Author Archives: James A. Miller

The Wondrous Robot, by Lena Ng

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I am honored to share that Lena’s story, The Wondrous Robot, is the first accepted submission for Breaking Into The Craft. Lena is an active member of the Horror Writers Association. A list of her work can be found on the Internet Speculative Fiction Database.

Lena Ng roams the dimensions of Toronto, Canada, and is a monster-hunting member of the Horror Writers Association. She has curiosities published in weighty tomes including Amazing Stories and Flame Tree’s Asian Ghost Stories and Weird Horror Stories. Her stories have been performed for podcasts such as Gallery of Curiosities, Creepy Pod, Utopia Science Fiction, Love Letters to Poe, and Horrifying Tales of Wonder. “Under an Autumn Moon” is her short story collection.

Her book, Under an Autumn Moon: Tales of Imagination, can be found on Amazon

Lena has an impressive list of places that [mistakenly] rejected the story. I very much admire her tenacity in finding a home for this piece!

  1. Brothers Uber: the story was written in 2018 for the prompt of scifi retellings of fairy tales. It was inspired by Pinocchio/Velveteen Rabbit/movie Toy Story/movie AI
  2. Factor 4
  3. Daily Science Fiction
  4. Metamorphosis
  5. Syntax & Salt
  6. El Chapo Review
  7. Harbinger Press
  8. Knicknackery
  9. Shoreline of Infinity
  10. Unsung Stories
  11. Infinite Worlds – not an official rejection but to presume rejection if no reply>90 days so I didn’t include it originally in the count
  12. Cloud Lake Literary
  13. McCoy’s Monthly
  14. Wondrous Real Magazine
  15. Flashpoint SF
  16. Apex
  17. The Arkansas International
  18. Grace & Victory
  19. 34 Orchard
  20. Sans. Press
  21. Orion’s Belt
  22. Allegory
  23. Etherea Magazine
  24. Aniko Press
  25. Tree and Stone
  26. British Science Fiction Association BSFA.co.uk
  27. Sprawl Magazine
  28. Metastellar
  29. Flame Tree Publishing
  30. Baubles From Bones
  31. The Orange and Bee

When asked “What do you love about this story?” She responded:

What I love about this story is the idea of a scifi premise told in a fairytale style. Until I saw the prompt, it didn’t occur to me that a futuristic story could be told in a traditional form. I also love the bittersweet ending. Some of my favourite fairy tales growing up were The Nightingale and the Rose/ The Selfish Giant/The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde, along with The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen; all of them are bittersweet. These were the stories that stuck with me, and I hope my story will stick with the reader.

The Wondrous Robot, by Lena Ng

There once was a robot and he was truly a wonder. He had stout, spring-action legs; he moved his arms with a soft, mechanical whirr; and the alloy of his body shone with a metallic glow. On Christmas eve, he had been hidden behind the tinseled tree, but at the break of dawn, the little boy, who had begged for an iBot all year, soon spotted him with a wide-eyed yelp.

Many other things were excitedly unwrapped from the joyous abundance under the tree: toy hover cars which zipped around the room; space hockey sticks with an anti-gravity puck; from a projector, a 3D hologram of the Blue Fairy fluttered through the pine branches of the tree, waving her slender silver wand.

What the robot wanted to say, what lay deep in his processor was “I hope to be your best friend.” But he wasn’t programmed to say this so he said, “I like ice cream.”

At first, the little boy, a rambunctious, sweet-faced kid named Ryan played with him every day. He pushed a switch to make the robot’s halogen eyes flash. He pressed the small red button on the robot’s back and the toy would dance a mechanical breakdance. He confided in the robot who replied with his programmed lines of “Let’s go on an adventure”,”Kids rule” and “We’re on a mission.”

 Eventually, the robot was left plugged into a charger in the corner of the room. Even though he was fully charged, the little boy instead played space hockey with a neighbourhood boy, and not a second thought was given to his robotic friend. As the little boy played on the purple grass on the lawn, the little robot wished with all his circuits that he could join him.

