “Hey, man, this m….f…’s dead, y’all!”

Could it be a person, a monster, or noir stories with cats?

It could be a thing, like a McGuffin.

Either way, there’s nothing wrong with having a gimmick. Many of the best stories we all know, and love are built around a gimmick.

But do you know what those best-loved stories are, first?

Completely functioning Stories.

Gimmicks aren’t there for the sake of the gimmick. They’re there in service of the story. Even when we’re talking about something as silly as Kung-Fu Panda, even for an all-time comedy classic like Young Frankenstein.1

Second, “TVTropes Wiki is a great resource, but don’t treat it like an instruction manual.” That’s not story writing, that’s paint by numbers.

Third, “Beware of chasing fads, the trend setters, and the algorithm.”

We are NOT recommending you ignore those things. However, human nature being what it is, it’s a guarantee that by the time a fad has broken into widespread acceptance, it’s already on its way out the door. By the time you positively ID the trend setters, there’s 100 copycats lined up, and often, by the time you’ve got the algorithm cornered, it’s about to be patched or modified. This process, if anything, has accelerated in the last few years, and we don’t see it slowing down anytime soon.

Fourth, and this is one of my personal cautions for everyone, “Be wary of writing only for each other.”

I’ve mentioned my experiences as a musician before, and I can tell you that one of, if not the, most difficult sales to make is to get a casual music lover to buy a CD from a band or musician they’ve never heard of before, especially if the act is small and local. I’ve played shows and been to shows where the entire audience is made up of…other bands. They might buy a few CDs out of sympathy, or genuine interest and enthusiasm, but here’s the trap of that. Other musicians aren’t the same audience as non-musician fans.

Here’s what I’m getting at: check out record reviews in a musician’s magazine like Guitar World, and see how they differ from, say…Rolling Stone.2

What a fellow musician, amateur, student, full-time professional, or hobbyist likes ain’t necessarily the same thing as what a casual music fan likes. There’s many more of the latter than the former. Guess who buys the most music?3

I’ve gotten into this discussion on X before with other indie writers and publishers. I asked the question: “Does indie pub have a Velvet Underground problem?”4

As Brian Eno famously noted in a 1982 interview, The Velvet Underground & Nico sold only 30,000 copies in its first five years, but “everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band.”5

With all due respect to Brian Eno, so what? Yes, critical acclaim and the respect and reverence of one’s peers are nice. There’s nothing wrong with having that, but if you’re in this to make a living at it, that’s the kiss of death.

If a work is full of self-references and in-jokes that only other authors or creatives are going to get, especially only those in the context of your main publisher, especially only those of an obscure micro-niche fandom, then you’re staring down the barrel of irrelevance and shrinking sales.

You’re not growing a readership. Your work will become skewed because you’re only getting positive feedback from other people in the same boat as you. You must connect with a non-professional reader. Writing overloaded with “guess you had to be there/nudge-nudge a nod’s as good as a wink” alienates normal readers. There. I said it.

Fifth, Read more, and read broader. If the last ten books you’ve read are entirely Science Fiction, or Fantasy, or Horror, or some mix thereof and nothing else, you’re only limiting yourself, and doubly so if none of those books are older than 1990.

This is a major reason Deej posts public-domain classic pulp stories that he painstakingly curates and tracks down for your enjoyment and edification. Without some connection to roots, you’re often getting tenth-generation VHS copies or cassette tapes out of the back of someone’s car. This is why, at first, we had a tough time getting people to understand just what we meant by “Boy’s Adventure Stories.”

Here’s the key to those old stories: they often seem so much more…erudite might be the wrong word…how about worldly, because their authors weren’t pulling from a giant corpus of “genre fiction.” They had no choice but to pull from what they had at hand—nonfiction, classical mythology, history, even “manners stories.” The further you get from the source, the more you get adaptation decay6

Get back to the sources. Read some nonfiction. Read lofty ideas like philosophy and religion. Read plays. Old memoirs, especially, have some great insights regarding human nature and behavior. Read some non-SFF fiction. Keep reading old SFF and horror. Read old books, even if you end up not liking them. I would go so far as to say, especially if you don’t like them.

Don’t just read your influences—read what influenced your influences. Understand more about how we got here, and that will expand your writing in ways that will amaze both you and the reader.

