BLOGS

We’ve all been there. Getting a rejection from a publisher.  I’m not sure which is worse: waiting or receiving a rejection. I’ve experienced both and have learned to deal with them.

For the first time, however, I’ve had to send out rejections. As submissions editor for a small press, I now have an additional viewpoint on the rejection process and there are two types of reasons your story may get rejected.

Those you can control and those you can’t.

The ones you can control are what you read about in almost every how to writing guide out there.  Easy things that all writers should do:

-Check for your work for spelling and grammar issues before you submit.

-Send in work that is the genre that the publisher publishes.

-Format your manuscript the way the publisher asks.

-Send your submission or query with a professional, yet personable cover letter/email.

I’ve spoken with editors that will reject your work solely for the above.  It seems harsh, but there are a lot of people that do follow the presented guidelines and publishers tend to take following their rules as a sign that you’ll be easy to work with. (Who doesn’t want that?)

Other things you can control that are not so easy:

-Craft a fresh, interesting, well-paced story with engaging characters. 

-Ruthlessly self-edit to make your dialogue snap and your plot “un-put-downable”

-Find the time to read (in and out of your genre) to improve your exposure to styles and literary devices used in fiction.

However:

There are reasons your story will get rejected that you have zero control over.  And once you’ve assessed the above, your rejection may be because of one of the following:

-Your story is too similar to one the company has already accepted for publication. 

-Your story doesn’t have the tone the publisher prefers. (Publishers are looking for an intangible element that is impossible to put into words. It’s a “I’ll know it when I see it sort of thing”.)

-Your story doesn’t “fit” with the others they’ve already chosen for an anthology.

-Editors just don’t like to read some things. They’re human. It may be a particular point of view or tense or a certain period in history. Most times, a call for submissions will state absolute no-no’s for the publication like no profanity or no child endangerment.

But there’s more. There are editors and slush readers that prefer not to read phonetic spellings or don’t want to see another shape shifting macaw. Again, these are impossible for you to control unless you are told that the editors don’t want to see.

One such list you may have seen before is from the submissions page of Strange Horizons’ website.  Strange Horizons is a well-regarded online speculative fiction magazine and their list of “Stories We’ve Seen Too Often” has been referenced and reprinted by many publishers of speculative fiction. http://www.strangehorizons.com/guidelines/fiction-common.shtml

It isn’t all-inclusive and it doesn’t hold true for all publications, but I’m using it as an example that there are storylines that won’t appeal to certain publishers, even though your story is otherwise well put together.

So take heart when you get a rejection.  It isn’t always you.

Receiving a rejection does mean you’re finishing and submitting your work and that’s something to celebrate.

Happy writing.

This would be the third installment. Here's the short story, again before turning script. What do you all think? Read, if you have the time, and give some pointers or advice. It would be greatly appreciated!


Cypher Team i02 (c) 2009-2015
Angels of Anarchy



Transparent daggers exploded outward, tossing themselves from the pane of transoms placed along each cascading tower. They rained from the heavens, crashing to the earth as they either shattered on entry or pierced through the bodies of Reapers who had already lay, lifeless on the ground.

Buildings continued to buckle as bricks and concrete chipped away, imploding into dust. The twisting of metal screeched though the eerily quiet air. All that sounded was the high pitched wail of the atmosphere being drawn into the lungs of the woman who had made her presence known. Even the ambient noise of animals and city alike paled in the depths of its key.

In the midst of it all, a stream began to fall into visibility siphoning between the woman's lips and into her mouth as she continued. Cars in her vicinity crumbled like soda cans and so did everything else in the locale as the area of about 50 yards crushed in on its self.

As the cyclone continued to spiral The Madame cut her eyes back into the direction of Breather. She and Elias had gotten everyone that they could out of the area. Surely though, this mission was no longer about stopping the riot but stopping the two woman who had caused so much damage in their wake. If anything, The Madame knew that the two weren’t alone, she also knew that to pull the rest of the team out she would need to send in some strength.

She cast her eyes onto Elias as he stood strong, feet planted as his hair and clothing pulled into the direction of the vortex. He looked back at her, catching her in her gaze. He rolled his eyes.

“Elias!” She yelled over the howl of the makeshift sound of a freight train. “GO!”

