Alin Walker's Blog

Great news! My solarpunk vampire story just got accepted into an anthology that pays pro rates. “The Sun Also Rises in Space” will finally see the light of day (unlike the villain, Bojunk Bojanx, who has to hide from the light of day, even when surfing the stars). The best part? The max word count for the anthology is eight-thousand words. At eight cents a word, that comes out to $640!

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Rewrite requests are generally sent in place of an acceptance or rejection. If you receive one, it means your story is a fence-sitter—too good to reject, but not quite ready to accept. The good news is: the editor likely wants to shove your story right off that fence and publish it. The bad news is: to secure that acceptance, you’ll have to decide whether you’re willing to make the required...

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There you are, scrolling the Submission Grinder, when it catches your eye: a call for a new pro-rate solarpunk anthology with a due date only two weeks away! It’s a very specific call, with bizarre, narrow requirements. Your story must feature vampire hunters in space and something called “skysurfing.” Your ending should be uplifting and optimistic, and it should say “something profound” about the...

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After dozens of drafts, workshops, and consultations with editors, my vampire solarpunk short story, The Sun Also Rises in Space, is finally ready for publication. My grammar is on point, my plot holes are all filled in, and my villain—Bojunk Bojanx, the star-surfing vampire—is a complex antagonist with the perfect blend of pathos and hatefulness. Plus he has a solar surfboard and some sci-fi...

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It’s 11:55 PM. Palms sweating, fingers trembling from caffeine and sugar overload, I frantically type the last paragraph of my short story and triumphantly click the caps lock for a large, friendly, italicized THE END below the final line of my new masterpiece: The Sun Also Rises in Space. With the last cold dregs of my coffee, I offer up a toast to my protagonist—Zaxx Jazzhands—so steadfast...

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Greetings! It’s me, Monica! I’m Acquiring Editor at The Dread Machine, which means I’m the middle-person between our first readers (aka, slush readers) and our Executive Editor, Tina. I review pieces constantly to determine whether they meet The Dread Machine’s publication standards. When new submissions come in, my first priority is making sure they’ve been properly anonymized in accordance with...

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Hi there, it’s Tim, one of your (usually) friendly editors at The Dread Machine, and I’m here to share my method for evaluating submissions for the slush pile. This is not meant to frustrate or discourage you (it might), rather to let you know my thought process as I read submissions. Not everyone uses the exact same methods: Monica and Tina have their own vetting procedures, as I’m sure do the rest of the TDM slushmuckers. Hopefully, by reading each of our posts and learning what we are each looking for you will get a better idea of how your submission will be received by us, and by other slush readers in the publishing world.

First off, keep in mind that slush readers are usually volunteers, low-paid contractors, or overworked editors who have a lot of bigger tasks on their calendars. Finding new content and new authors is crucial to the success of a literary magazine, but it isn’t the only thing that has to happen to keep things moving. Add to that the fact that even a small publication like The Dread Machine gets around 100 submissions a week. That can mean we have to collectively read over 500k words a week to keep the pile-size small.

“How is that possible?” you might ask. “What is your secret?”

My secret is, I don’t read your entire story unless I am captivated by it. I know that sounds awful, but I don’t know a better way to get through the submissions, and some stories are clearly not what I’m looking for from the outset.

When I start reading a story from the slush pile, I rarely even start at the first page. People will tell you that beginnings and endings are all everyone remembers, so focus on making a solid start and a memorable ending, but I’m here to tell you that a good hook and meaningful closure are only half the battle. 

I tend to start reading a submitted story in the middle, and I give it only three pages to captivate me. If I’m not carried through to the fourth page by the strength of the writing alone, I don’t care what the inciting incident was, or how it turns out for the protagonist. If I’m not interested, I’m moving on. I’ve got a stack of stories to get through. It’s not until I find something that captivates me or at least piques my interest that I feel compelled to go back to the beginning and see how the events started.

I don’t mean to be discouraging here. The knowledge that slush readers like me aren’t even reading your whole story might make the whole process seem subjective and pointless, and the odds of getting selected too great. Unfortunately, the process IS subjective, and not just from slushmucker to slushmucker; it all also hinges on the reader’s mental state, and how many other tasks they have on their plate. I try to keep this in mind, and sometimes I send a story to another slush reader, or set aside it aside to reread later if I feel like my mood is affecting my judgement.