Finally—and I dreaded writing this one—prior performance is not an indicator of or an entitlement to future success.

Yes, you may have a ton of work in print. You may have years of this under your belt. You may have stories already in five, six, or ten prior RP books.

That matters, but not really.

Each anthology is a new day, new scenario, or as we used to say in pilot training after every sortie, after every bit of training in an Emergency Procedure checklist or boldface practice, “New day, new jet.”

Approach each work like it’s your first submission ever.

No expectations of getting in, no expectations of not getting in.

Expect one or two more “Intern Steve” posts, and then I hand off the pens to…someone…hopefully.

So they tell me. Really.

…

Wyrd West received one hundred and seven (107) submissions. Of those 107, we picked ten, so ninety-seven authors didn't make the cut for one reason or another. Stick a pin in this fact—we'll get back to it.

This specific week at Raconteur Press, we are doing the initial read on submissions for one anthology; we are copyediting a second anthology; contracting a third; and building and formatting a fourth anthology for publishing.

On top of that, we are maintaining marketing, social media, building our website, and improvising, adapting, and overcoming speedbumps that keep popping up.

In the wider general view, Raconteur Press is in the Building Phase (Pre-Deployment for the veterans out there) for publishing novels in the next some months. We are making sure that the foundations of this venture are stable and solid, so we don't fall on our faces.

Raconteur Press is also building an imprint—Fox Cubs Adventure Club—to publish boy's adventure stories in the next several months. Again, we want to have this thing stable and secure before we launch.

Let's put another pin in this one, too. It'll be brought up in a bit.

To my shame, I cannot pay the Raconteur Press staff enough to keep food on the table. I just can't at this time. So, everyone who works for RacPress has a job that keeps a roof over their heads, or is seeking education to further their ability to put food in their family's mouths.

Everyone who works for Raconteur Press is a creative with their own projects to work on. I've got Fuzzy Yeet Cow stories to write. Rita has East Texas Witch stories, Cedar has her own press, Jonna has sewing that just can't wait, so on and so forth.

That's the Ten Thousand Foot view: everyone is working on four current anthologies at one stage or another; everyone is building foundations to make sure our expansion doesn't explode on us; everyone is helping with social media, marketing, and our new webpage, everyone has their own writing or creating to get done...somewhere in the middle of all that.

To steal a metaphor: we may look like ducks serenely gliding across a lake, but under the water, our little legs are going ninety-to-nothing.

"So, LawDog, what's your point?"

I'm an author. I know, and I understand how important feedback is to an author—especially one who is new to the industry.

However, to mangle one of my father's quotes to the head-shed: "We're up to our gonads in gators. Anything that doesn't involve draining the swamp isn't a priority at the moment."

There are ninety-seven (97) authors from a single anthology who would like feedback. Those 97 are on top of the other authors who didn't make it into one of the other anthos we release every two weeks. Ninety-seven responses —even if only a one-line email—is a chunk of the day in which that editor isn't working on something else with a deadline.

If one of the RacPress editors sends you feedback, yay! Take it as a gift, but I'm here to tell you that getting feedback from us is probably not going to be a thing in the future. Matter of fact, if an editor asks me whether or not they should be giving feedback, my response is going to be a gentle "No."

We simply do not have the time, as it is, and that's before all the extra work coming down the pike in 2025.

I am sorry, but that's the way it is. I have to concentrate on publishing, and anything that doesn't involve getting these books published isn't a priority at the moment.

Don't take it out on the editors. It is my call, not theirs.

Ian

(Cross-posted to The LawDog Files.)

**EDIT: You may notice some missing comments below. We don’t take kindly to trolls who insist that they have a right to be abusive. So they’ve had their comments removed, and won’t be welcome here anymore.

I’m glad many of you are enjoying the WRAC playlist. The Raconteur Press staff and I had a lot of fun making it. You may have noticed it’s 23 hours long, and even fully sequenced in a recommended straight-through listening order.

Why in the heck would anyone put that much time and effort into that?

Well, for one thing, Jonna asked, and I don’t turn her down.

Alternatively, you can view it as a cynical corporate move, deliberate branding, sure. I like to think of it as showing off our collective personality.