“On it,” he gritted as he dug his boots into the ground launching himself into the woman's direction.

He hit the earth, exploding into it as asphalt flew into the sky and instantly flew into Breathers direction disintegrating. His trench coat flowed even heavier into Breathers direction. He was in the safe zone however, just outside of her radius, so, he was keeping the air in his lungs this day.

“Damn it, I’m always the one getting beat on.” He bellowed to himself.

Breather looked at him and stopped her inhalation. She squinted at him letting her lips pucker a bit. The two had a past, a deep past and it went as far back to TEMPLE High where they went to school with one another. To keep it short we’ll just say, she had the hots for him but, he had the hots for a blue-skinned, sassy, ice throwing Puerto Rican who now, he was married to.

Breather licked her lips and then winked at him, sure that he remembered what her lips taste like. He gulped readying in wonder as he planted his feet even more into the hole, the taste of her lips farthest from his mind. She however, reached up placing an open hand to her puckered lips. Behind her hand and before her lips a bluish colored ray of light began to emerge, bursting out like a mini supernova flickering out of existence. She pointed her finger tips towards him and blew causing a tight spiral of blue energy to leave her mouth as she released all the air she had sucked in, compressed into a stronger air flow. Slowly she opened her mouth letting the rest of it follow in a more heavier blast.

A cascade of various shades of the color painted the masses as the beam of energy sped his way.

“Fuck.” He sighed shaking his head in angst as he crossed his arms in front of himself, forming an “X,” to take the impact. “She sure as hell isn’t holding back this time. Fine then, neither will I.”

He grimaced as the energy hit him, waves and waves of stronger bolts beat against him like rough ocean tides crashing into a rocky cliff. Each pulse pushed him back farther, causing him to plow deeper into the already demolished inner city street. However, he did manage to find the inner strength to hold on against her massive assault.

The blue flood of condensed air stopped abruptly, leaving trickles of its former trailing behind it. Breather closed her mouth and looked on to Elias who now had black smoke coming from him. His uniform tattered from her onslaught. She smiled, never speaking a word as he breathed heavily.

She turned to walk away from him as he stepped out of the hole that was dug. “Where are you going Breather? You know this is far from over.”

She turned to him, frowning.

Elias grinned, looking up to her, “You know what happens next right or did you forget?”

As the words left his mouth his hands began to glow in an aqua hue, gradually brightening as it spiraled around his arms forming itself into a larger buildup. Two clenched fists raised into her direction as sweat rolled down his face and with a sharp thunderous echo his very own energy left him, moving faster than her own as it crackled through the air, sounding as though it had broken the sound barrier as it ripped the ground apart under its slipstream.

Her eyes widened as the rampaging blast bolted her way. Her body shifted tones, matching the color of the energy as it got closer.

She was familiar with his power but never had she seen it on this level. The last she had seen him he had an extremely low absorption limit and that, she thought, was broken when she attacked him. Obviously, the previous information was wrong or he was hiding his true level the whole time. She attempted to blocked it, cowering back as her hands went up and then.

Nothing, no force, no rush...just emptiness, as though nothing was there. She opened her eyes to see that the energy had dissipated, leaving no aftermath. What the hell, she thought to herself. Maybe he wasn’t as strong as he thought...maybe the energy didn’t quite make it. Then again, there was the other reason. She looked into his direction as she noticed him starring off, looking above her, his expression shocked and a bit hurt as he gazed on.

She followed his stare, she knew what it was.

“Mona?” He whispered.

“It’s Tarot.” The Madame followed, landing behind him.

“I can see that Sara....I thought she was...”

“Obviously not.” The Madame interrupted, looking on to her former friend and teammate as she stood on the building looking down to them.

Mona, or Tarot which was the name she chose to go by, wore a long black dress. Nothing fancy really, just enough to help the imagination. Her lips were also coated in black, her eyes in black mascara. Finishing with jet black hair accenting her bronze flawless skin.

In all aspects of a woman, she was beautiful. Most people however thought that she obtained her beauty from her magical background. Her home country of Mexico spoke that she was the strongest “brujah” around. She however, didn’t feel the same, modesty being her persona. Which may have been why Elias and Sara were so set in awe to see her on the side of The Angels of Anarchy? It just didn’t fit her.

