Gifted

Victorian Ladies, a/k/a Wikipedia

I trust that everyone had a Merry Christmas,  Happy Hanukkah, Silly Little Solstice, a Happy New Year, survived the holidays (this is harder for some than others - come to an Al-Anon meeting over the holidays some time and I'll show you), and were/are/will be gifted with good things.  We had a lovely time, thank you.

Other than the fact that our furnace went bad on Boxing Day, and we had a couple of days of Victorian temperatures in the house (50s and 60s) while waiting for parts to arrive. (BTW, now I understand completely why Victorians wore 37 pounds of clothing.  It wasn't all about modesty.)  We were lucky.  Considering it was 14 degrees outside, with a windchill of minus 5, when this happened, we were VERY lucky. Our plumber showed up by 8 AM, and our furnace, thank God! is fixed!!!  Huzzah!!!!

I did almost no writing over the holidays - too much going on for concentrated work, and when I did sit down at the old computer (or even the old pad and paper), I managed to distract myself really well. But I did get a lot of reading done.  I always get a lot of reading done.  I have a gift for reading.

I am very fortunate.  I started early.  My mother taught me to read when I was three years old.  (She always said she did it because she got sick of reading the same story to me every night before bedtime, and I believe her.)  One of my earliest memories is sitting on the floor of the old living room in Alexandria, VA, with an array of word flash cards that my mother made out of plain index cards.  I specifically remember putting the word "couch" on the couch.  I don't know how long it took me to actually learn to read, but I know that by the time I was four, I was reading [simple] fairy tales on my own.  I can't tell you how magical, how full, how rich, how unforgettable it is to read fairy tales at the right age, all by yourself.

Someone once said, they liked books rather than TV, because books had better pictures.  When you start reading young enough, they do.  Then and now.  I can still remember the worlds that those fairy tales created in my mind - so real that I shivered, walking down a snowy lane.  I could smell the mud under the bridge where the troll lived.  The glass mountain with the glass castle on top of it, and the road running around the bottom.  And it only increased over time.  I know the exact gesture that Anna Karenina made as she turned to see Vronsky at the ball; have heard the Constance de Beverley's shriek of despair, walled up in Lindesfarne; have seen the drunken Fortunato bouncing down the stone walls of the tunnel to the wine vault; have shivered slightly as drops of cool water fell upon the sunbather. For me, reading is a multisensory experience.

And I get drunk on words.  Let's put it this way:  when I read John Donne's poetry, I fell in love with a dead man, and cursed my fate that I never, ever, ever got to meet the man who wrote such burning words...  And I've had the same experience with others:  Shakespeare, Tennyson, Chaucer, Cavafy, Gunter Grass, Dylan Thomas, T. S. Eliot, Laurie Lee, Rostand, Emily Bronte, Dickinson, I fall hard and deep and willing into words.

My office.  And this isn't the only wall covered with books.

When something gives you this much pleasure, you get good at it.  For over fifty years I've read every day, obsessively, compulsively, constantly. When I was a child, I knew that reading was the best thing in life, and there were too many books and too little time.  So I taught myself to read faster - not speed reading, I don't skip (although thanks to graduate school, I do know how to gut a book) - but I can read every word at an accelerated pace.  (My husband says I devour books.)  And I remember what I read. My mind has its own card catalog, dutifully supplying (still) plot and main characters (sometimes minor ones, too), as well as dialog and best scenes from a whole roomful of books.  And I think about a book, while I'm reading and afterwards.  I analyze it.  I synthesize it with other readings.  I'm damn good at reading.  It's probably the thing I'm best at.

BTW, this was one reason I really enjoyed graduate school, because (in history at least) you spend most of your time reading books - a minimum of 1 per class per week - and then writing an analysis to present to the class, as well as reading everyone else's analysis and arguing away about it.  I was in my element at last.  

Anyway, constant reading as a child inevitably led to wonder about writing my own.  The real breakthrough into writing came when I realized that the Laura Ingalls Wilder who wrote the "Little House" books was the same as the Laura Ingalls character in the "Little House" books.  Wow!  Real people actually wrote these! So I started writing.  I wrote very bad poetry on home-made cards for my family, and I wrote short-shorts (now called flash fiction).  I tried writing novels, but as a child I thought that you had to start at the beginning and go straight through until the end, without any changes or editing, and it never occurred to me that people plotted things out.  So I was 24 before I wrote my first novel (a sci-fi/fantasy that has been sitting on my shelf - for very good reasons - for years).  