The honest answer: it’s a labor of love. It’s a giant mixtape. Good mixtapes are deliberate. Case in point: Guardians of the Galaxy.1 Poor mixtapes are random crap thrown together and hoping something sticks. I can’t go for that.2

On the one hand, there’s nothing special about this. There’s no shortage of writers who include soundtracks to go along with their works, John Ringo featuring prominently in this crew. Music is a major element of the plot and feel of Stephen King’s The Stand, which featured a fictional rock star as one of the main characters, one with a minor chart hit whose title is borrowed from a Blue Oyster Cult lyric. Putting on my “dad hat” for a brief second, Teen Titans Go! did an excellent job with a similar idea. Both The Warriors, and Streets of Fire integrated music as story points, integral to the films.

It’s done in videogames, where Far Cry 3: Blood Dragon3 showed us how to do a deconstruction that takes its inspiration up a notch. That’s slightly obscure, so we’ll mention the more familiar GTA franchise and its excellent integration of in-game radio stations into its world, as well as solid, thematic music, both commercially released and specifically scored for the games. I’m not a fan of the game itself, but the Vice City soundtrack collection is still one of my favorites, and it’s been an inspiration in how I work.4

I think most of us do this to one extent or another, so I’ll explain how I do it for the sake of discussion.

I was a musician before I was a writer, and I still play off and on. I even got paid to be a musician before I got paid to be a writer.5

That experience left a few marks on me.6

The old “Bruni’s,” fabled hooch of the Juvats, at Kunsan AB, Republic of Korea…sometime in late 2002.

Musical talent isn’t hard to come by in my family. I even touched on this a little bit in a story I wrote.7 My father’s massive record collection is the result of his love for rock and roll, his own skill as a musician, and him never quite getting the chance to be the radio DJ he always wanted to be at heart.8

I don’t think it’s a stretch for anyone reading this to understand that the two forms overlap a great deal. For me personally, it’s never been an either/or proposition so much as it’s been both. It’s not that I’m never playing again, it’s only a question of when.

Here’s the thing, though: I don’t write while listening to music.

I don’t write along to the Spotify monster that several of you have graciously saved and are hopefully enjoying even as I write this.

I “score” my stories before I write them. It’s a habit for the sake of mnemonics.

How did that start? It’s been a busy 25+ years in the service, with a lot of moves, a lot of late nights, weekends, shifts, hard work, hard play (sometimes harder play than the work). Not a lot of time for writing, at least not in a sit-still, concentrated, creative-conducive kind of way. While I was usually a good cadet and officer, who always had a notepad or notebook with me, it wasn’t always possible, nor did I always have the luxury to jot down notes or ideas for writing to go back to later. Or those notes were in my classified working papers, which had to be destroyed when no longer needed.

Whenever I deployed or went TDY somewhere, I brought my music collection. In the early years, a Discman and lots of Case Logics full of CDs. I’d say that while I was a baby lieutenant and a young captain, those were near the top of the list of my few valued possessions. Then came Zunes, and iPods, which made packing for those trips a lot easier.9

The point is, somewhere I started a habit of using songs as mnemonic stand-ins for ideas, characters, dialogue, plots, settings, events, scenes, etc. I started doing this because I’m not always able to sit down and deliberately write out ideas, or I’m caught without a notepad, or someplace doing something that doesn’t lend itself to breaking away for thirty seconds of solitude with my thoughts, let alone for five minutes.

Stringing certain pieces of music together is how I build out an entire story before I start anything else, whether it’s just going for it, writing an actual outline, snippets, character studies (“screen tests”), or just notes to come back to later. This is how I build a story and remember it, so it doesn’t get lost. I’ve got playlists dedicated to planned future works that are on the 2025-2026 agenda. Is everything I write composed this way? No, you have different tools for different uses, different projects. I don’t even know if this is a good technique, let alone something I’d recommend for others, but it’s how I do things, right or wrong.

Of course I can’t prove it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how Guardians of the Galaxy was storyboarded from start to finish. I’ve tried using story bibles in the past, and I dislike them. I think you can run the risk of putting so much effort into those you lose enthusiasm for the actual work. At least, I do.

Now getting it out of my head, onto paper, that’s a different challenge.

