Cheat Code #2 for accommodating disabled characters in sci-fi/fantasy:
How you aid a disability depends on if it's a new development or had always existed.
i.e.: If someone's lost their legs to a griffin biting them off last week, giving them steampunk prosthetic legs is a good aid. There's something they can't do, that they very recently could, that they need to learn to work around. The prosthetic legs still need an adjustment period to learn how to use them, but your character knows how legs should work and can figure it out more easily.
If someone lost their legs because, as a child, they wandered away from the space field trip and got partially eaten by a carnivorous plant, then it depends. Prosthetic legs can technically work, but the longer the character was without legs, the harder it'll be to re-learn how to use them. You might want to go with bionic legs for short distances, but a hover chair for daily use.
If someone was born without legs, then prosthetic legs are more hindrance than they're worth. Your character has never had legs, and has no idea how they're supposed to work.
Imagine if you're in a world of centaurs; you're given prosthetic hind legs, and now expected to be able to climb up cliffs with the grace of a mountain goat. It's a whole new skill you'd have to learn, and you would get annoyed with it very fast; how are they supposed to sync with the legs you already have? How are you supposed to balance? You can't feel anything, you don't know how much space it occupies.
Someone who's always been disabled doesn't need the thing they were born without, they need aid that lets them do what everyone else can in a way they're familiar with. If your character has always been deaf, glasses with subtitles appearing on them are infinitely more useful than aids that let them hear, because hearing when you've always had silence is going to have a steep learning curve and be ridiculously overwhelming.
Your rule of thumb?
Try to give them something they're used to.
Note: This is different with very small children, because they're already learning how to use every part of them. If a toddler in your sci-fi was born without legs, they can be taught to use bionic legs at a very young age, but it has to start early or it'll run into the problems above.
Cheat code 1: How to avoid eliminating disability in your setting
Cheat Code 3: How to make your setting itself disability-friendly
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I was deliberating including coffee in my worldbuilding until I remembered they have coffee 10,000 years in the future on a desert planet inhabited by drug-spewing worms, robin hobb has coffee in her fantasy books, oh, and Bilbo serves it to Thorin's company on their arrival when they eat him out of house and home so,
if you ever find yourself worrying can x really be in my story, yes, yes it can. if someone tells you "how could there be coffee in your fictional world?! how can your character have silk if this is not China? How could there be a garden of orchids? Chamomile tea!? I don't think so!" kindly refer them to the millions upon millions of nonfiction books you're not writing and put x in your story anyway :)
This year, it was my goal to become a SFWA qualifying author by focusing on publishing my short fiction. I wrote about 20k words of short stories over winter break '21, and I spent the rest of the new year editing and submitting those stories. Since then, I’ve sent over 100 submissions, and I’ve received 77 rejections and 7 acceptances. Of those acceptances, 4 are in SFWA professional magazines (at least, before they changed their qualifying guidelines) and 1 is in an HWA professional magazine.
Needless to say, short story publication occupies a FAR GREATER portion of my brain than it has any right to. Below are some rambling thoughts I have about the process behind short story publication.
This introduction is intended to bring you to the dark side (a.k.a. you, yes, you, should be writing short fiction)
The process of submitting short stories is SO EASY, especially when compared to novels. Your cover letter will probably be less than 4 sentences. You just attach your short story to an email or form and press “submit,” and then you just wait. Having to query a publication or pitch a story before submitting are both very rare occurrences, and typically reserved for longer stories, like novellas. I’m serious. Sending something to a mag takes like 30 seconds. I use the same cover letter for everything. It’s stupid how simple this is. Read this formatting guide and you’ve got all the information you need to send a story to like a dozen markets.
Also note that I’m going to refer to short story markets as mags, lit mags, journals, etc, interchangeably, so don’t get confused. Most short story markets, from magazines to anthologies, function in extremely similar ways, at least when it comes to the author's role.
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Please start submitting, but…. not to be a bummer, but it’s a numbers game, and most of those numbers are going to be rejections.