The other toys—VirtuPets, dinotrucks, hatchisaurs—jealous when the robot was the favourite, openly ignored him. They had thought the robot had his time with the boy and now attention would be paid to them. But the attention spans of little boys are short and the next new toy was always on the horizon. Only the Blue Fairy would stop her fluttering around the room to speak to the robot. She had also felt the sting of being forgotten.

 One day, as the Blue Fairy hovered overhead, the little robot watched wistfully as the little boy wrestled on the bedroom floor with his new puppy. They tumbled and turned and the puppy let out some high-pitched barks. After a breather, the little boy took the puppy out to the backyard. The robot’s head drooped when he heard the back door close. “Blue Fairy,” he said, “do you think the little boy would play with me if I were real?”

The Blue Fairy darted around him, examining all his angles. She said, “You are already real.”

The robot felt his processor race. “Not to the little boy. Not in a way that would have him love me.” The robot made a whirring sound which could have been a motorized version of a sigh. “If I could wish anything, I would wish I were real.”

The Blue Fairy waved her wand like an orchestra conductor. “Some day you will be real. As real as the puppy. As real as the little boy.” She had the power to grant wishes, as all fairies do, when the wish came from a true heart, even if it happened to be a microchipped one.

The robot had so many questions. “When will this happen? How would I know that I’m real?”

The Blue Fairy gracefully landed before him on satin-clad toes. “All real things dream. One day, you will do something so wondrous your head will fill with dreams. That’s how you will know you are real.”

Sadly, that night, the projector’s battery ran down and the Blue Fairy disappeared. The robot would have liked to discuss dreams and what it would be like to be real and be loved.

Late Saturday morning, when the little boy was sent to his room for a time-out, he discovered his robot again, still charging in the corner. The boy pushed the switch to make the robot’s eyes flash. He pressed the small red button on the robot’s back and the toy would dance a mechanical breakdance. He confided in the robot who replied with his programmed lines of “Let’s go on an adventure”,”Kids rule” and “We’re on a mission.” The boy and robot raced the hover cars around the room. The puppy barked and bowed and jumped all around them.

The robot shouldn’t feel, since he was made of wires, metal, and cable, but as a third generation model, when the robot saw the little boy smile, he felt a trembling in his circuits. When the little boy put his arms around him, the robot felt a rise in his internal temperature, in a pleasant way, and his core processing speed would slow so he wouldn’t overheat.

Later, the little boy took both the robot and puppy into the front yard. They raced the toy hover cars over the purple grass. But as little boys sometimes do not know the difference between make-believe and real, Ryan ran to see a real hover car, zipping on the superhighway in front in the house. The robot, however, understood the size difference between a toy and a car, and the little boy and a car, and rushed out to save his dear companion. Maybe for love, but robots…how could they love?

And there was a crushing of steel and the crying of a scared but otherwise uninjured child. The light in the robot’s eyes started to flicker, and the Blue Fairy appeared once more, wings translucent as sapphire. The robot looked but saw no projector. “How are you here?” the robot asked.

“I’m in your dreams,” replied the Blue Fairy.

“Then I’m finally real,” the robot cried out with joy, and under the bright moonlight of Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto, the light in his halogen eyes was extinguished.

How volunteering to read slush makes you a better writer

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I remember the first time I received my assigned slush (story submissions) from the editor of Allegory. Twelve unread submissions, each hoping to land in the publication. It was exciting, daunting, and very eye-opening for me. Once into a routine of reading stories for a publication, you can really get a feel for which kinds of stories editors see too often and what makes one story stand out from the pile.

Here are some of the common problems I came across when reading slush:

Telling instead of showing

There is a ton of information on this out there already, but in essence, telling is useful for moving through information quickly, but at the potential cost of distancing the reader. Showing brings us into the story and paints a picture in detail.

