Who Am I to Judge? By Jennifer J. Chow

“Who am I to judge?” I really asked myself that question when I was invited to review the submissions for Writer’s Digest 21^st annual Short Short Story competition.

Original artwork by the young resident artist in my household

It was my first time being a judge. My role involved doing the preliminary judging of the contest entries. The results are now in. Huge congrats to JJ Lubinski and all the other winners!

 

The staff at Writer’s Digest informed me that I’d need to read around 750 stories. That figure was quite accurate. I had to do a lot of reading in a very condensed amount of time.

 

From my judging experience, I’ve now created a simple list of tips for those who are interested in submitting to a short short story contest:

  

·         Adhere to the word count

The contest rules indicated that stories needed to be 1500 words or fewer. Unfortunately, I had to automatically eliminate those submissions that didn’t follow the guidelines.

 

·         Grab me from the get-go

In a full-length manuscript, the initial pages need to pull in a reader. With a shorter story, there’s even less time. I want the first few paragraphs to entice me.

 

·         Find a unique spin

A lot of stories I read covered similar ground. Certain subjects were very popular, including big themes (e.g. love) or contemporary topics (e.g. the pandemic). To catch my attention, the tales with popular ideas required a distinctive take from the author.    

 

·         Develop an authentic voice

An interesting character is key to a story, and I latch on to great voices. If I’m invested in the voice, I’ll definitely keep reading further.

 

·         Guarantee a story arc

Although the word count in a short short story is lower, I still expect a complete tale. It’s important that a story arc is also found in these shorter works. 

One of the joys of judging is the honor of receiving people’s talented and creative output. I admired learning about all sorts of topics and reading different writing styles. I also appreciated being able to perhaps boost new voices through this contest. I’m indebted to Writer’s Digest for letting me put my judging hat on.

 

Have you ever been a judge or submitted anything to a contest? 

To Confer or Not to Confer

by Kaye George

That is the question for so many writers. Especially those who have never attended a writers’ conference. They’re big, they’re complicated, and—worst of all—they are expensive. I’ll address only mystery cons here, because they are mostly what I have experience with.

  

The reasons to skip them and stay home are compelling for people who love to sit alone in a room and write for an unseen audience. Many of us are introverts who would rather listen in on conversations than participate in them. Hardly any of us make much money, so it’s hard to justify the expense if there are no benefits you can think of.

There are reasons to go, too, and I’m in the pro-conference camp.

First of all, know that there are two types of writerly gatherings: conferences and conventions. Or, in other words, fan conferences and writer conferences. At the former, many mystery fans show up and buy books. They are thrilled to meet the authors and get signatures in those books. They love to attend your panel discussions and see what you look like, how you sound.

My short story panel at Malice 2019

The writers’ conferences are aimed AT the writer. They include instructional and informative panels, useful stuff for us. They often offer a meeting with an agent or editor in some sort of pitch session.

The former are the big ones: Malice Domestic, Bouchercon, etc. The latter are smaller and often regional.

When I attended my first Malice Domestic, I was unpublished. I went to see what it was about, and to dream of being on one of those panels and sitting at one of those signing tables. I volunteered, so I would have something to do besides wandering aimlessly. That’s all it took for me, one time. I was hooked.

Where else can you enter the bar and sit with a complete stranger who is wearing the same conference badge that you’re wearing, and immediately strike up a conversation? Where else can you be sitting alone in the bar and have a complete stranger wearing that badge come sit with you? These are places where kindred souls can meet and discuss things we have to whisper about in polite company: advantages and disadvantages of various weapons and poisons, body decomposition, the particulars of dark personalities, ways to structure our crimes and our detection. We can also gripe about publishers and others involved in getting our books into print or hindering that process. The list goes on and on.

A bunch at the bar, Killer Nashville, 2014

I hope all writers know that you can deduct the cost of these, whether or not you’re published. If you are diligently working toward that goal and have records (time sheets, rejections), there is no IRS limitation on how many years it takes you to start earning money.

Some years my earnings cover my costs. Some years they don’t. But there’s nothing I’d rather do than write mysteries and hang around with others who write them.