Just a reminder for everyone…

All righty then—before we get to today’s HR-heart attack-inducing, unhinged ra…erm, “discussion,” here’s a quick note from the depths of the submissions in-container:

This looks like a job for me, so everybody, just follow me…

We don’t need nor desire cover pages. Seriously, we don’t. None. Nada. Follow the submissions guidelines, give a space or two after your contact info and approximate word count, title, byline, space, start text.

That’s it.

It makes life easier for our line editors, copyeditors, and layout production. The more you help us, the more we want to help you.

Also—proofread. Then proofread again. Y’all need to do better. I know you won’t catch everything, but seriously team, you can do better. Even if you’re an old hand. Proofread.

And furthermore, inner monologue thoughts are italicized. This isn’t Austin Powers; if we’re “listening” inside the character’s noggin, then the thoughts are italicized.

Speaking of, let’s get to the heart of today’s topic: Author Feedback, and if we’re lucky, how to get beyond feedback into the fine and enormously useful art and science of the Debrief.

First, we define our terms and concepts, a vital component of what we call “The Threads of Instructorship.”1 With that said, let’s define our first term and concept.

Feedback

There’s a ton of definitions for “feedback,” but for today’s purpose, I’ll use this one, by Cameron Conaway:

“Feedback is a response to a person’s activity with the purpose of helping them adjust to become more effective. Feedback comes in various forms, including evaluative (how you did and where you are), appreciative (how you are valued and recognized), and coaching (how you can improve).” 

I’ll add this can be one-time, continuous, or on a set interval. The most important parts of feedback include the quality of the feedback given, and most importantly, how you receive it. Are you SURE you want HONEST feedback? Have you tamed your ego? Have you built resiliency? Be honest with yourself before you ask!

Our editors here at Raconteur often get asked why we don’t provide more feedback to writers on their submissions. Really, let’s be frank: this is mostly for the non-selects. Not to make excuses, but there are some considerations we want everyone to understand.

1. Failure to follow the submission guidelines—this is content, more than anything else. I’m not talking about minor formatting errors, or length. This can be summarized as “RTFA,” or “Read the F@$!# Assignment.”

   Our books are PG-13, at most. In case you haven’t noticed, the theme is important. Your crosscheck should include the Substack, Facebook postings, Discord if you have it. Read the descriptions and summaries of the books already on market, and this should give you a good sense of the left/right limits. This is an area I wouldn’t expect feedback on if you’re wondering why your story was not selected for an anthology. This requires more self-awareness and an honest self-assessment than anything else. It’s due diligence on the author’s part. Many of our editors are highly experienced publishing veterans; you can research them and get a sense of what they’re looking for. Highly encouraged.

2. Story count. I haven’t calculated the actual average number of submissions we receive per open call, but I can say that in the brief time I’ve been Intern Stevening, I haven’t seen any with less than two dozen entries, and my sketchy gonkulation makes three dozen a good SWAG,2 and four dozen isn’t unheard of.

   All this to say it’s not feasible for our editors to give detailed feedback on every submission we get. They concentrate on the selectees to get those works ready for publication on time. You’ve seen the production schedule, and you know we nail TOT, every time.

3. WITH THAT SAID, it is up to the individual editor. Some of them will give individualized feedback. It may take a while, it may not be extensive, but understand also that if they do this, it’s gratis. Respond professionally, graciously, and maturely, even if you don’t like the feedback.

Debriefing

This is near and dear to my heart. However, it also requires a stronger relationship and bond with someone you trust. Not just personally, but professionally. Someone that has demonstrated success and has the street cred that makes them worth heeding. One of your writing goals should be to find such a mentor, coach, instructor-level trusted agent who you respect, and from whom honesty, even if it wounds your ego, won’t destroy the relationship you have with them.

The best simplified definition of “debrief” is an “easily scalable, systematic, experiential learning process.”3 Obviously, is it an after-action event, built on a model of “Plan, brief, execute, debrief.” Plan what you're going to do, brief what you’re going to do, do it, and then debrief what happened. What went right, what went wrong, what you learned, what you’re going to take into the next mission. It is a lesson-learned generating event. Self-identified lessons learned are the best; that’s what you should aim for, with root causes identified and execution errors understood. AND…what went right is highlighted and internalized, so you can do that again.

You can see why it requires a real relationship, not a casual transaction. It requires active participation.

What debriefing is NOT:

• A “stress management session” or “psychotherapy.”

• An evaluation or critique (that’s feedback).