The blurb I used when providing feedback went like this: Telling has its place. It works well for quickly covering a lot of ground, but it tends to distance the reader. We would much rather see the bouncing knee and infer the character is anxious as opposed to reading “Bob was anxious.”

A lack of conflict

Sometimes everything was fine for the character, too fine, actually. With no conflict, there’s no story. I think this can happen to a writer sometimes when they really like their character and don’t have the heart to put them through any hardship. But that hardship is needed to drive the story forward.

Scenes vs stories

This is where there is an often extensive description of the character and his/her world but nothing that resembles a story arc. The character is just hanging out at a bus stop, eating a sandwich, and waiting, and in the end, nothing has really changed (other than the sandwich is gone). Sometimes these scenes can even be beautifully written, but without a story arc, these pieces are not interesting enough to pass on to the main editor.

This one often occurs in conjunction with the lack of conflict problem.

Slow development

This is the one I saw the most. It’s when a story takes way too much time to get to the core conflict.  For a 5000 word story, if I am past page three or four and don’t know what the conflict is about yet, I am probably going to pass.  I also saw a lot of stories where the intro paragraph could have been omitted and the story would have been better for it. Not that the intros were necessarily bad, but often times it was unneeded.  I feel like this probably happens a lot to the “Pantser” style of writer. The ones who hop in the chair, shift the keyboard into Drive, and start writing without an outline. If you operate this way it can take a bit to get the flow of the story headed in the right direction.

No ending

This one was also a frequent occurrence. Sometimes the story was really good and kept me going, but then just ended. The stories that were the most unfortunate were the ones that had a clear way to end, or several ways to end, but just stopped. In order for the reader to feel fulfilled with a story, things need to wrap up at the end in a satisfying way.  The more unique and surprising the ending the better.

Downer endings

A lot of the stories coming through the slush pile end with a downer ending. It’s not that a downer ending is wrong or bad, but slush readers see a lot more of those than upbeat positive endings. You absolutely don’t have to write a happy ending but if you do, and it’s well done, your story will stand out for that alone.

Flow

Tiny issues, like awkward phrasing or inconsistent tone, can pull you right out of a story, even one with a great idea and is otherwise clear and well-paced.

One other secret I learned:

Feedback to Writers

As a slush reader, I decided early on that I wanted to offer personalized feedback whenever possible. Instead of sending the standard “not a fit for us at this time,” I made myself articulate why a story didn’t work for me.

That discipline really sharpened my editorial instincts for my own work. If you ever want to learn what makes a story effective, try forcing yourself to explain what did and didn’t work. The times you find this really challenging is when you are learning something new.

Here are a few insights I picked up about when a story is good:

  • If you find yourself thinking about a story you read hours or days after reading it, it has something special. A lot of times for me it was some concept the story covered (Sci-Fi nerd here). Sometimes it was a character or a character trait.  I recall one story to this day where the monster had a pillow for a head.  That kind of simple, clear, and unique, imagery is the sort of thing can make a story stick with a reader long after they finish it.
  • You shouldn’t have to work at reading or understanding a story.  As soon as I have to reread a sentence to understand exactly what is happening, the story is starting to lose me. A few more of those and it’s a rejection. I liken it to a trip in the car. If the road is bumpy and you have to go around fallen trees and are always unsure of where you’re going, it’s not an enjoyable ride.
  • Another great sign is if you immediately want to tell someone else about the story. If you get done with a story and think “Oh, man, so-and-so would love this.” Try to take note of what made you feel that way. It’s not always easy to do, but the more you do the exercise of pulling apart a story to understand how the pieces fit together and work, the better you will get at writing a great one.    

Reading slush to see the other side of short story publishing and choosing to provide authors with feedback accelerated my growth as a writer. If you’re serious about breaking into the craft, I recommend volunteering to read slush. There is a lot of need out there. You will probably be able to make a connection pretty quickly on your own, but email me if you want me to put you in touch with an editor in need.