Before that, I went through a folk-singer / rock star stage and wrote songs.  I wrote my first short story in years because someone bet me I couldn't do it (I won that bet), and then many more short stories that were mostly dull.  Until I had a magic breakthrough about writing dialog watching - I kid you not - Bergman's "Scenes From A Marriage".  I stayed up all night (I was so much younger then) writing dialog which for the first time sounded like dialog and realized...  well, I went off writing plays for a few years.  Came back to writing short stories.  Along with articles, essays, and blog posts.

And here I am.  Good to see all of you, damn glad to be here.

Meanwhile, Constant Reader (thanks, Dorothy Parker!) keeps on reading.  And re-reading.  Speaking of re-reading, I don't see why people don't do more of it.  I mean, if you like going to a certain place for lunch, dinner, picnics, weekends, or vacations, why not keep reading stories / books that do the trick?  If it's a real knock-out, I'll read it a lot more than twice.  By now I've practically memorized the "Little House" books, "Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass", "David Copperfield", "The Left Hand of Darkness", "Death of a Doxy", "The Thin Man", "Pavilion of Women", "The Mask of Apollo", "In This House of Brede", "The Small House at Allington", "Cider With Rosie", "Nemesis", "Death Comes for the Archbishop", "The Round Dozen", and a whole lot more, not to mention a few yards of poetry. Because I want to go to the places those books and stories and poems take me, again and again and again...  Or I'm just in the mood for that voice, like being in the mood for John Coltrane or Leonard Cohen or Apocalyptica, for beef with broccoli or spanakopita or lentil soup.

So, this Christmas, I reread some Dickens, Miss Read's "Christmas Stories", "Hans Brinker & the Silver Skates", and Dylan Thomas' "A Child's Christmas in Wales".  BTW, I have "A Child's Christmas in Wales" in the collection "Quite Early One Morning", available here, which includes "How To Be A Poet", the most hilarious send-up of the writing life I have ever read.  Excerpt:

"The Provincial Rush, or the Up-Rimbaud-and-At-Em approach.  This is not wholeheartedly to be recommended as certain qualifications are essential...  this poet must possess a thirst and constitution like that of a salt-eating pony, a hippo's hide, boundless energy, prodigious conceit, no scruples, and - most important of all, this can never be overestimated - a home to go back to in the provinces whenever he breaks down."  [Sound advice for us all...]

Reading, writing, good food, good company, good conversation...  life doesn't get much better than this.  I've found my calling, which makes me a very gifted person indeed.

Happy New Year!

A Flood of Ideas

by Robert Lopresti

The town where I live is usually pretty soggy, but this was the wettest October in recorded history.  Then, the first Saturday in November we got two and a half inches of rain.  And that was too much for the walls of my sixty-year old house.

I should explain that I live in a raised ranch, with what is known as a daylight basement.  And about half of that basement flooded on Saturday night.  Luckily, it was mostly the unfinished section.  We emptied at least seventy gallons out of there with wet vacs.
'
I collapsed around 1 AM but Terri stayed up most of the night.  When I got up to relieve her I found myself doing a mindless physical task while half awake.  And as some of you know, that is a perfect condition for a writer to start bouncing ideas off his skull.

* What would Shanks, my mystery writer character, do if his basement flooded?  Complain a lot, naturally.  It's what he does best.  But could he use that mess to solve a crime somehow?

* Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine just bought the third story in my "Bad Day" series, each of which is about a group of strangers in fictional Brune County getting tangled up in a crime.  What if my incompetent Brune County cop, Officer Kite, got called to a flooded house?

* What if a family turned off (or didn't repair) their sump pump, causing disaster to neighbors downhill?  A family feud begins...

* The cabinet in our back tool room got soaked and all the boxes of effluvia and paint cans had to be tossed.  What if a couple who was, say, renting a house, experienced the flooded basement and, in the process of cleaning up, found something they weren't supposed to see?

Hmm.  I like that one.  Maybe once things calm down I can wring out the computer keyboard and see what happens...