When I read, stories go into four piles:

The Rejection Bin. If it is offensive, derivative, typo-laden, or clearly needs more editorial passes than is worth our time I send it to the trash without hesitation. I have a lot of stories to read. I’ll forgive a few errors but I’m really looking for clean copy. The Read Again Pile. These are stories that have something in them I like, but feel like I need to read them more thoroughly to understand what makes it a good fit. Sometimes I end up liking it enough to send up the chain of command, and other times I realize that while I like aspects of the story, there’s a reason why I wasn’t immediately captivated.The Benefit of the Doubt Pile. I am a cisgendered, middle-aged, white American male. Sometimes I read a story that focuses on an aspect of life or the world, or tells a story in a way where I don’t feel qualified to make a value judgement on the writing without more information and the opinions of my fellow editors. Some stories have plot structures I’m not used to as a person raised in the western tradition of storytelling. In circumstances like these, I will send them on to one of the head editors with a note explaining my initial reaction to the piece and any concerns I have about it before acknowledging that I might just not be the target audience for the story. We then seek out a consensus from our editing staff and sensitivity readers before making a decision.The Promoted Pile. It’s rare, but sometimes I find a story that grabs me right away, makes me turn back to the first page and read the entire thing from start to finish in one sitting, laughing or crying the entire way through the piece. I love it when this happens. It is the whole reason I read slush and makes the rest of the work sifting through the pile worthwhile. These I will send directly to the head editors and try to get them to listen as I read it out loud. These are the stories I fight for and want to see published most of all.

Once I’m finished this sorting process, I focus on rereading my Read Again Pile, this time slower and with an eye out for structural issues and other things that might need to be rewritten or at least touched up. If the story keeps my interest carries me all the way from start to finish without breaking my suspension of disbelief on the reread, I give it a high score, make comments about what I like and if there’s anything I don’t like, and then I pass it on to one of the other editors for a second opinion.

Good luck with your submissions; I hope this was helpful!

Every member of our editorial team has a process for quickly sifting through their unsolicited submissions, also known as the “slush pile.” This article is the first in a three-part series authored by our editors. (We all read and acquire stories for The Dread Machine and other publications.) In these articles, you’ll learn how we evaluate incoming submissions, so you can compare our methods and learn how to analyze your short story like an editor.

A few things you should know first:

We utilize a “blind” submission review process. This means we do not know who authored the stories we’re reading. We don’t even read cover letters until after we’ve decided to accept a submission or send a personal rejection.Our slush readers rank stories on a scale from 1 to 10, and we require a minimum of three reader reviews before we make a determination on a submission. Most submissions fall into the 5 to 7 range and are sent form rejections. Those that rank 8 and up are sent to us (Monica, Tim, and I) for serious consideration. Stories that rank 9 and above are almost always accepted.Stories that rank highly are exceptionally rare. Our readers only award “perfect tens” to stories that rank among the best stories they have ever read in their entire life. That’s a high bar, so many of our readers only give a single ten per year.We are one of the few markets open to submissions year-round that also allow simultaneous submissions. We read a lot of stories. Because of the volume of submissions we receive, we don’t have the time to read beyond the point where it becomes clear a submission is not for us. (Writers, before you launch into a Twitter tangent, please be aware that you are not entitled to a full read from anyone, nor are you owed personal feedback that you aren’t paying for. Wade through the slush with us before casting judgment.)Our way isn’t the only way. We are certainly not speaking for all editors or readers. Even within the same organization, we do things differently. As far as we know, there is no “right” way.The Beginning

You have three paragraphs. No more, but sometimes less. Your first fifteen or twenty sentences should be compelling enough to keep me reading. If I don’t care by the end of your third paragraph, will our subscribers? Don’t make readers “suffer through” your first page to get to the good stuff.

Let me know who your character is and what conflict they’re facing as soon as possible. Make me love them a little. Make me care about the outcome.

Form a snapshot of your first scene in your mind. Who is in it? What are they doing? Where are they? What lurks at the edge of the frame? Put that snapshot into three paragraphs, and force those sentences to work overtime.

The Second Page

If you get me past the first three paragraphs, you’ve earned my attention through the second page. Can you hold it together? Can you keep the plot moving so I feel like I’m progressing deeper into your world? Is the writing beautiful or interesting enough to keep me captivated?

Here’s where it becomes hard to give specific advice, since stories vary so greatly in content and structure, but generally, your theme should begin to emerge. I should start to feel solidly oriented. Your character (or characters) should matter to me more as I experience their journey, and the threat they face or obstacle they must overcome should start becoming clear.