She sighed, standing on top of the ruined building as she twirled a card between her fingers tips. The Fool, is what it read.

“Breather, are you okay?” She asked, turning her attention to the woman in white. Her English perfect and her accent sexy, sure to make any mens attention rise.

Breather shook her head yes, still not speaking as she flew towards Tarot landing beside her, both of them now looking down to the two Lions.

“Damn it, we are not gonna beat them if Tarot is there. You know what she can do.” Elias spoke, turning his attention to The Madame.

“Yea, I know. This isn’t good, at all.” She answered.

~

Feline looked over her shoulder, eyes in instinct as she caught the view of the blast from the other fight. Claws extended, she anticipated the next attack from her own opponents as her lightly layered fur began to show strips fading to black from the solid blondish brown.

“Hmm...” she purred, turning back to the Alchemy and Pyreblade. “Looks like someones getting their asses kicked.” She taunted in song.

Alchemy sucked her teeth to the comment, she saw the blast too and knew, full well, who it belonged to. “Check you’re stats again kitty...that blast was from the Colonel. That bloody harlot is going down, I can assure it.”

“Maybe...but what can be said about you two,” she snarled her fangs flashing under the sun.

“Bunt edges away?” Jordan asked, looking to his wife.

“Bunt edges away babe.”

Jordan sighed as a smile crossed his face, “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he spoke as he quickly tossed his blade from his right hand to his left, handling it to where the sharpened side faced the sky. He followed crouching down as his left foot extended forward, his sword pointed in the direction of Feline, his right hand to the end of the hilt.

A medium orange light bathed in his eyes as red clashed within it. For the first time since leaving the heli-jet he allowed his blade to engulf itself in the flames that were him. With a spiraling burst it erupted, feeding on the air as the blaze reached out, stretching as though they had slept for a millennia. The inferno crept up the weapon until finally finding the tip. He looked at it, smiling.

“Rise and shine sleepy head.” He spoke to his broadsword. “It’s feeding time.”

Alchemy looked to her husband seeing the pure want for violence on his face. It turned her on a bit, seeing him in his stance, nearly engulfed in flames as he stood in wait, intent on his charge. She smiled, thinking about later.

“Show off,” she joked as her arms took on its mercury form, stretching out in its liquid state as they morphed into two largely built katanas.

“Love, do you mind making me hot?” she asked looking over to her husband. He looked back grinning.

“Right now?”

“Yea”

“Of course not.” He answered leaving his stance. He kept his sword ablaze as he switched it back to his right hand and laid it across his shoulder. The flames bothering him none. He set his left hand ablaze pointing it towards his wife.

She stood, waiting as he sent flames out towards her. They licked away at her mercury skin as she mentally began to harden her liquefied form. The gray of her skin started to turn a piercing red as she took on the look of molten steel pulled straight from extremely hot fire.

“Thanks love.” She said as her blades produced their very own flames. Her body sheering as the quicksilver on her coursed, looking alive as it flowed over her body, shining red like embers and as hot as hell. Her eyes piercing the same.

“You’re welcome. Now, back to her.” Pyreblade spoke as he got back in his stance.

Feline snickered, “Ready now? Lets play,” she growled phasing from site.

“Dammit!” Alchemy yelled as the tiger patterned woman blended into her surrounds.

“Relax, she can’t stay hidden the whole time. How many cats does that make now anyway?”

“Three. Cheetah, Lion and now Tiger. Each one has a different skill.” She breathed looking around anticipating. “We can’t let her get close to us.”

Pyreblade nodded as he raised his engulfed blade into the sky. In sheer force he jolted it back to the earth, stabbing it as flames erupted from it and out, encompassing the two in a blaze set ring.

“Not what I was thinking because now...we’re trapped.”

“Exactly,” the tigresses voice echoed in laughter. She was in the circle with them and with no where to run, she began her assault. Phasing back into existence as the stripes faded into spots. A still of her self stood in place as she bolted towards the two, moving at speeds to where it seemed she hadn’t moved at all.

Alchemy watched as best she could as again she was knocked from her feet. Instantly, Pyreblade swung his sword into the direction of where his wife stood, hoping to catch Feline from behind since the woman had slowed down a bit when she met Alchemy. To his dismay she had anticipated his attack and flipped backward over the blade and into his direction not completing the full flip. Time seemed to slow down as she twisted in the air to face him. The stained dye of black vanished from her face as the smaller spots grew in size looking more Jaguar.