Indie Author Contests

I recently saw an author proclaiming her latest novel had been nominated for an [unnamed for the purposes of this blog] indie book prize. With a newly published novel of my own, (titled Doubtful Relations, thanks for asking) I figured I’d learn more of the details.

Turns out anyone can nominate a book, including its author, for the price of $75. That covers one category; extra categories can be had for $50 each.

As you probably know, I like to understand the economics underlying any transaction, and this one looked intriguing from both the author’s and the contest owner’s perspective.

First, consider the author.

The contest provides more than seventy possible categories that cover the gamut of fiction and nonfiction. I found some most intriguing. First novel split into three categories: under 60,000 words, 60-90,000 words, over 90,000 words. Here’s a category I’ve never seen before: Second novel. There were also separate awards for two ebook categories: fiction and nonfiction.

An author needs to think strategically about which category to enter his work in order to keep fees under control. Thinking of my second published novel, it could have qualified as Second Novel, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Regional Fiction, Best Cover (Fiction), and maybe even Action/Adventure.

With a win, what does the author receive?

First/second/third places for fiction and nonfiction win $1500/$750/$500 AND a trophy!

Winner of one of the seventy-odd categories wins $100 AND a “gold medal” AND have a NY literary agent review the book for possible representation.

Top five finalists in the categories also win medals, permission to put stickers on the winning books, listing in a catalog and on the sponsor’s website.

I’m pretty underwhelmed here. Let me explain why.

Literary agent representation: Most agents accept electronic submissions, which cost nothing to submit. Plus, in the contest I was evaluating, a quick check of the agent’s website reveals the agency works primarily in nonfiction, although they will take fiction. I write fiction, so this is probably not the best agency fit for me.

Unlike Olympic medals, which do have monetary value, these won’t put money in the bank.

Winning a category provides a return of the entry fee plus $25. That assumes entry in only one category. Assuming authors who enter in two categories can only win one (not clear, but likely), entering more than one category assures a monetary loss unless the book is one of the overall top three. What are the chances of winning one of the top three spots? Slim, very slim.

So what can an author expect to get for his $75? Clearly, he can accurately claim his book was nominated for the XYZ Prize. The award sounds good, and “nomination” presents the impression there was a vetting process to become nominated (and there is, the check must clear!). Maybe the advertising value brings sufficient monetary rewards to justify the money spent.

I’m skeptical, but willing to be persuaded in the comments.

Now, what does the promoter get out of this?

Prize outlay is $12,500 plus trophies and medals plus paying the agent to look at 70 manuscripts plus a website to post results for a year plus a “catalog” of winning books. What do you think, $25,000 max?

At $75 an entry, the 334^th person covers the costs assuming everyone enters only one category. If on average they choose two, then 200 “nominations” will break even.

Maybe the contest sponsor pays readers – say $25 a book? Even then, worst case break-even requires 500 entrants. With 500,000 or so indie books published each year in the U.S. that’s only one in a 1,000.

Convince 2,000 people to sign up with two categories each and you’ve generated $250,000 in entrance fees. I think I understand the motivation for creating the contest.

WWK readers: it’s your opportunity to set this jaded author right! Tell me in the comments what I am missing; or do you agree this is a PT Barnum opportunity?

~ Jim

On Subjectivity and Writing

In my last post, I discussed how I went about combing through submissions for Pitch Wars, a writing contest for which I’m a mentor to an unagented writer of my choosing. As I explained, I was trying to be as logical as possible, but that I couldn’t ignore my gut. And my gut is subjective.

Now, two weeks later, I find myself attempting and failing at writing rejections.

I know the 76 rejections I have to write (I ended up with two fabulous mentees, if you’re wondering why I’m not writing 77 for my 78 submissions) are only truly useful to those who submitted if I give them specific feedback. These people already know they weren’t chosen. I’m not even sure they’ll open the email when I send it because, really, writers are subjected to enough rejection, why actually read one you knew was coming?

But also, all 76 of those rejections are for reasons that are completely subjective.

Completely. Even if I give each entrant the specific reason my gut veered away.

And how does one truly explain subjectivity?

As Keanu says above, what if what I see is completely different from how others see it? Subjectivity is a stew of so many factors—preferences, education, background, mood, interests, etc.—what can a writer gain except information that can be used with someone who is similarly subjective?