The Middle

Few submissions get to this point, because maintaining momentum can be tricky. Don’t be tempted to burn the goodwill you earned from me on a self-indulgent infodump or a self-righteous lecture (no, this does not deepen your theme). By this point in your story, I’m willing to tolerate a little meandering, a tiny bit of wobbliness, a smidge of boredom, a dash of sloppy or lazy prose–but not for long.

Keep me through the middle and I will stay with you until The End.

Any writer who holds my attention through the middle will have earned my attention through the rest of the story. That’s a fact, Jack.

The End

If I’ve made it through the middle–the part of your story where most other submissions dissolve between my fingers–I will uncover your identifying information and read your cover letter. I will make it a priority to learn your name and see which publications your work has appeared in, if any. You will most likely receive a Twitter follow and a personal rejection from me, even if the ending falls flat or fails to deliver in a way that leads to an acceptance.

Obviously, I can’t tell you how to craft the perfect ending, and even if I could, my opinion about what I believe constitutes “the perfect ending” is entirely subjective.

Everyone’s “perfect ending” is different, and you’ll never please us all.

Endings that are authentic to the story please me. It must make sense for the characters and the narrative. It doesn’t have to leave the story fully resolved, but I do need to feel a sense of closure.

What emotions and thoughts do you want your readers to leave your story with? What loose ends do you want to tie up, and which would you rather leave dangling? Be intentional, and don’t rely on cheap twists that insult my intelligence or make me regret the time I invested in your world.

I want to feel like you thought carefully about how to conclude this journey. I want to feel like you valued and respected both your characters and me as your reader.

That said, don’t stress too much. Great editors will recognize the potential in your submission even if you botch the ending a bit. (In those instances, we send rewrite requests or offer a conditional acceptance contingent on us reaching a mutually agreeable final draft.)

If I’m reading your ending at all, it’s because I’ve recognized that you’re worth paying attention to, that you’re capable of producing something entertaining and meaningful. So, if you get that form rejection with a few extra lines from me, please know that your story reached me and that I appreciated it.

Every member of our editorial team has a process for quickly sifting through their unsolicited submissions, also known as the “slush pile.” This article is the first in a three-part series authored by our editors. (We all read and acquire stories for The Dread Machine and other publications.) In these articles, you’ll learn how we evaluate incoming submissions, so you can compare our methods and learn how to analyze your short story like an editor.

A few things you should know first:

We utilize a “blind” submission review process. This means we do not know who authored the stories we’re reading. We don’t even read cover letters until after we’ve decided to accept a submission or send a personal rejection.Our slush readers rank stories on a scale from 1 to 10, and we require a minimum of three reader reviews before we make a determination on a submission. Most submissions fall into the 5 to 7 range and are sent form rejections. Those that rank 8 and up are sent to us (Monica, Tim, and I) for serious consideration. Stories that rank 9 and above are almost always accepted.Stories that rank highly are exceptionally rare. Our readers only award “perfect tens” to stories that rank among the best stories they have ever read in their entire life. That’s a high bar, so many of our readers only give a single ten per year.We are one of the few markets open to submissions year-round that also allow simultaneous submissions. We read a lot of stories. Because of the volume of submissions we receive, we don’t have the time to read beyond the point where it becomes clear a submission is not for us. (Writers, before you launch into a Twitter tangent, please be aware that you are not entitled to a full read from anyone, nor are you owed personal feedback that you aren’t paying for. Wade through the slush with us before casting judgment.)Our way isn’t the only way. We are certainly not speaking for all editors or readers. Even within the same organization, we do things differently. As far as we know, there is no “right” way.The Beginning

You have three paragraphs. No more, but sometimes less. Your first fifteen or twenty sentences should be compelling enough to keep me reading. If I don’t care by the end of your third paragraph, will our subscribers? Don’t make readers “suffer through” your first page to get to the good stuff.

Let me know who your character is and what conflict they’re facing as soon as possible. Make me love them a little. Make me care about the outcome.

Form a snapshot of your first scene in your mind. Who is in it? What are they doing? Where are they? What lurks at the edge of the frame? Put that snapshot into three paragraphs, and force those sentences to work overtime.

The Second Page

If you get me past the first three paragraphs, you’ve earned my attention through the second page. Can you hold it together? Can you keep the plot moving so I feel like I’m progressing deeper into your world? Is the writing beautiful or interesting enough to keep me captivated?