Acceptance rates are low. According to the Submission Grinder, many magazines have acceptance rates lower than 2% (note that I’m usually referring to professional and semi-professional spec fic magazines, since that’s what I submit to.) This statistic is probably artificially increased because the Submission Grinder’s user base is a self-selecting group of authors who care enough about magazine submissions to use a third-party website to track them (a.k.a. the actual acceptance rates are probably even lower than they appear).
So when you see rejections that say “We can’t wait to see more of your work” or you see editors on social media say “We reject good stories every single day,” these aren’t empty platitudes. Magazines recent hundreds of submissions during open calls and are operating on razor-thin budgets (it’s actually very likely that the magazine you’re submitting to doesn’t even turn a profit).
What should you take from this? Submit often, and to as many markets as you can. Don’t bet on a piece getting accepted at one particular magazine. If you’re writing for a specific themed call, have a back-up plan (but probably delay sending that piece to a bunch of new magazines after a rejection; everyone else rejected from the same themed submission call is likely doing the same exact thing, at the same exact magazines).
Anyway, the best way to cope with a rejection is sending out a new submission.
Also, use Submission Grinder to track your subs. I’m in love with this website.
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Should you take simultaneous submission guidelines seriously?
A simultaneous submission is when you send the same story to multiple magazines. Some magazines will tell you that they don’t allow for simultaneous magazines. Some will tell you that it’s totally OK as long as you disclose what you’re doing (in your cover letter) and promptly withdraw your submission from them if it’s accepted elsewhere. The editor of a magazine who bans simultaneous submissions is trying to avoid a specific situation: they’ve devoted a significant amount of time to a story they’re considering for publication, only for them to learn that it has already been purchased by another magazine right before they were going to send the author an acceptance letter.
How often does that specific situation happen? Very rarely. Like I said, acceptance rates are extremely low. The odds that you’ll get two acceptances on the same piece at the same time are just astronomical. Additionally, most magazines will take at least a month to get back to you, but probably significantly longer. It could take you longer than a year to get a piece published if you only submit to one magazine every 1 - 3 months. For some context: out of all my published pieces this year, only one was accepted by the first place I sent it to. The others have between 3 - 6 rejections each. Some of the pieces that I haven’t managed to sell yet have 10+ rejections. Some of these magazines held onto my stories for 100+ days.
In my opinion, it’s a real disservice to authors for a magazine to demand No Simultaneous Submissions while also taking months, and months, and months to respond with rejections. It’s disrespectful. It’s treating you like your time isn’t important. My favorite creative writing professor hated that magazines banned sim subs, and often encouraged us to treat these guidelines with a grain of salt if we decided to start submitting.
So should you listen to a magazine when they say No Sim Subs? It really comes down to your comfort level and how patient you are. You may also need to consider how easy it is to withdraw a piece, because some submission forms make it more difficult than others (looking at you, CWSUBMISSIONS).
Ultimately, you never have to disclose why you’ve withdrawn a piece from a magazine, and authors CAN and DO withdraw pieces for a variety of reasons.
But if you decide to break writer law and the writer police come to get you, don’t be a snitch, thanks. I said nothing.
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Lit mag twitter is surprisingly useful
Magazines announce future submission calls, their reading period schedules, and themed issues on twitter usually far in advance. You won’t get this information unless you’re checking their individual websites regularly (which would be a waste of time). I wouldn’t be prepared for half of these open calls if I didn’t have a twitter account. And unlike novel publishing twitter, you don't have to post or interact with anyone to reap these benefits.
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Most speculative fiction magazines are publishing literary fantasy, scifi, and horror.
There are sometimes very clear divisions between literary fiction and genre fiction, but you won’t find that line with pro/semi-pro speculative fiction magazines. In my experience, literary speculative fiction far outnumbers pure genre fiction (however you want to define that). Short stories also tend to be more experimental, in terms of both content and story structure.