She landed to the ground on all fours, looking up to him as she roared. He attempted again, to finally hit her, only to have her dodge each attack and with the dodge she’d land a devastating blow, knocking him back as she used feet and clawed hands, scrapping about in a capoiera style of fighting.

Alchemy found herself, standing back to her feet as she charged the woman from behind. Bladed arms raised mid body as she ran into her direction attempting to thrust them through her. Feline sensed her and flipped forward knocking the weapons away with her right foot and hitting Alchemy’s chin with her left causing the woman to moan out in pain as she was stopped in her tracks and lifted off the ground.

Feline finished bringing her heels to the back of Pyreblade’s head sending him face first into the concrete.

“Is that it?” She asked, looking to her prey, laughing at the two as they lay, stricken on the ground.

Yes, you. Sitting at your computer or holding that smart phone in your hands. I need you. Take a look at that cover. It. Sucks. I need a new one. Something that will catch people's attention. The new cover also needs to have a snappier title. You can download this book for free right now at http://bit.ly/1diApYv and type in code HZ66Q at checkout. Please read to get a better idea for a title because I'm just stuck. I'll buy the winner your choice of any of my eBooks and a copy of Axe to the Face once it's published. Contest ends at the end of the month and I'll announce the winner with the cover reveal.

A unique way to illustrate quantum mechanics from Physics Reimagined.

I watched them play, in the streets, in the fields. Obsessed with courage and tenacity, singleness of heart to move the ball. Showing off their skills, outwitting each other in a game of dares. A group who teased each other about putting Globetrotters on the bench.

I wonder if there was ever a superhero team of ball handlers with all the skills of the Black athlete, football, baseball, basketball, soccer, tennis, pool, etc. They move balls with agility from the green pea on a plate to planets. They hit, kick, throw, bounce through walls and heads. They use the science, calculate the angles. They perfected the thunder dribble, the torpedo backhand blast, the whirlwind overhead kick, the ricochet rocket shot. All their skills are weapons to move the ball.

The balls are like marbles, every kid has played with. The ball handlers seem to pull them out of the air, pass them between themselves and fire them according to their skill. They shrink or grow to meet the challenge, they float and hover, they snoop, they explode, they envelop and contain. Technology and mentality.

The city streets are locked down, no guns for citizens, yet as usual the thugs have guns. The ball handlers were just in the hood on the way to the field of play lugging their grips of gear. Maybe they should be open, maybe they should have secret ID's or a metamorphic change into ninja like warriors, uniforms. Nah, they were kids in the street who stumbled upon of all things the original Globetrotter. An ancient ghetto derelict they found living in a musty room behind the stores. A blind alley, a forgotten lot, there were stories about the bum who mumbled and stumbled in and out. He talked of legends and myths and stellar games. An ancient soul the likes of Stick in Daredevil and Electra, but more ancient. They snooped on him, a dare and a prank, dazed in trance he was, ping pong balls hovering around his head. He was humming a Motown tune. They burst out, how you do that old man. The little white spheres drop, roll across the floor. A tiny bit startled, he chuckles to recompose, five bowling balls rise up out of the mess and hover around his head. He says back at them with the same taunting air, don't mess with me, I'm a baaaaaad dude. He breaks the silence in a more obliging tone. I didn't think you'd get here. Been waiting to train you how to handle the ball a long time. The bowling balls spun off in five directions, one bouncing off landing in a bucket, one smashing a wall, one softly touching the ceiling (it's still there), one spinning on his finger and one circling the head of one of the kids. A bunch of kids become street warriors with special skills to move the ball.

Carl: you are missed.
Site: Carl Sagan Day
Amazon: Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space
Zen Pencils: Pale Blue Dot

Download a copy for Kindle at http://amzn.to/1aYa92y.

Lecture by Leo Susskind...