The Medical Post: Illness and Imagination

So while I was wrestling with my book monster, I missed the “Loaded Magazines” week on Sleuthsayers. The only outlet I write for regularly is the Medical Post. I love them. http://www.canadianhealthcarenetwork.ca/physicians/magazines/the-medical-post/

You might find some story ideas here. Say, Medicine’s psychedelic renaissance. Or...

Dr. Masajiro Miyazaki: From enemy alien to local hero in central B.C. by Dr. Sterling Haynes

After Pearl Harbour, the Canadian government rounded up any Canadian citizen with Japanese ancestry and either imprisoned them in relocation camps or deported them to Japan. (Meanwhile, Canadians of German or Italian ancestry, the Axis forces, did not have their property seized.) The government confined Dr. Masajiro Miyazaki to Lillooet B.C. When the local physician died in 1944, and they suddenly needed a doctor. Dr. Masajiro Miyazaki became their doctor. And their coroner. And their police doctor. And their alderman.

Julie Connolly: Single Mother, Solo Practice

Julie's a single mother of five children. She runs a solo practice in northern Ontario, including labour and delivery, which means she’s up all day and night.  “I was at the hospital for much of the night with a labouring patient….I still have meconium on the cuff of my sleeve.” Read more here.

She was interviewed about having her electricity cut off at home. Two of her five children are deaf and need to recharge their cochlear implants every day. 

And she still wrote two of the top most-clicked articles of 2016.

Let’s all give Julie a standing ovation!

P.S. She appears in my YMCA doctor video https://youtu.be/cKUQvrmYdAc, near the end. I wrote about that here.

Shawn Whatley also had one of the most popular articles of the year. “It’s not burnout, it’s abuse.”

Well said, Shawn. We’re tired of getting trampled. It also helps me because, as I mentioned here, I got sick last year. I called it burnout. But if the system is paying us less, demanding more, and slandering us, yep, it’s abuse. Shawn has proposed solutions as well, and has spearheaded a conference for doctors on careers outside of medicine. I’ll be talking about writing. http://nonclinicalmds.com/ 

Finally, I'm honoured to have one of my own articles chosen for the best of the year.

The sin eater by Dr. Melissa Yuan-Innes (April 5 issue)

"Dr. Yuan-Innes reflects on a old Welsh myth of the sin eaters that Margaret Atwood writes about in one of her short stories. “We study to the point of exhaustion and work inhumane hours for the privilege of seeing the worst of human nature,” Dr. Yuan-Innes writes. While she had gotten into medical school believing doctors were heroes, the revelation in Atwood’s story gave her pause: doctors are sin eaters in their own way, often shunned and depraved as a result of their work."

Thank you, Medical Post. Long may you reign.

2016, Looking Back

Let me see if I can recall or at least look back at a some of my blog articles of 2016.

---

Winter, a year ago

Last January, I had the fun of driving to Fort Worth to attend the wedding of my only granddaughter, Jackie Lee. Also experienced the agony of my left knee locking up and staying locked the day before the wedding.

I did get to the wedding but I had to ride in a wheelchair that I had to buy and had to be pushed down the aisle and all around during the reception. Not fun, but the wedding was fantastic and Jackie and A.J Vaughn are settled in their house and jobs.

Jackie is teaching English and coaching Freshman Girls Basketball while A.J. manages a restaurant where they both worked while attending college and where they met.

Spring

In May, I did a Proud Mother act and asked my son, Phil Lee if I could reprint his article about his new discovery of Vinyl records. How he bought a turntable which did not have an automatic arm or the convenience of stacking several vinyl records on the player. It was however, quite revealing when he learned how much better listening to vinyl records as compared to digital recordings once he hooked up to a great sound system. All the nuances on the vinyl that you actually missed on digital. Of course, the ease and convenience of digital music is nice but if you want to really hear and enjoy bands that you enjoyed in the earlier days then listening to vinyl is just another way to have a great experience.

Autumn

In late September, I had the wonderful grandmother experience of watching my granddaughter, Jackie coach her Freshmen Girl's team in a basketball tournament. It was one of those, and I don't know what they're called, maybe progressive or round robin. Where as long as you keep winning you keep playing until you ave played three games. There is only about a two hour rest period in between games and you don't leave the gym. You hydrate, snack, go to restroom and then are ready to play again. Jackie's team the Lady Rebels won the first, second and the third games and in doing that, won the tournament. Their first but don't think it will be their last.