• An exercise in scapegoating.

Debriefing is ingrained in fighter pilot culture. That’s where the style of debriefing I learned and internalized came from, but it’s been adapted into many variants and many other cultures.4

(ROE = Rules of Engagement, DFP = Debrief Focus Point)

Find someone willing to build this kind of relationship with you and cultivate it. This is an “iron sharpens iron” concept, and it’s just as important to your development as a writer as putting words on paper, screen, papyrus, clay tablets, whatever.

Your goal: participate in and accept a tough, factual, honest, even harsh debrief, and still be able to have a beer at the bar with your debriefer when it’s all said and done. Go out and try again tomorrow.

For would-be debriefers, mentors, coaches, and guides: make sure YOU can follow the ROE in the chart. This is a two-way street relationship, and it is amazingly easy to be a crappy IP (instructor pilot) who can’t debrief worth a damn. This is about YOUR reputation, as well.

Make it work!

I’m Intern Steve, yes I’m the real Steve, all you other Intern Steves…

"For me, reason is the natural organ of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning."

—C.S. Lewis, "Bluspels and Flalansferes: A Semantic Nightmare"

            Hard work pays off. This is a statement that most would agree is true; we've been taught this and know that working hard is generally a good thing. Aesop, however, made this point unforgettable in his fable "The Tortoise and the Hare." The slow-moving, hard-working tortoise beats the quick-footed, lazy hare in a race. By engaging our imaginations, the fable gives the true statement, "Hard work pays off," a deeper meaning that has stayed with us through generations.

          This is the power of the written word: not only to convey truth, but to engage the imagination and give meaning to it. It's why so many children's stories have obvious morals. The lessons on truth are easier to deliver in a story rather than in a lecture.

          I would argue that the reason some stories are so timeless, and we return to them again and again, is that they also deliver a moral, a theme, a lesson, a truth. Most of them are more complex than the value of hard work or how to share; these are truths like love, hope, loss, or shining a light on the various aspects of the human condition.

We learn these truths through our own experiences, to be sure, but no one can experience everything the world has to offer. A single life is not nearly enough time to uncover all the truths, or facets of the truth, out there. That's where stories come in. As a character observes in A Dance with Dragons by George R. R. Martin, "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies… The man who never reads lives only one." Many other writers and readers have made similar observations. Through words, we can live lives that are completely different from our own, revealing truths in ways we would otherwise never know.

We haven't been 20,000 leagues under the sea, explored Mars, or hiked across Middle Earth, but we read stories that allow us to experience these things through another's eyes. Our imaginations are taken on journey after journey, and in each adventure, we discover the deeper meanings along with the characters: love, hope, loss, sacrifice, the resilience of the human spirit.

Thus, it is certain that books are valuable; this is a truth I think we can all acknowledge. But an essay about the importance of reading and writing—like this one—has much less impact than reading the events of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. The story grabs the imagination and lets us feel Guy Montag's longing, wondering, and questioning relationship with the written word, which both reflects and challenges our own thoughts on the matter.

        This is a striking reminder of why we write. We can intellectually understand the truth, but the art of story brings it to life, gives it stakes, and lets us feel the meaning of the truth fully. What an amazing power we have: allowing others to live a thousand lives, to learn from a thousand people, to feel a whole spectrum of the truth from many perspectives.

—Amanda Hiskey

Hello, Substack!  Intern Steve Part 2: The Stevening here. I thought it wise to follow up on the formatting post from July 24th.

Don’t judge me.1

We’re a small but mighty company. With less than a dozen employees in full-time and other statuses (including me), and the sheer volume of submissions we get (which is eye-watering and impressive), this means we can’t afford to spend too much time and too many brain bytes on the raw submissions in the “In-Container of Doom.”2

Because I’m a fellow author both published and rejected by Raconteur, I promise you that every recommendation that follows is a lesson learned from having screwed up too, so I am NOT picking on anyone or calling anyone out.

Just understand, as an intern, I’m not looking at your stories for content, and I’m not passing judgment on you as an author or person. Not my job.

My job is to get stories from the inbox to the right editor. I look at two things and two things only:

1.      Is it on time? This is go/no-go criteria for those of you that speak MBA or military mission planning.

2.      Is it in parameters (proper formatting and length)? Before you hit the pickle button, put the thing on the thing.