False-colour scanning-electron-microscope image of the edge of the JQI optical lattice showing the ring-shaped waveguides. A waveguide at the centre of the image is missing and the light is seen detouring around it. (Courtesy: Emily Edwards/JQI)

Physics World: Quantum Hall effect created using light

My new eBook Where the Monsters Are was just released last month and I’m giving away 7 copies. If you’d like one, please visit my site at www.razorlinepress.com and leave a message on any of the posts there with your email address. These posts only go public if I make them (so I won’t) and I’ll gift a Kindle copy to you if you’re one of the lucky 7. Check out the press release or click on the link to see what it’s about: http://amzn.to/1aYa92y.

Another thought, society presses to make us individuals, independent in thought and action. We balance that push with a natural inclination toward the collective. We have had our history burned and were retaught history as a warped paraphrase of unrelated events. Then we are taught trust, faith and to hope with no bases in reality. In the end our collective realm was trashed and our individual person mugged to the max.

We spend the rest of our lives with snippets of truth. As strong individuals we often display what we know, exalting that part as the whole, the fire of rhetoric, the rhythmic bantering, the jive of justice. Of course our discourse is timely but as momentary as fads, fantasy and trends, WHY? Because new info interrupts our mini siege on the world, causes us to reconsider our display until further notice. One of the big problems of Black folk is having to reconstruct our past so that we know how to act today. The other problem is projecting into the future with what we know or think we know now.

If you step back far enough, we are who we are, in our time, the result of all before us. In that sense we don't need to do anything except survive. But there is, at least in me, a pain in the bones, wanting to know what other Blacks are thinking, feeling, how they are dealing, what pieces of the puzzle they realize and do they know that it is just a piece. What happens when the pieces come together from different persons, schools of thought and the misalignments, extraneous thoughts and events are exposed, shaken off? What happens when we the strong individuals connect in a natural collective realm? What happens when we realize our powers are not defined or depended on the system that domesticated us? What happens when we step back and look at us as a collective, regardless of the physical and mental distance constructed between us? Can we come out of our domestication, probably not completely. We might dare to risk a thought life behind the scenes while holding a compliant public face. Soon that too becomes a way of life. Hypocrites are the saints of survival.  Don't we live that way? I do!

Not a brick wall. Electron microscope image of a cross section of the newly characterized tunable microwave dielectric clearly shows the thick layers of strontium titanate "bricks" separated by thin "mortar lines" of strontium oxide that help promote the largely defect-free growth of the bricks. Credit: TEM image courtesy David Mueller. Color added for clarity by Nathan Orloff.

What this means to you: as you'll read in the article, it could mean an end to dropped cell phone calls (or, at least minimizing it significantly)...

National Institute of Standards and Technology:
Perfect Faults: A Self-Correcting Crystal May Unleash the Next Generation of Advanced Communications

Nathaniel David Lewis asks about Black representation in the cartoon industry. When I was in college I explored the same thing concerning Industrial Design, Interior Design and Architecture. Sure there are notables and maybe even a principle (owner of a firm). Even MIT university ask how many black architects can you name. Names escape me as I think of the brother who designed a spacey looking airport building around the 50's and the Madison brothers here in the Cleveland Ohio area. I have lost touch with the different fields and gone into art. But ask who are the black artist from whom I draw inspiration, I'm at a loss again.

If one of us (black persons) is trained in any of the design professions and have the good fortune of being known in the industry as a cultural innovator or a so called household name, that is a thing of wonder. To have a body of work that capsulizes the cultural flavor and fuels the market with products that black people could embrace as out from us, that is again a wonder. The problem seems to be coming up through the ranks of companies owned and directed by other cultural bents and not getting the opportunity or idea that a different expression will survive the market place.

When I was in high school, I did renderings of homes, mostly I copied, but some of my own design. I tried to imagine what it would be like to design silverware, quilts, t shirts, furniture and home interiors. Do you think there was any support to push in that direction? Not for me, I did assume others might have those aspirations and needed support. I look at the fields today, there are many black designers, none of note I can name. You see working in the field as a player doesn't mean you are managing the game, doesn't get your name associated with the product, the movement. What does it take, I don't know. Today I am more about the flavor. What is the Black Aesthetic, the Black Style, the Black Look. I do see it kind of in fashion, mainstream black art, but it hasn't reached Interior Design products on the store shelves or a Black owned and operated culturally bent towards us store. I think we are spread, dispersed too thinly across America to have impact on ourselves.