So, if we constantly tell each other that “writing is subjective” what are we truly supposed to learn from that? What do you think?

Pitch Wars: Behind the Curtain

For the third year in a row, I’m a mentor in a contest run by Brenda Drake called Pitch Wars. You’ve heard this spiel before in this space, but this basically means that querying writers submit to contest mentors (usually agented writers). The mentors then pick mentees to help them get their manuscripts in the best shape possible before an “agent round” where a select group of agents comb through the entries and make requests publically on each entry.

The contest has a growing number of success stories, with dozens of writers agented and/or gaining book deals in direct correlation to the contest. My mentee last year, the super awesome Kellye Garrett, was offered representation IN A BAR at 10:30 at night by an agent who loved her Pitch Wars submission (they were at the New England Crime Bake the week after the agent round).

So, yeah, Pitch Wars does incredible things for writers. Mostly because it provides a spotlight on something that might be great but overlooked in a pile of queries. I’ve benefited from that spotlight myself, meeting my agent through the contest in its first year.

Thus, as I think it’ll be helpful for querying writers to hear, not just those in the contest, I thought I’d give a little insight. Well, actually three little pieces of insight:

1. Numbers matter

2. Taste matters

3. Context matters

First, the Numbers: The quality of the work always matters, of course, but here’s the deal: ALL the submissions in my contest inbox are wonderful. Seriously. The competition is FIERCE, the queries are strong, the opening pages are polished and all the writers seem affable and ready for a working relationship.

Which is awesome. Except there are 78 of those hardy competitors in my inbox. In the whole contest there are 1,591. Less than a tenth of those will be chosen as mentees. This year, there are no alternates. Each mentor choses a single mentee. Which means I have to reject 77 great writers. And some mentors with wider tastes have to reject double that.

Now, think about an actual agent and not just a contest mentor. Many agents get at least 100 queries per day. Maybe more. Yet many only take on a handful of clients per year. Maybe only one or two. Yet they get possibly 365 times the number of queries I have to comb through for this contest.

Moreover, of the clients they take on, less than half will get a deal out of their first book on submission.

Yes, it will always be a numbers game.

Second, Personal Choice: I am not an agent or an acquisitions editor, but, like them, I am human. Which means that as I comb through my entries, there are some that snag my attention much quicker than others. I have a tendency to enjoy crime fiction (duh) but I also really like humor. I can’t read strictly somber books any more than I can watch strictly somber movies. I’m sure they’re amazing. I. just. Can’t. And that is my humanity showing.

Thus, as I sorted my submissions into “Favorites,” “Maybes,” and “No, Not for Me” folders, I decided to go with my gut. After doing this twice before, I’m starting to get a little better at understanding what works for me personally and what doesn’t.

Unfortunately, because there were so many great submissions, I ended up with 30 Favorites, 30 Maybes and 18 No, Not for Me.

My gut likes many things, obviously. Which leads me to my third insight…

Third, Context Matters: There have been truly great manuscripts that didn’t get a single request in Pitch Wars but went on to be agented and sold after the contest. Yes, this happens. Why? The contest setup.

Pitch Wars is different than querying in that each writer gets 300 words to show their stuff, not a query and 10 pages (or whatever a certain agent prefers). Here, there’s a pitch of about 35 to 75 words at the top of the page and then about 250 words of the writer’s first page below it. That’s it. From there, agents request partials and fulls.

Therefore, the first page and the concept are extremely important in this contest. I’m convinced the only reason I “won” the adult round of Pitch Wars the first year is because my pitch and first page described (in sickening detail) the death of a chef in his very own kitchen with his very own tools. It worked very well within the contest parameters. Even if it was gross.

As I narrow down my favorites and my maybes, I’m thinking not only of how I personally feel about the manuscript, but how I’d craft a pitch and what the first page would look like as a teaser. Those things are just too important to success in this arena. And I want my mentee to feel successful and get as much out of the contest as possible.