-James

Tagging Dialogue: Making the Most of “Said”**

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When it comes to writing dialogue, one of the most overlooked yet fundamental elements is the dialogue tag. These are the little phrases that let the reader know who’s speaking, your basic he said, she said, and their many cousins. While often invisible to readers, dialogue tags can shape the rhythm and style of your writing. Used well, they become nearly imperceptible; used poorly, they bog down pacing.

Why Eliminate Tags When Readers Ignore Them?

There’s a common theory that simple tags like he said and she said are so familiar to readers, they fade into the background. I find that’s mostly true. These standard tags don’t add much flavor, but they also don’t seem to distract.

Still, the way you use or avoid tags can have a real impact on the density of your writing, or, in other words, how much meaning you pack into a small space. This is something I always aim for: cleaner, leaner writing that communicates more with fewer words. Tagging is an ideal place to apply that principle.

Reducing Tags with Context Clues

When only two characters are speaking, it’s often possible to eliminate tags entirely. If the rhythm is clear and the personalities distinct, readers can follow without constant reminders. That said, tags still serve a purpose, especially when a line could reasonably belong to either character. Clarity is king, always keep that in mind (don’t worry, I’ll mention that again because it’s that important).

Sometimes, you can imply who’s speaking with a line of action or description before the dialogue:

Example:

Maria leaned over the counter, squinting at the receipt. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

No need to write Maria said, we know it’s her. You can do this after the line, too:

Example:

“This isn’t what I ordered.” Maria leaned over the counter, squinting at the receipt.

In both cases, the dialogue is anchored by the action, creating a more dynamic feel than using a tag.

When There’s More Than Two

I recall learning early on, like back when I was crafting stories on my Apple II, that scenes with three or more characters, are tricky. Tags or identifiers become a lot more important for keeping characters straight. This is where you might need to use names more frequently, and where relying solely on action or tone isn’t always enough.

Example:

“We should wait until morning,” Jenna said.
“No way. We go now,” Marcus said.
Dave shifted uneasily. “I don’t think we’re ready.”

The key is clarity. Keeping prose tight, is great, but clarity should never be sacrificed. (2nd mention)

Let the Voice Do the Work

A well-drawn character can sometimes be identified just by their way of speaking. Vocabulary, rhythm, and tone can all signal who’s talking. This particularly holds true when readers are already familiar with the characters.

Example:

“Dude, you can’t possibly wear that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it screams desperation, man.”

Even without tags, this mini-exchange might be clear if the voices are distinct—a haughty critic, a defensive teen, and a snarky best friend.

Still, this technique only works reliably when the characters are well-established and the dialogue is unmistakably in character. Otherwise, be kind to your reader and drop in a tag or cue.

Beware the Tom Swifty*

This brings us to one of the more interesting pitfalls: the Tom Swifty—a punny or awkward use of an adverb in a dialogue tag.

“I love you,” he said romantically.
“That’s a terrible idea,” she said nervously.
“We’re under attack!” he shouted loudly.

Then there’s the punny kind:

“I dropped my toothpaste,” Tom said crestfallen.

“I swallowed some food coloring,” Tom said dying inside.

“My pencil’s broken,” Tom said pointlessly.

“I’m no good at darts,” Tom said aimlessly.

“Let’s dig up the body,” Tom said gravely.

“They took out part of my brain,” Tom said absentmindedly.

Most of the time, these adverbs are redundant and often clunky. If the emotion is already clear from the dialogue or the scene, there’s no need to spell it out in the tag. Worse, it can also seem amateurish and this kind of groaner “funny” can take the reader out of the story. With that being said, Issac Asimov was known for including puns in his fiction.

Instead, convey emotion through the line itself or the character’s actions (this also touches on showing vs telling).

Better:

“I love you.” He touched her hand.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Her fingers tapped the table.

Less telling, more showing.