Per the Boss: length is negotiable, so I will flag the story to the editor or leadership if it’s significantly outside the 5K-8K baseline, but I still move it along. Length is not a showstopper.

But that’s it. That’s all I looked at when I read your email and downloaded your file.

Here are five tips from Intern Steve Part 2 that will help you ensure you make it past the first look (me) once you hit “Send.”

1.      Do NOT leave it “up to us” which anthology your story should compete for. Pick one. If you leave it to Fate, you’re leaving it up to me, someone currently living on moldy cheese sandwiches. Which means I’m deleting the email. You’re the professional: you tell ME where the story belongs. The editor might have feedback for you, but I don’t.

2.      I can’t help you with IT. I say again: you do NOT want my “help” with IT, computer OS, or word-processing tools.

Time for a little bit of salt. As an old intel pogue, I learned how to plan A-10 combat sorties on hardcopy laminated charts and operational graphics with grease pencils, Sharpies, Chartpak, Weems plotters, various sizes of coffee can lids and “combat string” to draw semi-accurate threat rings. I am the LAST person you want “helping” you with IT. If I can’t fix it with one or two keystrokes, I’m kicking it back.

3.      Speaking of MS Word, my policy is to give everyone a first free pass on formatting fixes for their manuscript, now that the new template is posted. Just one.

4.      NO cover letters, and by this, I mean not just actual cover letters, but cover letter content in your submission email.

Your story is your “cover letter.”

Other publishing houses require cover letters or explanatory/background content in a submission package. We don’t.

The story must speak for itself. You don’t have to sell us on your idea, or yourself. Your work does that. I know that’s not standard operating procedure in the contemporary job market, or much of contemporary publishing, but your work sells you. Your work brands you.

Your LinkedIn profile is not your work (I’m just as guilty of this).

Here’s the reality: I’m only looking at the two things I mentioned up front.

I don’t care about the story’s backstory, why you wrote it, who you are, whether it’s the continuation of a series, whether it contains a previously published character or setting. I don’t care. I’m not here to pass judgment on any of that stuff. I leave that to the editors and the Boss for their discretion.

5.      Save the cover letter content for meeting us in person, a podcast, an interview, your Substack, blog, your mailing list, wherever it helps you or gives you catharsis to express it.

As someone who’s been in therapy for PTSD for the last two years, I get the need to be heard. I understand.

We’re authors. We’re artists. We can be very lacking in self-confidence and assertiveness. It may not come naturally. Therefore, let your work be that part of you for you.

From my perch, when the story has made it through me as the Door Guard and into the hands of our outstanding full-time and guest editors, now it’s time for you to be heard, and that means through your work.

Good luck! Send any gripes or hurt feelings reports to the SgtMaj; I hear he’s pretty good at wall-to-wall counseling.3

Step 1: Follow the instructions. This will become important.

Step 2: Click on our Calls for Submissions tab in the navigation bar.

Step 3: READ the entire post all the way through to the production schedule. Squeal with delight at the selection of groovy anthologies.

Step 4: Find the anthology you wish to submit to. Carefully note the opening and closing dates for submission.

Step 5: Write an awesome story.

Step 6: Make it look like the graphic below.

Step 7: Ask yourself, “Am I really following the instructions?”

Step 8: Review the instructions. Note where you have failed utterly.

Step 9: Make your story look like the graphic below.

Step 10: Ensure your contact information is correct.

Step 11: No, we said make it look like this.

Step 12: Submit your story with as little fanfare in the body of your email as possible. We prefer a simple version of, “Hi! Thank you for considering my story. I look forward to hearing from you.” An entire page of background on your story or a manifesto that turns out to be longer than the submitted doc rarely gets read by the poor intern who is flogging himself to download fifty manuscripts and put them in a submissions folder.

Step 13: Note the contract date. It would be awesome if you checked your inbox sometime between that date and the date of publication. That way, you can sign it, return it, and get published! On the other hand, there are plenty of authors more than willing to take your spot, so you do you.

Step 14: Get paid!

In all seriousness, our desire is for your success. While we tend to have a developmental philosophy toward new authors, other publishers will not, nor are they obligated to. Frankly, submitting your story should be the simplest step in the process of getting published. Follow instructions, do what you are told, get paid.