Why can short stories afford to take these risks? I think there’s a few reasons for this. The first is that many magazines survive off of yearly crowdfunding campaigns and independent investors/sponsors, not individual sales. So much of their money comes in advance in this lump sum from future subscribers, so they don’t have to cater to market trends like novels do. Additionally, subscribers generally don’t buy magazines because there’s one story in the magazine that they enjoy—odds are, they enjoy the editorial voice of the magazine. They trust the editor(s) to curate a cohesive collection of stories, which means the magazine doesn’t have to depend on a viral, popular story to boost their sales.
This all comes to a head during award season (the Hugos, Nebulas, the Bram Stoker award, etc). Look, I’ve never edited a magazine, but the way magazine editors are constantly promoting during award season… you know it’s important to them. They’re probably looking for stuff to nominate all year, which means they’re chasing literary fiction, stuff that really resonates with people on a deep personal level. And you’ll see short stories on the ballot by authors you’ve probably never heard of unless you’re really up-to-date with lit mags. In my opinion, this leads to a diversity of fiction that’s very hard to find elsewhere.
I also think this means you can and should just write whatever the fuck you want without worrying about marketability, which is a really freeing feeling. Seriously, lit mags publish some WEIRD shit.
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Lots of people (including editors) will tell you to read a magazine to get a sense of whether or not your story will be a good fit—I think this is bad advice.
Don’t get me wrong, I think you should read short fiction if you want to write short fiction. I also think that if you dislike the content that a magazine publishes, you probably won’t be able to sell them a piece. And that you can improve your craft by finding a publication (or two, or three) that consistently publish works that you enjoy so you can analyze their structure and incorporate what you’ve learned into your own stories. Additionally, if a magazine’s content really resonates with you, and you consume it regularly, it’s probably because your writing style is similar to their editorial style—this may be a sign that they’ll enjoy your work. That’s something that happens organically, in my opinion, not something that can be forced.
But like I said in my first point, the key to success here is to send out a LOT of submissions. I’ve submitted to over 40 different markets this year. I’ve read stories from maybe 10 of those markets (usually when it was offered for free on their websites). I don’t have the time OR THE MONEY to breeze through issues from that many magazines, and I’m not going to stop myself from submitting somewhere just because I haven’t read what they publish. In fact, I think it’s really unfair for editors to place this onus on the writer, especially if their magazine doesn’t have free content available and especially if their submission guidelines are otherwise vague AF—PLEASE, PLEASE, editors, just tell us what kind of writing you enjoy in the guidelines.
The fact of the matter is, even if you read a magazine and write something specifically for them, odds are you’re going to get rejected anyway. I’m not trying to be a bummer here, that’s really just the statistics. It’s really a fundamental misunderstanding to assume that authors regularly write entire short stories with one specific market in mind, and that they’ll forgo sending that story to other markets because it was only intended for Clarkesworld or F&SF.
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Personal rejections are nice, but don’t think too hard about them. Alternatively, writing is so much more subjective than you think.
Rejections come in tiers, but they can be summed up as form rejections and personal rejections. Form rejections always look the same, and they are generally (but not always) sent to stories that weren’t really considered that strongly for publication--in fact, many magazines utilize first readers, who are volunteers who read the first few pages of submissions and make a quick judgement call about whether or not to send that story to the editor for second-round consideration. Form rejections often come from first readers. (Of course, this is not always true. Some magazines don't use first readers at all. Some magazines use first readers, but still refer every story to the editor anyway and promise submitting authors that the full text of all submissions are read before a decision is made.)
Personal rejections include specific references to your story, often explaining why the editors decided to reject it. This might be phrased as constructive criticism or simply as observations. Some magazines make it their goal to ONLY send personal rejections, but those are the minority. Typically, personal rejections come after higher tier consideration, and usually take longer to receive than a form rejection.
The thing is that writing is subjective. It’s tempting to think that editors, who are often the arbiters of publication, can objectively separate good stories from bad. The logical conclusion, if you think this way, is that they’ll give you objectively sound advice to revise your piece before you submit to another magazine.