Here’s where it becomes hard to give specific advice, since stories vary so greatly in content and structure, but generally, your theme should begin to emerge. I should start to feel solidly oriented. Your character (or characters) should matter to me more as I experience their journey, and the threat they face or obstacle they must overcome should start becoming clear.

The Middle

Few submissions get to this point, because maintaining momentum can be tricky. Don’t be tempted to burn the goodwill you earned from me on a self-indulgent infodump or a self-righteous lecture (no, this does not deepen your theme). By this point in your story, I’m willing to tolerate a little meandering, a tiny bit of wobbliness, a smidge of boredom, a dash of sloppy or lazy prose–but not for long.

Keep me through the middle and I will stay with you until The End.

Any writer who holds my attention through the middle will have earned my attention through the rest of the story. That’s a fact, Jack.

The End

If I’ve made it through the middle–the part of your story where most other submissions dissolve between my fingers–I will uncover your identifying information and read your cover letter. I will make it a priority to learn your name and see which publications your work has appeared in, if any. You will most likely receive a Twitter follow and a personal rejection from me, even if the ending falls flat or fails to deliver in a way that leads to an acceptance.

Obviously, I can’t tell you how to craft the perfect ending, and even if I could, my opinion about what I believe constitutes “the perfect ending” is entirely subjective.

Everyone’s “perfect ending” is different, and you’ll never please us all.

Endings that are authentic to the story please me. It must make sense for the characters and the narrative. It doesn’t have to leave the story fully resolved, but I do need to feel a sense of closure.

What emotions and thoughts do you want your readers to leave your story with? What loose ends do you want to tie up, and which would you rather leave dangling? Be intentional, and don’t rely on cheap twists that insult my intelligence or make me regret the time I invested in your world.

I want to feel like you thought carefully about how to conclude this journey. I want to feel like you valued and respected both your characters and me as your reader.

That said, don’t stress too much. Great editors will recognize the potential in your submission even if you botch the ending a bit. (In those instances, we send rewrite requests or offer a conditional acceptance contingent on us reaching a mutually agreeable final draft.)

If I’m reading your ending at all, it’s because I’ve recognized that you’re worth paying attention to, that you’re capable of producing something entertaining and meaningful. So, if you get that form rejection with a few extra lines from me, please know that your story reached me and that I appreciated it.

You’re viewing the first iteration of this list. It will be updated as we add more links and titles. For now, the majority of the recommendations are related to writing the other, compiled as a supplement to our post, On #OwnVoices and the Importance of Sensitivity Readers.

Recommended Texts

Writing the Other by Cynthia Ward and Nisi Shawl

Life Isn’t Binary by Meg-John Barker and Alex Iantaffi

All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto by George M. Johnson

Nonbinary: Memoirs of Gender and Identity by Micah Rajunov

Invisible: Personal Essays on Representation in SF/F (three volumes) (A lot of these essays are available on Jim C Hines’ blog. They are all published together in the books.)

Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction by Jeff VanderMeer
Steering the Craft: A Twenty-First-Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story by Ursula K Le Guin

Write Characters Your Readers Won’t Forget by Stan Litore

Craft in the Real World by Matthew Salesses

The Heroine’s Journey by Gail Carriger

Relevant Secondary texts:

About Writing by Samuel R Delaney

The Geek Feminist Revolution by Kameron Hurley

Web Resources

Writing the Other Roundtable: How To Stay In Your Lane

Listening 101 or What Happens When Your Sensitivity Reader Tells You The Book is Hot Garbage

Representation is Hard

Representing My Equals

11.46: Colonialism, with Steven Barnes, Tempest Bradford, DongWon Song, and Shveta Thakrar

Should White People Write About People of Color?

Hiromi Goto: WisCon38 Guest of Honour Speech

Writing POC When You are White

The Easiest And Quickest Way To Make A Bunch Of White People Mad At You (Hint: Just Say “No”)

Writing People of Color

Writing Better Diverse Characters

Nine Worlds: The ‘Just Don’t’ list from Writing the Other workshop

Writing the Margins from the Centre and Other Moral Geometries by Amal El-Mohtar

Max Gladstone on Bees and Diversity

The Dos and Don’ts of Writing About the Disabled

Good Writers, Coasting, and How You Can Avoid Joss Whedon’s Mistakes