Efficiency Without Losing Emotion

The best dialogue tagging blends into the background, serving the story without drawing attention to itself. Use he said/she said when needed. Drop the tag entirely when you can anchor dialogue with action or voice. Avoid over-relying on adverbs (really, eliminate them altogether, if you can), and aim for clarity first and foremost (3rd mention).

As with most writing advice, these aren’t hard and fast rules but guidelines to keep in mind. The more efficiently you can convey who’s speaking, the more space you create for what matters most: why they are saying what they’re saying, and how it moves the story forward.

-James

*When they are done for humor alone, Tom Swifties can be rather entertaining. Check out Thomwall.com for some really fun examples of this.

** I would be remiss it I didn’t link to this song.

200 Submissions Later

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Lessons from the Long Game of Getting Published

I’m approaching 200 submissions. It sounds like a lot, but I started in 2010, so that only averages to a little over 13 submissions per year.

Note that I am only counting acceptances where I got paid for my story and not places like CAB Theater that picked up one of my comedic pieces for free and performed it on stage.  I didn’t get to cash in on that one, but I did get to sit in the audience while the actors performed my words, soaking it in as they got the biggest laugh of the night out of one of my jokes. And, honestly, that was way better than getting paid.

My acceptance rate is about 5.8%. While that isn’t quite stellar, it does seem to be better than averages reported by the Submission Grinder for many of the markets I stalk.

This gives you a feel of how difficult it can be to land a piece. Just looking at the odds for every 100 stories you submit you can expect to land less than two. There are some markets, like Anotherealm, and BSF Horizons that have nice fat acceptance rates of 12.5% and 33.33% respectively. But these appear to be the exceptions to the rule.

I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention Allegory, which has an acceptance rate of a little over 2% and UFO publishing (They are closed now, no acceptance rate is listed at the Grinder). I was a first reader for several years at both of those publications.

 I have also noticed a dip in acceptance over my last 50 submissions or so. If I calculate everything preceding those 50, I have a nearly 8% acceptance rate.  Either I am getting worse (entirely possible, if not likely) or the market for short fiction is getting tighter. For the benefit of my own morale, I am going to choose to believe it’s the latter.

So what can we do to hedge against the ever increasing odds?

We do the only thing that has ever worked: create more content and hone our skills along the way.

And continue to have a lot of patience.   

From the odds I can only expect to land fewer than 2% of the stories I submit, but improving the quality of my writing should give me an edge.

Or we can take the Han Solo approach — Never tell me the odds!

Comment below to let me know what your submission journey has been like.  I’d love to hear from other writers grinding it out.

-James

Writing with soul

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Unbeknownst to me, my wife of 13 years went through my writing files and read a bunch of my stories. She made little notes at the end of some of the pieces — the kind of notes that non-writers tend to make like: “This is good hon, you should keep going” and “I’m not sure I like this one,” and my personal favorite “Do better with this one. Maybe start over?”

As much as we love it when people read our fiction, general feedback like that has little value outside of encouragement (or, in my case, discouragement). So I thought I would talk to her to get a better understanding of what she thought of my writing overall. 

The main takeaway she had for me was that my writing was very “soulless.”

Soulless.

I can’t think of anything that can gut-punch, cut to the core, donkey kick to the back of the head, a writer any harder than telling them their writing is “soulless.”

I recall I felt like crying. I don’t remember if I did but even writing about it now makes me tear up a little so, yeah, I probably did.

I have a philosophy that when you get feedback from a reader, no matter how much you disagree with what they say — every reader is right from their own point of view.

That makes sense, right? Your perspective is colored by your own personal experience, so the stories you read will be colored that way as well. It’s actually kind of a fun and useful thought: every story is unique to each reader.

But soulless… really, hon?

I had to accept what she was saying to stay true to my philosophy. I had to look at my writing through her eyes and see what she was seeing. And scariest of all, I even had to peer inward.

Eventually I came to understand what she was getting at. My stories lacked both stakes and characters the reader cares about. Those two things are related by the way.