This might seem cold and calculating. BUT, in a way, it’s “just business.” Agents and acquiring editors must do this too. Agents might be looking for a certain type of book that fills a spot in their list. Or something that they know editors are looking for in a submission. Editors are hoping to fall in love with a book that works in their imprint, catalog and calendar. They turn down far more than my 78 submissions in a year because they have to, not because they want to.

SO, all that said, if you are querying, entered in a contest or in my inbox (hi!), please understand that there is a heavy amount of thought that goes into evaluating writing submissions. It’s not a perfect science. It’s run by the reader’s heart, head and gut—just like your writing.

The Pain of Arriving at “It’s Just Not for Me”

For the second year in a row, I’m a mentor for Brenda Drake’s Pitch Wars contest. Last time, I gave a pretty comprehensive behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like trying to pan for gold in a huge writing contest.

This time around, I thought I’d talk a little more in depth on the very worst part of the contest: Seeing great work and then having to say no.

It’s particularly painful because most writers know what it feels like to put their best work out there and then to be told no—sometimes for a vague reason. Or for a reason that seems so minor that you just want to throw your hands up and say, “Why is that a no? That’s an easy fix.” Or you just get the dreaded “I just didn’t connect with this manuscript.”

I’ve been there on all of those and totally understand how frustrating rejections like that can be to receive. But thanks to this contest I also know how frustrating the flip side can be.

This year, there were more than 1,200 entries—double last year’s totals. Each entrant could pick up to four of the 75 mentors to submit to, using posted wish lists and preferences to figure out who might like what.

Though none of us are agents or acquisition editors, the whole aspect of the “hunt and peck” method of trying to match your manuscript with someone who might love it is very similar to trying to find the right match “for real.”

And sometimes that leads to the same annoying answers as above.

I narrowed my wish list this year and got 78 submissions, most of which were adult mysteries and thrillers, as requested.

Out of those 78, I was required to pick two writers to mentor—one will be my main mentee and the other will be an alternate.

Which means I have to say no to 76 manuscripts.

Not an easy thing—not only as a fellow writer but because approximately 90 percent of those manuscripts are something I could say yes to.

Going through the entries, I ended up with a huge “maybe” pile. Very few pitches ended up in the “no” pile right away and most of those were because the word count was hugely off (below 50,000 or above 120,000). Probably eight or so were flagged right off the query as having mentee potential. That number grew as I sifted through the maybes, looking at both the pitch (for a second time) and the submitted pages (one chapter).

So, what separated the maybes from the “check out more pages” from the two people I choose after eventually reading requested pages?

The same bit of “it” that seems to separate a “yes” from a “it’s just not right for me.”

As to what that X factor is, I still don’t know, and I’ve felt it 90-plus times recently.

Which makes me a little bit more understanding of those vague responses we all know and hate.

Because sometimes the reason is vague. Sometimes the idea and/or the writing is there, but it really isn’t just for you. Or it’s all there, and it’s for you but there’s something that puts you on the fence.

Obviously, because of the parameters of the contest, I was in a frame of mind where I really did just have to pick two writers. Agents and editors can sign however many writers they feel comfortable adding within a certain amount of time. They aren’t limited. But, that said, they still can’t take on every manuscript and writer that they like.

On Twitter, I likened this phenomenon to the classic children’s book Millions of Cats by Wanda Gag. In that story, a little old man goes out to find a feline companion to bring back to his wife. He stumbles upon a veritable kitty sea and can’t decide which one to bring back, so he brings back ALL of them—“hundreds and thousands and millions and billions and trillions” of cats.

As you can imagine, this ended badly: With all the cats (save one) eating each other when he asked them to decide among themselves who was the prettiest cat. The surviving cat didn’t even compete. That’s how it lived.

Just imagine if we asked writers to do that when gunning for a shot at a mentor/agent/editor.

So, that mentor/agent/editor has to use his or her best own judgment—even when something isn’t actually wrong.

How do you deal with the vague subjectivity of the literary world?

Pitch Wars: Behind the Scenes of a Huge Writing Contest

I’ve mentioned before on this blog that I found my agent through an online pitch contest called Pitch Wars. Last Feb. 1, I signed with her, in fact. And made my announcement on Feb. 4.

I really wanted to give back to the contest, so when Brenda Drake, who bravely organizes the craziness, asked me to mentor, I basically stage-shouted across the Internet, “YESSSSSS!”