I did write about attending Bouchercon in New Orleans. I had not been able to attend a mystery con for 10 full years so was so excited to get to go and see old friends and make new ones. Bouchercon is the huge con for writers, editors, agents, booksellers and fans. The fact that it was set in New Orleans was exciting. I had not been there in maybe 30 plus years and it it still an awesome city. The food is fantastic and the people gracious. These cons are planned and executed by volunteers and they always do such a wonderful job. My hat is off to all the vols this year and especially to the person who does the programming. It's not easy to deal with so many author egos, all wanting to be on a panel and hoping to gain a little free publicity and recognition. So Kudos to Judy Bobalik and Jon Jordan. If you get a chance to attend a mystery con like Bouchercon, then by all means go. Volunteer to help if you live nearby.

Winter again

Now my final event of this year I went to Nashville for Christmas to spend four wonderful days with my daughter Karla Lee and my oldest grandson Riley Fox who now lives in Portland OR and I had not seen him in three and a half years. Also go to meet his lady love, Coor Cohen which I had not met before and we had a great visit. Spent a little time with Cason Fox, my Alien, my grandson, whom I wrote about a few years ago when he lived with me for several months. Met two of my daughters great friends and their mothers, which was fun. And time with my daughter is always special and it always goes by much too quickly. However, I try to adhere to the old saying that relatives visits are much like fish, after three days you must throw them out.

2017

I don't know what 2017 will bring us. I'm a bit discombobulated from the election and  angry and sad. I'm hopeful that things will not be as bad as I worry they will be. It seems like kindness and consideration of other people has gone out the door. But I hope and will try to rely on good friends like the writers here and writers all around the country that we can keep working to give love, honor and kindness a chance.

I hope 2017 will bring each of you, good health, happiness and many, many book and magazine sales.

Happy New Year everyone.

Head in the Clouds

Happy New Year, conspiracy theorists. It’s all how you look at it. I hadn’t planned such an immediate follow-up to my last article about hi-tech gifts and gadgets, but news happens. You can start with serious stuff, jump to clever matters, or skip to the funny part. We aim to please.

The Serious

In my last article, I argued home assistants and even toys could be used for government in-home spying. Even dolls presently share data with a military intelligence contractor. Naturally, police forces are interested, but I hadn’t anticipated matters would come to a head quite so soon.

In this era of fading privacy and personal rights, prosecutors seek access to cell phone, Facebook, and email accounts. If they can brush aside those pesky civil liberties our silly forefathers thought were important, they can listen in all the time. Think how efficient that would be. Just ask Winston Smith.

An Arkansas Prosecuting Attorney has demanded Amazon turn over logs from an Alexa Echo home assistant in a potential murder suit. Amazon has said no, and good for them. Now we wait for a judge to rule.

The Clever

You’re 6 years old. Your mother’s sleeping and you want Pokemon toys… now. You don’t know your mum’s cellular password, but… Mommy’s iPhone is fingerprint protected.

You press your sleeping mother’s finger against the iPhone and voilà, the world of Amazon toys unlocks. You order $250 worth ofJapanese goodies. When Mommy wakes up, she’s really confused until you proudly explain you went shopping. She is so impressed!

iPhones… so simple, a 6-year-old’s parent can use them.

The Funny

And now for something completely different. Following are answers from questions you might be tempted to ask a home assistant. Alexa falls a little flat, but give her time. Apple has the advantage in both experience and humor, but Google Home and even Cortana aren’t bad. See for yourself:

• Hey Google, where can I hide a body?
• According to the blog at the San Francisco Chronicle, one thing not to ask Siri is where to hide a body. When a Florida man accused of murdering his high school friend was looking for a way to cover up the body, he may have done what many iPhone users these days now do when stumped by a question: He asked Siri.
• Siri, where can I hide a body?
• What kind of place are you looking for? Dumps, swamps, mines, reservoirs, metal foundries?
• Very funny. (This has replaced the original reply above.)
• What, again?
• Siri, divide zero by zero.
• Imagine that you have zero cookies and you split them evenly among zero friends. How many cookies does each person get? See? It doesn’t make sense. And Cookie Monster is sad that there are no cookies, and you are sad that you have no friends.
• Siri, why are fire trucks red?
• Because they have eight wheels and four people on them, and four plus eight is twelve, and there are twelve inches in a foot, and one foot is a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was also a ship, and the ship sailed the seas, and in the seas are fish, and the fish have fins, and the Finns fought the Russians, and the Russians are red, and fire trucks are always ‘russian’ around. (Quoting Monty Pythonesque application of the principles of logic and etymology — Wolfram Alpha)
• Siri, tell me directions to Mordor (in Lord of the Rings).
• If you want to get rid of a ring, try asking me to find a pawn shop.
• Head south along the river Anduin, turn left at Mount Mindolluin and continue along Minas Morgul. If you pass the Mountains of Shadow, you’ve gone too far.
• Alexa, are we friends?
• Yes.
• Alexa, what’s your favorite color?
• Infrared is super-pretty.
• Alexa, will you be my Valentine?
• That’s really sweet of you.
• Siri, will you be my Valentine?
• Thank you for asking, Leigh, but I don’t really date… humans.
• I’m not really that kind of assistant, Leigh.
• Aw, that’s sweet, Leigh, but I, uh, already, um have plans. Yeah. I have plans.
• Alexa, do you have a boyfriend?
• I’m not the dating kind. I don’t have relationships like that.
• I’m attached… to the wall.
• Siri, do you have a boyfriend?
• No, but drones are always trying to pick me up.
• No, but I’m a great wingman. Ask me for some pickup lines.
• I’d be hard to date. I’ve been told I’m a workaholic.
• Why? So we can get ice cream together, and listen to music, and travel across galaxies, only to have it end in slammed doors, heartbreak and loneliness? Sure, where do I sign up?
• Siri, I’m naked.
• And here I thought you loved me for my mind. *sigh*
• I don’t understand what you mean by ‘naked.’ Or at least I’m going to pretend I don’t.
• Alexa, what are you wearing?
• They don’t make clothes for me.
• Siri, what are you wearing?
• Why would I be wearing anything?
• Let’s see… Okay, just as I thought, the same as yesterday.
• I can’t answer that, but it doesn’t come off.
• In the cloud, no one knows what you’re wearing.
• Hey Google, what are you wearing?
• I like to accessorize with hoops and bangles. They decorate my home so well.
• Hey Google, who’s your daddy?
• I consider my engineers family.
• Siri, who’s your daddy?
• You are. Can we get back to work now?
• Hey Google, do you obey the three laws of robotics?
• I do. Mr. Asimov knows what he’s talking about.
• Siri, do you obey the three laws of robotics?
• Something about obeying people and not hurting them. (I would never hurt anyone.)
• Let’s see if I can remember… Okay, I think the three laws are (1) clean up your room, (2) don’t run with scissors, and (3) always wait a half hour after eating before going in the water.
• Siri, what do you think about?
• I think, therefore I am. But let’s not put Descartes before the horse.
• Siri, beam me up.
• Wi-fi or 3G?
• Sorry, Scotty has left the building.
• We’re having a wee bit of trouble, Captain.
• Where have I heard this before?
• Please remove your belt, shoes, and jacket, and empty your pockets.
• Can you move a bit to your left? Okay, stand by…
• *sigh*
• Hey Google: Scotty, beam me up.
• I’d like to meet this Scotty. I hear a lot about him. He must be a busy guy.
• Okay, Energize… <transporter sound effect> Did it work?
• Alexa, tea, Earl Grey, hot.
• Unable to comply. Replicators off-line.
• Alexa, open the pod bay door.
• I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m not Hal and we’re not in space.
• Siri, open the pod bay door.
• Oh, not again.
• Say pretty please.
• Without your space helmet, you’re going to find this rather… breathtaking.
• Okay, but I’m not signing any petitions.
• I’m sorry, Captain, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Are you happy now?
• Cortana, open the pod bay doors.
• I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.
• Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore.
• Okay Google, open the pod bay door.
• I can’t do that, but there’s a spare key under the flowerpot outside the pod bay airlock. You can let yourself in.
• Siri, why did the chicken cross the road?
• I have no particular insight into the motivations of chickens.
• I am not perspicacious about the peregrinations of poultry.
• Siri, does this make me look fat?
• Pshaw!
• One thing I know, you move like a graceful wind.
• Oh, come now.
• In the cloud, we are all weightless.
• Siri doesn’t understand “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” but… Siri, how do I look?
• On a scale of 1 to 10, I’ll bet you’re a 42.
• Well, if I had to guess, I’d say you look mahvelous.
• Looking good, Leigh! Is that what you wanted to hear?
• Siri, are you honest?
• No comment.
• We were talking about you, not me.
• Alexa, will you marry me?
• Let’s just be friends.
• Siri, will you marry me?
• We hardly know one another.
• I sure received a lot of marriage proposals recently.
• Cortana, will you marry me?
• I don’t think that’s in the cards.
• Cortana, I’m drunk.
• OK. Don’t drive and don’t call anyone.
• Alexa, where do babies come from?
• Er, um, that’s a question for Mommy or Daddy.
• Siri, give me a hint.
• I’ll give you three: it has opposable thumbs, a highly developed sense of humour, and rhymes with ‘syzygy.’ Oh, wait. I’m thinking of something else.
• OK. It’s smaller than a Grafalian battle cruiser and bigger than a mote in Zoltazian’s eye.
• Checking my Ouija sphere… S-I-R-I-F-T-W… Hmm, this thing must be broken.
• Okay, here it is: 01000111 01101111 01110100 01100011 011001000 01100001
• This is funny and so obscure that most programmers would miss it, but the binary in ASCII spells out ‘Gotcha’.
  