But this isn’t really true. A personalized rejection is giving you good advice—if it were possible to resubmit the same piece to the same editor for the same magazine (and unfortunately, you usually only get one shot). The same advice might not help you sell your piece to a different magazine. In fact, it’s very likely that aspects of your story that one editor disliked will be the same things that make a new editor fall in love with it. I experienced this while submitting my sci-fi/horror story “Rider Within,” which was rejected from PseudoPod because of the amount of exposition in the first few pages. This same piece was accepted by Dark Matter Magazine without any edits after the PseudoPod rejection. The key difference here is that PseudoPod is an audio magazine; every magazine from PseudoPod’s publisher boasts the same line in their submission guidelines, “Our readers can’t skim past the boring parts.” Podcasts have a much smaller margin for too much exposition, and that magazine needs to be picky about that sort of thing to keep their readership. A print/ebook magazine will have different standards.
Really, almost all of my rejections/acceptances can be used as an example for subjectivity in editorial taste. My story “In the Nest Beneath the Mountain-Tree, Your Sisters Dance” sat in Clarkesworld’s second hold pile for a MONTH, which is insane and probably something that will never happen to me again. This same story was rejected by a much smaller magazine (probably by a first reader) after like 3 days of consideration. The story didn’t just suddenly decrease in quality, it’s just that the editor of one of the most selective scifi magazines out there liked it enough to consider it for publication, and a different editor really didn’t enjoy it at al.
Back to the point, there’s still reasonable situations where you may want to make edits after a personal rejection. If you read critical feedback that really resonates with you or if you get feedback that points out parts of the story that you were already iffy about, then by all means, make those edits! You might also want to do some editing if multiple rejections point out the same things.
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Read the submission guidelines, but don’t self-reject.
“Self-rejecting” is when you look at a magazine and tell yourself “my story won’t work here,” or “I don’t fit the submission call,” or “I’m not good enough to be published here.” And not all self-rejection is unwarranted. There’s going to be times where you read the fine print and realize that you’re not the right fit. Submission guidelines are written for a reason, and while the worst thing an editor can say is “no,” it does help if you don’t waste their time (or yours).
That being said, you can really take some submission guidelines with a grain of salt. When it comes to themed calls, there’s a huge variety between magazines who want their theme followed very literally and magazines who consider the theme more of a vague prompt to inspire new ideas—and it can be really hard to tell them apart, so honestly? Just go for it.
And unless a magazine is very clear about “hard no’s” (such as asking you not to submit stories with gore or other triggering content), it’s more accurate to interpret “we don’t like publishing these topics” as “we don’t like the cliches associated with these topics, which makes them a hard sell.” Some magazines will clearly separate their anti-wishlists into Hard No’s versus You Really Need To Impress Us With This Content, but more often, you’ll have to read between the lines. I’ve found that lists of hard sells often include stuff like vampires, zombies, and werewolves, because editors have seen a thousand stories about the same magical creatures, and they’re trying to encourage more diversity in the submissions they receive.
My first publication this year was “Emmory and the Wolf” in LampLight Magazine, and it’s a case where avoiding self-rejection really paid off. LampLight was holding a special call for authors without a pro-sale, and I wanted to get a story in right before the deadline. It was a last minute decision on my part, and I have to admit that I skimmed the guidelines. I’d submitted to LampLight before, and I could vaguely remember that they specifically asked for no werewolf stories, but I didn’t see it in the guidelines this time. A day after I sent that submission, I looked at the guidelines there, and the “no werewolves” rule was there, staring me in the face. I was mortified, and I really debated withdrawing my submission, but ultimately I decided that I would just assume it was a rejection and try to forget that it was sitting there in the Submittable queue. So, of course, imagine my surprise when that story was accepted.
I think a lot of factors went into this acceptance: “Emmory and the Wolf” subverts typical werewolf tropes and rarely features the werewolf (in wolf form) on screen. In fact, almost all of the story is a conversation between a woman and her wife on a road trip. Additionally, I later learned that the editor of LampLight held this special submission call because these two issues of LampLight would be the very last before the magazine closed. If he published werewolf content in an earlier issue, that would have encouraged more people to submit werewolf stories. But that clearly wasn’t a concern here. All of these factors (skimming the guidelines, catching LampLight when it was about to close) are coincidences that I couldn’t have anticipated when I was submitting.