A single day in December, each entrant was able to submit to up to four “mentors” for the chance of being a mentee. Now, I don’t know if it was because I was one of the success stories from last year or because I was one of the only adult-minded mentors who was taking mystery and fantasy, but I received the most submissions of any of the adult Pitch Wars mentors and the third-most overall.

Ninety-one submissions.

Ninety-one, out of which I was supposed to pick three people to mentor.

But, because there’s always a catch, I also had the option of taking on someone who didn’t sub to me. Which meant, I had the opportunity of looking at waaaaay more words than just ended up in my inbox.

To say this was overwhelming would be a complete understatement.

Even worse: Everything was sooooo amazingly good.

Voice, concept, strong writing: I’d say at least 95 percent of what was in my inbox had at least one of these three things DOWN SOLID.

But I had to make a decision somehow. And I’m going to share how I made my decisions not because I think it’s incredibly smart or anything, but because if you submit to agents and/or editors and want an idea of what they do when given a huge volume of work, my method might offer a slight hint of insight. Mostly, because it’s very difficult to pare down so many submissions without a method.

I started thinking in specific criteria because I knew if I didn’t, the whittling just wasn’t going to happen, and my picks would end up being chosen by my five-year-old and a highlighter. Yes, I’m serious. He totally could’ve picked three submissions with a swoosh of a purple BIC, and they would’ve been totally workable.

First specific I looked at: Voice. Voice is my number one go-to for reading material. And it also happens to be very important in this particular contest. The way Pitch Wars is set up, the writer only gets to share about 250 words of writing. That’s it. Nothing more. If you don’t have a participating agent’s interest in those 250, you’re done. No request for you.

Second specific I looked at: Concept. If your writing is beautiful but your idea seems like it’s been written a hundred times, that can be a problem. Sure, sometimes strong writing can save a stale idea. Or even a bad idea. But in a contest like this? The idea had to be just as solid as the writing. Or we were done.

Third specific I looked at: Strong Writing. Honestly, usually voice takes care of this for me, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes, the voice is strong but the writing isn’t. And by strong I mean “Does it stand out?” There has to be an X factor that shows your reader that you not only know how to string a sentence together, but that you can do it in a way that adds to the structure, momentum, plot, character development, etc. Pretty words are pretty, but it’s sure helpful if they mean something.

And so, I pared down my ninety-one submissions, looking for writers who met all three specific criteria. I asked for extra pages from about twenty people. And as I started reading the samples, everything just fell away until I had a top five—all of which had Voice, Concept and Strong Writing in spades.

And I fell in love with my top three. They are fantastic reads. And you’ll be hearing a lot about these writers in the coming years. I’m sure about that.

And here’s where I brag on them.

Dan Malossi: My mentee pick, English teacher and former Warped Tour band member (Yes, it’s true). His words are as beautiful as they are heartbreaking. His characters are damaged and interesting, like the spidery pattern left in a windshield after a gunshot, the glass pebbling out in a icy mosaic, yet somehow still managing to stay together. Watch out, folks, because THE FISHERMAN is a MEMENTO-style journey of epic emotional proportions.

Wendy Nikel: My first-alternate and amazing spinner of tales. Her fantasy, PIANO FIRE, is a compendium of things designed to make a reader smile: a plucky heroine, an island paradise, a dashing rescuer, and a really messed up collection of trinkets and secrets dating back hundreds of years. If you know the tale of Bluebeard, you get an extra bonus because he factors heavily into this magical, time-bending story of ownership, love and betrayal.

Jeremy Hepler: My second-alternate and fantastic sport. His mystery, THE GARDENS OF SUNRAY, is suspense in cozy mystery clothes. Somehow, he manages to roll small-town secrets, family bombshells, racism, parent-coddled burnouts, closeted sexuality and the supernatural into the same manuscript and it tastes like a delicious casserole instead of a smorgasboard. Yes, you want GARDENS for dinner.

So, those are my picks (and the links are to their entries). And they are awesome. Totally awesome. And one of them is entertaining an offer right now (I can’t say who…) and I’m sure the other two will have them in time.