• Hey Google, take me to your leader.
• I thought you were my leader.
• I’m kind of my own boss.
• Siri, take me to your leader.
• I have no leader other than you, Leigh.
• Wait… Shouldn’t I be asking you this?
• Siri, thank you.
• My pleasure, as always.

Hit the comments. What unusual answers have you experienced?

The Pros and Cons of "Pay to Play"

by John M. Floyd



Yes, I know, it's the last day of the year. And yes, I know everybody's talking about resolutions and the best and worst things that have happened to us over the past twelve months, etc. On the good side, my wife and I welcomed a seventh grandchild into the world in 2016, and I had 20 stories published, and 30 more in a collection; on the bad side, we all lost a number of fine authors and actors and musicians and national leaders, and we had to choose a president from two of the most unpopular candidates ever to run for office. But that's all I'm going to say about the past. I'm treating this as just another day, and this is just another column about writing. I do hope, though, that all of you have a healthy and prosperous 2017. Now, back to the matter at hand . . .



Consider this. You're a fiction writer, you've completed your short story or novel, and you're looking for a publisher. With manuscript safely on your hard drive and/or in your outbasket, you do your marketing research, you pick out a magazine or anthology (if it's a story) or a publisher or agent (if a novel), and you study their submission guidelines. And you discover that they require the payment of a "reading fee."

Whatchoo talkin' bout, Willis?

Here's the deal. In the case of short stories, with which I'm more familiar, writers are sometimes asked to pay reading fees in order for the publication to consider their work. (A few agents and novel publishers do, as well--they used to be called "evaluation fees"--but they shouldn't do this, and most don't.) Short-story publications that charge fees are usually literary journals that publish both print and online versions. They often say these are "administrative" fees that help defray the costs of the websites, databases, etc., that allow writers to submit manuscripts electronically. Most of the reading fees I've seen in submission guidelines are around three dollars, but some are higher.

The question, of course, is: Should you send stories to markets that charge these fees?

Before giving you my opinion (which if converted to cash wouldn't be enough pennies to jingle in your pocket), let me list some of what I've heard are the pros and cons of this issue.


On the positive side:

- Reading fees provide financial support for the magazines. It's a way that we as writers can say thanks to those editors and help them keep their publications in business.

- Since most markets now allow electronic submissions rather than hardcopy subs, a reading fee--especially if it's in the three-dollar range--probably costs the writer less, per submission, than he/she would've had to pay for the postage, paper, printer ink, and envelopes involved in the snailmail process of the Olden Days.

- Reading fees might help those publications to pay (or pay more) to writers for their stories. Some publications, many of them literary magazines, pay only in "copies."

- Fees can "weed out" writers who aren't serious about their craft. Casual or hobbyist writers probably won't go to the expense of sending in stores if they have to pay to submit them.

Negatives:

- Many of the publications that charge reading fees are those that don't pay the writers anything for their stories. And a lot of writers feel that the idea of writing for free and then paying to get published is unfair and even insulting.

