Popping Pimples on Paragraphs: 5 Things To Watch For

I recently tweeted this: “PSA/Pro tip: Do not submit to writing contests that charge entry fees. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Many folks agreed; others wanted to argue a bit. Let us remember here that I am speaking as someone representative of professional writers, and that I have some experience with selling short stories as well as editing and publishing them.

One thing that guides my thinking is this: There is a thing in science fiction circles known as Yog’s Law, which is that the money always flows towards the writer. (If you are self-publishing, that flow may get circuitous, but generally you should not be putting money into increasing the profits unless you are getting the lion’s share of them.)

Here are the arguments that have come my way, and my opinion on them. Some are reasonable; others seem less so for me.

Sometimes what you get in return for the fee is a good value. This is an argument I have some sympathy for, because I know getting professional critiques and acknowledgement is sometimes instructive and usually pleasant. I’ve submitted to a contest because the prize involved personal interaction with the judge and I figured it was pretty much the same as buying a raffle ticket for it. But such contests are the exception rather the norm. No matter what, think about the fee and weigh it carefully, as well as whether or not you are guaranteed to get it. I’ve seen some fees ranging a hundred dollars and up and that starts getting pretty iffy. If you’re paying that much for the same sort of brief editorial feedback you might see when submitting stories, why not just submit them?

Sometimes the fee supports a charity or writers organization. Again, some reason behind this argument, but it would be more efficient to give them the money directly. I have been working with a nonprofit for close to five years now, though, so I understand the fundraising woes. This is, though, an inefficient way of raising funds that depends on a great deal of volunteer time and energy and the ROI is iffy, depending on the skill of the people running things. Perhaps the organization might look into membership fees, pledge drives, bake sales, crowdfunding, or other alternate means of funding.

Charging a fee is a way for a magazine to support itself. There are other, better ways to make money than to monetize the writers, and it’s also a bit cynical not to believe in your product to the point where you think the main audience is the people who want to publish in its pages.

Charging a fee means better submissions. Great reason for editors and magazines; meaningless to writers and in fact, means people that self-reject will be even more likely to do so. It also ensures economically disadvantaged people don’t get to participate. The price of a latte for one person may be the next person’s daily food budget.

A fee contest is how a small press finds new manuscripts to publish. No. Plenty of small presses do not do this.

There are reputable contests out there charging fees. Sure! But if you have a story that you think is publishable, send it out to a magazine. Going the route of writing and submitting stories is a more efficient process of moving upward as a writer than submitting to contests.

Contests get the writerly juices flowing and encourage people to write. If that works for you, swell. Some people can only write in a particular kind of notebook; others only in a coffeeshop with a triple macchiato. Be aware not everyone can afford it, and that you’re tacitly encouraging the system, and then base your decision on how cool or not you are with that. Mileage will vary, but I personally like to know the basics of whichever route I’m taking.

Overall, my feeling is that a magazine that charges fees for contests views the people submitting stories as a source of income, not as partners in the publishing venture. Beyond that — and more importantly, to my mind — a publishing model that publishes only the people that can afford to submit means only the economically privileged can participate and therefore discourages economic diversity – which, in this intersectional world, affects some groups more than others.

That said, there are definitely some contests out there that are well-meaning while others are downright predatory. If you’ve got a question about one, you should check the Writer Beware website and contact them if you don’t see information about it there.

And if you find a contest that doesn’t charge a fee? Still read the rules carefully. A contest should not automatically give the runner publishing rights to the entries, for example, but many ask for that in the fine print. Got a question about a contract? The SFWA Contracts Committee may be able to assist.

Wondering how to get started sending stories out? Here’s a brief video with the basics:

Given that I sell classes to writers myself, is coming after contests capitalizing on people’s dreams of being writers a bit hypocritical of me? Mmm, maybe. I try to counteract things by offering a lot of free scholarships and providing what I think is pretty good value for my students, and I try to steer them away from scams and exorbitant prices.

Want more advice like this? Check out these resources for F&SF writers or sign up for my newsletter.

2. Hint at the conflict. The majority of great stories provide the reader with some clue to the conflict driving the story within the first three paragraphs. Here, for example, is the first paragraph of Kelly Link’s marvelous “Travels with the Snow Queen”:

Holy cow, talk about grabbing the reader with bravura and effortlessly stuffing them full of story. Second person is such a wonderful and reckless choice and it works here in a way not all second person narratives do. There’s physical pain, the bare bloody feet, and sensory beyond the visual with lavender and high-piled quilts and pleasant aches. And beyond that there is both an external conflict, the enforced journey, the drive in her dreams, and an internal conflict, a shame that, because the narrator is so careful not to look at it, makes us achingly aware of its existence: You were careful not to kiss the guardsman on the lips, so it doesn’t really count, does it. (The rest of the story is even better, and Link’s collection Magic For Beginners is worth picking up for its craftsmanship as well as the enjoyment its fabulous stories offer.)

3. Display your command of language. It’s worthwhile for a writer to think about poetry, and all its devices like assonance and alliteration, metaphor and allusion, internal rhythm, even meter. Save scraps of speech that you like, stud those paragraphs with wonderful things and spend with wild abandon from your store, because this is the make or break moment, when your reader decides whether or not to continue. You cannot lavish enough attention on your reader in the form of these paragraphs.

Look at how Carol Emshwiller’s “All of Us Can Almost…” begins, with a fancy hook made of punctuation attached to the title, like an elaborate latch on the door opening into the story:

…fly, that is. Of course lots of creatures can almost fy. But all of us are able to match any others of us, wingspan to wingspan. Also to any other fliers. But through we match each other wing to wing, we can’t get more than inches off the ground. If that. But we’re impressive. Our beaks look vicious. We could pose for statues for the birds representing an empire. we could represent an army or a president. And actually, we are the empire. We may not be able to fly, but we rule the skies. And most everything else too.

That conversational tone doesn’t come easily – it’s beautifully wrought, wonderfully precise.

4. Intrigue the reader while establishing the rules. Thomas M Disch’s “The Wall of America” sets the tone, narrative distance, and time frame (now to near future) while establishing a question (what’s the Wall?) that makes the reader want to keep going:

Most people got more space along the Wall than they could ever use, even the oddballs who painted leviathan-sized canvases they couldn’t hope to sell to anyone who didn’t have his own airplane hangar to hang their enormities. But if you did work on such a scale, you must have had money to burn, so what would it matter if you never sold your stuff? The important thing was having it hung where people could see it.

5. Use interesting, active words. You can never go wrong with this. Here’s James Tiptree Jr. at her best, full of poetry in “Your Faces, O My Sisters! Your Faces Filled Of Light!”:

Hot summer night, big raindrops falling faster now as she swings along the concrete expressway, high over the old dead city. Lightning is sizzling and cracking over the lake behind her. Beautiful! The flashes jump the roofs of the city to life below her, miles of cube buildings gray and sharp-edged in the glare. People lived here once, all the way to the horizons. Smiling, she thinks of all those walls and windows full of people, living in turbulence and terror. Incredible.

All of these count in titles too. Here’s an exercise: write down ten first sentences or titles, playing with one of these concepts in each. Then pick the most promising and go write that story.

(Reader notes: The stories cited here can be found in The James Tiptree Award Anthology 1, The James Tiptree Award Anthology 2, The Wall of America by Thomas Disch, and Her Smoke Rose Up Forever by James Tiptree, Jr. Sadly, none of these are available on the Kindle. The Kelly Link collection, however, is available on the Kindle.)