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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
I’m sorry. I really am. I know it’s a great story. But here’s some reasons why I’m not thrilled by your offer to let me read it.
I do read fast, but I have a lot to read. I’m reading for the Norton Award this year, which has meant an onslaught of books. I’m reading to stay abreast of the field and so I can make intelligent award nomination decisions. And I’m reading for my own pleasure.
You’re not asking me to read it, really, but also to critique it. That takes time, and even just a little crit is a piranha-like bite out of a day already besieged.
You’re asking me to do it for free. I charge to critique stories. Right now I’m not taking any, because I want to focus on my own work. The same goes for Kickstarters asking me for crits as donation incentives this year. I got bit in the butt with a bunch of these all at once, and it’s just not working for me. I’ll revisit this policy in 2015.
You may not want to hear what I have to say. A few years ago someone pressed a manuscript in my hands, and I took the time to go through it pretty thoroughly and explain why it wasn’t ready for primetime and what changes needed to be made. The recipient made it clear that he’d been wanting to hear praise and market suggestions. That was a bit discouraging.
I am not in a position to publish your story. If that’s what you’re hoping, I’m not currently editing a magazine and the couple of editing projects I have coming up are pretty specific in theme. It is extremely unlikely that I will read your story, shout “Huzzah!” and send it off to another editor saying they should buy it.
If you absolutely must have me read your story, you do have the option of taking my workshop. I offer plenty of classes and there’s new sections of both the Writing F&SF Stories and the Advanced Workshop opening soon.
This is hard for me because I have a difficult time saying no to requests. But they add up into vast piles of undone work that dampen all productive effort. So despite all the convulsions and pain this is causing my inner Midwesterner, who desperately wants to be polite… save us both the trouble and send it to your crit group. At least for now. Okay?
...
1007 words on Circus in the Bloodwarm Rain, although I really need to start going back and making some of the early parts make more sense. Right now there’s an awful lot of leaping about between the original short story it’s based on (news of that coming soon) and the final outline for the novel.
1005 words on Prairiedog Town (working title)
Total wordcount: 2012, but there’s still time to get a little more in
Today’s new Spanish words: la abeja (the bee), cienca ficción (science fiction), mamar (to suck, as it mother’s milk), el mamon (a kind of fruit), el lavavavillas (the dishwasher), el rastro (the flea market).
We walked down to the farmer’s market in the morning and bought lovely fruit, including bananas and rambutan. After some work in the afternoon, we took a swim break and tried out the pool here, which was delicious. But holy cow, I’d forgotten how tiring swimming can be, and what it’s like to step out of the water and feel gravity reclaiming what was just light and buoyant.
Later on, we went for an evening walk and were forced by rain into a sushi restaurant where we had terrific sushi (although the spicy tuna was a bit too much for me). We’ve been told that Jaco picks up considerably during the weekends, when everyone from San Jose comes down to spend some time here, and it does seem a good bit livelier this evening.
And a little translating! I’ve started “Panecillo tostado, con devoción para acompaña” and am undoubtedly mangling it considerably, all in the name of practice.
...
(horror, short story) The LED bug kicks feebly, trying to push itself away from the wall. Its wings are rounds of mica, and the hole in its carapace where someone has tacked it to the graying boards reveals cogs and gears, almost microscopic in their dimension. The light from its underside is the cobalt of distress.
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