The inward part came later, when I finally understood why I was writing that way. It came down to me not being comfortable putting my characters into really difficult situations — which is kind of silly when you think about it. That’s what conflict is: the difficulty engine that drives a story. Conflict raises the stakes and makes you care about what happens to the characters. The bigger the challenge, the better the payoff.

I did see a slight bump in my acceptance rate after I put my main characters in tighter spots, but more importantly, the stories felt more alive and real.

I learned that acceptance letters may feed my need for validation, but loving what I write feeds my soul.

What do you do to add soul to your writing?

-James

Can a fiction writer stand out in today’s sea of competition?

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I saw somewhere that The New Yorker gets half a million unsolicited submissions per year. Let that sink in for a second.

 Half a million.

That’s a serious slush pile.

But I did notice that famous people are constantly getting published in the magazine.  This makes sense for The New Yorker. No matter how good the piece is, why take a risk on an unknown when you can tap celebrities whose names will draw in readership.  We are all beholden to someone or something, publications need content, but they need readership first and foremost.  And this strategy worked on me. I ordered some old issues of the magazine on Ebay and saw that Bob Odenkirk had a piece under their Shouts and Murmers section. Bob is a very funny actor and comedian. I loved him in Better Call Saul.  His piece in The New Yorker, entitled A Biblical Rough Draft, was just OK though. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were some incredibly funny phrases, like one part where he refers to biblical storytellers as those who “tromped from village in floppy sandals, swatting at flies, sipping beads of dew from the undersides of donkeys, and fighting dogs for scraps of meat.” That donkey thing—that’s my kind of humor. But overall, the piece was not nearly as funny as I would have expected. 

I can’t help but think that Bob’s fame played a significant role in him landing that piece. If a complete unknown (like Yours Truly) had written the exact same words, I am sure it would have been rapidly rejected.  We could rebel and shout “The world isn’t fair!” and “They should evaluate the story on its own merits, no matter who wrote it!”  And while I do agree with the idealism of the latter, my belief is that the world is fair. Bob worked hard to obtain fame. Having an inside track to publication is one of the fruits of his labor.  And can you blame the magazine for using the tactic of publishing the work of celebrities? Bob is a very safe bet. Prestigious literary publications, places like The New Yorker, The Atlantic, or The Onion have reputations that could be damaged if they publish writing from an unknown author and it turns out that person is a white supremacist, or a cannibal, or worse yet, a cannibal white supremacist racially-biased to eating only Caucasians.

Okay, so maybe “just get famous” isn’t practical advice. To be honest, if I had this completely figured out, you would have already heard of me before stumbling across this post.

So, what am I doing to stand out?

My strategy is to go wide and deep — but with quality! I am writing every day to generate content, working hard to refine it so that it stands out when it is eventually considered, and submitting all the time. Right now, I have ten stories out for consideration. I figure if my name starts to look familiar to the editors, they will know I am taking my writing seriously.

As a tactic I mentioned in a previous post, I am also targeting a specific market: Points In Case. I am tailoring my writing to fit that market. It will be interesting to see whether this strategy improves my acceptance rate.

I will keep you posted as to how well this works — at least until I get famous and don’t have to worry about silly things like having a “strategy” anymore.

Let me know in the comments below whether you have a strategy for standing out in today’s sea of competition. I am interested to hear your thoughts!

-James

Changing the approach

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I’ve heard that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity.  For fiction writing there is truth to that, as you have to be a bit insane to pursue fiction writing with an expectation of getting paid to do it.

The saying has me thinking about changing my approach to see if I can a few more land sales.

My current process is:

  1. Wait until inspiration strikes (if ever) and write a story
  2. Find a market that the story might fit and submit
  3. Get a rejection then GOTO step 2

A better approach might be to:

  1. Target a market that suits me
  2. Write something appropriate for the market and submit
  3. Get a rejection and GOTO step 2

The new approach requires me to abandon that whimsical, spur-of-the-moment, writing that occurs when an idea for a story hits me.  There is fantasy in my head that all of the great fiction authors operated by writing whatever the hell they felt like. It feels wrong to force myself to deal with the hand-cuffing constraints of catering to a specific market. My creative side wants its freedom, dammit!