Your Nightmares. All Grown Up

Where the Monsters Are

Gerald Dean Rice

Gerald Parsons is on his way up. He's a talented executive in line for a major promotion and married to a beautiful woman. But a chance encounter that may not be coincidence with a stranger who claims to know him begins to unravel his happy life. After a co-worker is killed and another has his career sabotaged, the stranger shows up at his home, ready to party with his own special news, leaving Gerald to ponder if he is next.

Just because Halloween is over doesn’t mean the scares have to stop. If you didn’t get your fill of horror in October, download the tale that answers what happens to the monsters under our beds and in our closets when we’re not little children anymore.

Gerald Dean Rice is the author of numerous short stories, novellas, and his first novel, The Ghost Toucher.  He’s currently working on his first vampire novel and doing workshops on publishing in Michigan. 

###

Where the Monsters Are is available for download right now on Kindle, Nook, and everywhere eBooks are sold.

You can follow him on Twitter @GeraldRice or join the Gerald Rice fan page. To book him for speaking engagements, please visit http://razorlinepress.com/i-speak/.

Small Fish, Big City - Chapter 1

Matthew discovers the laundromat in his new home of Big City to be just a little bit stranger than he initially thought: http://wp.me/p1UgIB-HR

Small Fish, Big City - Chapter 2

After recovering from the unusual nature of the laundromat, Matthew discovers the phenomenon he has discovered has a name. They are called kami! - http://wp.me/p1UgIB-Ib

Small Fish, Big City - Chapter 3

Big City has one more lesson before the day is over for Matthew. Gangs rule the night...: http://wp.me/p1UgIB-Il

Looking to do something more interesting than the standard ad for my new novel, I put together an animated web banner for the latest novel in the Tales from the Long Road series, 'Book of Dragon's Teeth.'
© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Published by Dreaded Enterprises Unlimited, Inc.

To see the animation, click on the image below

This is a story I wrote a long time ago that I updated and uploaded to the Kindle platform being that I heard that this is the way to wealth, fame and riches. It's being offered for free on the Kindle. I definitely like the new cover. Has some slightly disturbing content. Its free for the next day or so. Enjoy.

I keep forgetting that I have a blog page on here!

I just joined the board of the Carl Brandon Society, so I'm excited about working with the organization that gave me so much in 2012.

Recently I was told that my short story "Throb" will be included in the new groundbreaking speculative fiction anthology "Longhidden". It comes out in 2014.

Also, my short story "Throwback" is in the new Genesis 2 Anthology. (Support!)

One of the things I really want to do with the BSFS family is to encourage the writers here to attend conferences and apply for writing workshops that I am just now discovering. Part of the reason why I love the Carl Brandon Society is their commitment to bringing forth new writers of color in Spec Fic.

One of the biggest complaints I hear from black writers is that traveling to conferences or applying to writing fellowships/workshops is expensive. Yeah, some are, but I'm going to call bullshit on using that as the crutch to not investing in the work. We all know college is expensive, and yet if people want a degree, you have to pay for it. And before people start throwing up "I have kids, a fulltime job, responsibilities..blah blahblah," STOP. If you are not willing to invest in your craft, move on. It's that simple.

Let me tell you, by saving up (a year in advance) and attending conferences like Wiscon  & Readercon last summer, I have made wonderful contacts and inroads with my writing career. I've met writers, editors, publishers and genre fans who have connected me to writing opportunities. I mean literally I have spoken to editors for magazines who have said "Send your stuff over." Simply because I was in the room with them talking in person. And check this: The Carl Brandon Society has a Con or Bust program to help cover the costs of PoC attending conferences. Check out the website:http://con-or-bust.org/   via carlbrandon.org

So, I will do my best to be an advocate for BSFS members. I come from a tradition of each one teach one, and payback is reaching back. And access to information is a tremendous help. I had never heard of WisCon or Readercon or a butt load of cons until I went to Clarion, and Ted Chiang, one of my teachers told me to go. So I am telling you. Go. There are many Cons near any city where people live. I will be going to WisCon again next May, and I'm thinking of going to DetCon, a convention in Detroit next July. So I'm saving money now. Next November I am going to the World Fantasy Convention which will be in D.C., so if there are folks in and around the D.C. area, let's chop it up. Do it.

Holla atcha gurrlllll.....

L-Boogie