Honestly? I think you should usually err towards submitting over not-submitting, because like I said, the worst you can get is a rejection.
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Okay, that's honestly it for my short story thoughts. I hope this is helpful, informative, or just kinda interesting to someone ^^ Even if it isn't, I'm glad I got it out of my head.
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I saw a post talking about how Terry Pratchett only wrote 400 words a day, how that goal helped him write literally dozens of books before he died. So I reduced my own daily word goal. I went down from 1,000 to 200. With that 800-word wall taken down, I’ve been writing more. “I won’t get on tumblr/watch TV/draw/read until I hit my word goal” used to be something I said as self-restraint. And when I inevitably couldn’t cough up four pages in one sitting, I felt like garbage, and the pleasurable hobbies I had planned on felt like I was cheating myself when I just gave up. Now it’s something I say because I just have to finish this scene, just have to round out this conversation, can’t stop now, because I’m enjoying myself, I’m having an amazing time writing. Something that hasn’t been true of my original works since middle school.
And sometimes I think, “Well, two hundred is technically less than four hundred.” And I have to stop myself, because - I am writing half as much as Terry Pratchett. Terry fucking Pratchett, who not only published regularly up until his death, but published books that were consistently good.
And this has also been an immense help as a writer with ADHD, because I don’t feel bad when I take a break from writing - two hundred words works up quick, after all. If I take a break at 150, I have a whole day to write 50 more words, and I’ve rarely written less than 200 words and not felt the need to keep writing because I need to tie up a loose end anyways.
Yes, sometimes, I do not produce a single thing worth keeping in those two hundred words. But it’s much easier to edit two hundred words of bad writing than it is to edit no writing at all.
This is the second time this post passes on my dash and it’s the best advice I ever got. I can’t write consistently in one go, it’s always about 50 words and then I get distracted and just have to do something else for a while. Do the math quickly: trying to write 2000 words a day takes a looooong time that way. So there were many days where I just didn’t even start writing, cause I wouldn’t reach my goal anyways and feel like a failure. Then I stumbled upon this post and I thought: hey, let’s give this a try. And it works! I set my goal between 200-400 words a day and that’s perfectly doable. Some days I get into the flow and I write a whole lot more. On other days, I struggle to get those 200 out but hey, at least I wrote 200 words and reached my goal. Whatever the outcome, t makes me feel good and accomplished.
Writing takes practice, so even if it’s only 100 words a day, it’s better than nothing. If it worked for Terry Pratchett and me, than it can work for you too!
250 new words / day is my goal this year! I love it. New projects develop slowly and in a stress-free fashion, leaving time and headspace for editing and planning new things (aka delicious daydreaming). Like op says, you can always write more if you want to and have time.
I cannot emphasize enough how much you need to read thoroughly through the terms of any publication before you send your writing to them. It is mandatory that you know and understand what rights you’re giving away when you’re trying to get published.
Just the other day I was emailed by a relatively new indie journal looking for writers. They made it very clear that they did not pay writers for their work, so I figured I’d probably be passing, but I took a look at their Copyright policy out of curiosity and it was a nightmare. They wanted “non-exclusive, irrevocable, royalty-free, perpetual, worldwide license and right to use, display, reproduce, distribute, and publish the Work on the internet and on or in any medium” (that’s copy and pasted btw) and that was the first of 10 sections on their Copyright agreement page. Yikes. That’s exactly the type of publishing nightmare you don’t want to be trapped in.
Most journals will ask for “First North American Rights” or a variation on “First Rights” which operate under the assumption that all right revert back to you and they only have the right to be the first publishers of the work. That is what you need to be looking for because you do want to retain all the rights to your work.
You want all rights to revert back to you upon publication in case you, say, want to publish it again in the future or use it for a bookmark or post it on your blog, or anything else you might want to do with the writing you worked hard on. Any time a publisher wants more than that, be very suspicious. Anyone who wants to own your work forever and be able to do whatever they want with it without your permission is not to be trusted. Anyone who wants all that and wants you to sign away your right to ever be paid for your work is running a scam.