But there is also an analytical side of me that likes this surgical approach — dissecting the stories they have bought, feeling through the structure, the language, looking for the fingerprints in the tales that made those first readers and editors salivate like Pavlov’s dogs.

So who is my victim target market?

I have picked out Points in Case. They do funny well and I do like me some funny.  They publish funny lists and I feel like a funny list is a reasonable bar to hurdle; the word count is relatively low so my thinking is that I should be able to come up with list stories pretty quickly.

In practice, however, making a funny list is harder than it seems. As the individual “funny” items are added to the list, you start to question your ability to determine if something is funny or not.  Sometimes things I think are funny are just weird, or worse yet, offensive.

I have already submitted one list story to P.I.C., which was promptly rejected. I currently have another one sitting with them that I like a lot better. Whether or not it gets accepted is up to the fiction gods at this point (and we know how finicky they can be) but, then again, that’s all part of the craft.

Have you tried writing to specific markets before? If so, let me know in the comments how that worked out for you.

-James

So, I guess it’s been a while…

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I intend to resume posting on a regular basis — right now a weekly cadence seems right to me, but I know how fast that kind of deadline can creep up on a person, so don’t hold me to it just yet.

I will add in more writing resources as I come across them. While I am using this blog to share my writing journey, I also intend to share the tools I find along the way.

Believe it or not I actually have been writing and have even landed a few more stories than what I have listed here. I will update my progress and make sure to let you know about any stories I happen to land in the future.  

Also, I have been thinking about setting up a site (or possibly using this one) to publish fiction from other authors.  There is an abundant of supply of short fiction and very little demand, so that might be a good way for me to do my part to help balance things out a bit. Who knows I might even be able to figure out a way to pay authors for their work.

Let me know your thoughts below — assuming there is anyone left reading this blog to have thoughts.

-James

Words to avoid when writing fiction

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When I am reading slush there are a few words which indicate I may be dealing with a novice.  Admittedly, this may be my own misconception but I tend to see a correlation between the quality of the writing and the use of the list of words below:

 

Obsidian

This is often used as a material for a weapon, like sword of knife and particularly a magical weapon.  I believe the black glassy nature of the material stirs up darkly romantic notions about it in the author’s mind. In reality it is a terrible material to use for a weapon and almost impossible to mold.

The other use of this word tends to be a fancy synonym for “black”, or at best “shiny black”.

Suggested alternative: Black

 

Klaxon

I think it is the X sound that gives this word an allure.  It’s got a near onomatopoetic quality to it and even sounds kind of alien. I get why someone would be attracted to this word but to me it gets overused and often feels forced.

Suggested alternatives: Alarm, Horn, Buzzer, warning

 

Crimson

Often used to describe blood. In my opinion crimson is usually slightly off from the color of blood – not that I see a lot of blood, I actually try to avoid it.  Google the word and there tends to be a continuum of hues that constitute what could be called crimson.

Suggested alternatives: Red, Maroon

 

I suspect people want to use words that sound cool, to make their writing sound like good writing, but the use of these words tend to have the opposite effect on me.

 

Iridescent

This one is more of a maybe. It can be the best word to use for the situation, but I also often see it forced into prose to flower it up. I will also see it used where I think the author wants to indicate shimmering, which isn’t exactly correct.

Suggested alternative: Pearly, color-changing, or shimmering if that is what is intended.

 

The Resignation

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Fine white powder

Ironsoap.com just published my flash piece titled   The resignation.

This story originated from a writing challenge a friend and I had. We used a writing prompt generator to come up with the story constraints.

You used to be able to check it out here:

http://ironsoap.com/2016/06/the-resignation/

  • James