Protect your writing. It’s not just your intellectual property, it’s also your baby. You worked hard on it. You need to do the extra research to protect yourself so that a scammer (or even a well meaning start up) doesn’t steal you work right from under you nose and make money off of it.
Exclusive publishing rights have to have a set time frame! Do not agree to anything that doesn’t clearly state “up to five years from signature” or something like that.
What if the publisher goes defunct? What if they get bought by another publisher who doesn’t care to promote or publish your work? You still can’t to anything with it, you don’t own it anymore!
For a thorough overview of what you should be aware of regarding your intellectual property and publishing rights, please read through this collection of post [https://kriswrites.com/business-musings/contracts-and-dealbreakers/] by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.
Writing is not about 'telling an epic story' or 'making something that will outlive you'. Writing is about going "You know what would be fucking awesome?" and then committing word crimes
me in planning stages of writing: this fucks. this is gonna be so fun.
me the minute i sit down to write: language is an unwieldy cudgel we use to beat the human experience to death in an attempt at ever communicating fully with another being. i wish intelligent life had never evolved. i want to go back to the cell stage like in spore
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russia’s lake baikal - the world’s oldest, largest (by volume) and deepest freshwater lake - freezes over for half the year, creating clear, turquoise shards of ice. (photos x, x x, x, x, x)
Writing a novel when you imagine all you stories in film format is hard because there’s really no written equivalent of “lens flare” or “slow motion montage backed by Gregorian choir”
You can get the same effect of a lens flare with close-detail descriptions, combined with breaks to new paragraphs.
Your slow-motion montage backed by a Gregorian choir can be done with a few technques that all involve repetition.
First is epizeuxis, the repeating of a word for emphasis.
Example:
Falling. Falling. Falling. There was nothing to keep Marie from plunging into the rolling river below. She could only hope for a miracle now, that she would come out alive somehow despite a twenty-foot drop into five-foot-deep water.
Then there’s anaphora, where you write a number of phrases with the same words at the beginning.
There were still mages out there living in terror of shining steel armor emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy.
There were still mages out there being forced by desperation into the clutches of demons.
There were mages out there being threatened with Tranquility as punishment for their disobedience, and the threats were being made good upon.
Mages who had attempted to flee, but knew nothing of the outside world and were forced to return to their prison out of need for sustenance and shelter.
Mages who only desired to find the families they were torn from.
Mages who only wanted to see the sun.
This kind of repetition effectively slows the pace of your writing and puts the focus on that small scene. That’s where you get your slow pan. The same repetition also has a subtle musicality to it depending on the words you use. That’s where you get the same vibe as you might get from a Gregorian choir.
For more neat tricks (aka figures of rhetoric) like epizeuxis and anaphora, read THE ELEMENTS OF ELOQUENCE by Mark Forsyth. It’s both educational and delightful, not to mention overflowing with wry wit. Great book.
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Finneas flattened himself against the wall and motioned for Petra to join him. Whoever it was was coming from around the corner, and they wouldn’t have enough time to run back and duck for cover before the person caught them. Resigned to a confrontation, Finneas clenched his fists as a shadow appeared from the intersecting hall, growing longer and longer, and as it finally turned the corner Finneas found himself face to face with—
He wasn’t sure exactly what he was face to face with.
It was a person, a young person, that much he knew for certain, but everything else about them was ambiguous. They wore a loose-fitting tracksuit made from grey fabric with a greenish tint that hung off their lean, bony frame, blurring any distinguishing features their body might have. Their hair was shaved close to their scalp. But it was their eyes that unsettled Finneas the most— bottomless pools of inky black set against a pale, hollow face; a face with no expression, eyes with no life.
The arrival examined Finneas and Petra with an eerie kind of curiosity, scanning them with those soulless eyes of theirs. Their piercing gaze sent goosebumps down Finneas’ spine. He was too confused to move, yet strangely fascinated, unable to tear his eyes away from the unsettling sight.
The person flung out their arm. A vine shot out of their hand and wrapped itself around Finneas’ throat.