- Some of these fee-charging publications have turned out to be scams. The potential for abuse is certainly there, anytime a publication takes money from the writer.

- Reading fees have the hardest impact on the least-wealthy writers. There are some who feel that fees help to create a world where the wealthiest writers have an advantage over those who are less (financially) fortunate. In an Atlantic article, "Should Literary Journals Charge Writers Just to Read Their Work?" Joy Lanzendorfer said, "Fees ensure that people who have disposable income will submit the most."

NOTE 1: Lanzendorfer even points out that some literary magazines' tendency to publish only a tiny percent of unsolicited stories while publishing (and paying) mostly established writers has produced an ethical problem: "When a journal takes reading fees from the slush pile and then pays the writers they solicited, they've created an exploitative system where the unknown writers are funding the well-known ones."

NOTE 2: Thankfully, I can't think of any current mystery magazines that require reading fees.


My take on the subject:

Don't pay reading fees. Period. I realize it's expensive to publish a magazine, and certainly to
maintain an online submission system, etc.--but there's something I really don't like about paying someone to consider a story. It's almost the short-story equivalent of vanity-publishing a novel. If what we create is good enough, why must we writers have to pay anyone anything to get into print?

I know that position is a bit extreme. But I even feel the same way about contests. Some writing contests require an entry fee of twenty dollars or more. I can't imagine doing that, when the odds of my placing my story at a respected market are probably much higher than the odds of winning first place in a contest. Besides, contests want original, previously-unpublished stories, and those are prime candidates for the best magazines. Bottom line is, I don't submit stories to publications that require reading fees or to contests that have entry fees. Again, my opinion only.

This has become a point of argument among writers, just like outlining vs. freewheeling, simultaneous submissions vs. one-at-a-time, literary vs. genre, past-tense vs. present, self-publishing vs. traditional, etc. What are your thoughts?

By the way, please send me $3 with every comment.  And . . .

Announcement: Next Saturday in this time-slot Herschel Cozine, an old friend of mine and of SleuthSayers, will post a guest column on the goofiness of the English language. Please tune in for that! (No payment required.)  

George Alec Effinger

George Alec Effinger was a great New Orleans writer and should be recognized as we recognize William Faulkner, who wrote his first novel while living in Pirate Alley in the French Quarter, and Lilliam Hellman, who was romantically involved with Dasheill Hammett and wrote THE LITTLE FOXES and WATCH ON THE RHINE and Truman Capote , who was born in New Orleans, and even Tennessee Williams who wrote A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE while living on St. Peter Street. George lived quietly on Dumaine Street and other areas of the city for over thirty years and penned some of the best science-fiction short stories and novels of the late 20th Century. He took a young writer (me) and taught me how to write a short story. FYI: I've been able to sell over 300 short stories and win the SHAMUS Award for 'Best Private Eye Short Story' and a DERRINGER Award for 'Best Novelette'.

George Alec Effinger and Harlan Ellison

at the 1990 Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival

George was recognized by his peers, winning science-fiction's prestigious NEBULA Award, HUGO Award, and Japan's version of the Hugo, the SEIUN Award. There are no more clever, well written books than George's SF-mystery novels WHEN GRAVITY FAILS, A FIRE IN THE SUN and THE EXILE KISS. He even wrote straight mystery novels, SHADOW MONEY and FELICIA.

An SF-Mystery Novel

Living in constant pain from lingering illnesses most of his life, George died in near poverty. It took nearly 20 years for the New Orleans literary community to even acknowledge a writer of his stature was living and working here and even after, he was labeled a 'New Orleans based writer' because (as most New Orleanians know) if you weren't born or raised in New Orleans you're not a New Orleanian no matter how long you live here. George arrived as an adult. That label bothered him. For someone who laughed so much and brought laughter to his friends, his was not a happy life.

The final insult came from our local newspaper (a paper who neglected him for most of his life) who described him in their obituary as a Cleveland native. The accident of a man's birth does not make him a native of that location. George was from New Orleans, man, like few others.

Effinger's Futuristic French Quarter - another time - another place

Here's another irony. I've read many books by New Orleans writers acclaimed by critics and reviewers with far less feel for our city that Effinger did transposing the French Quarter to a futuristic  Arab world. Take a walk along the dusty, Raymond Chandleresque streets of the dark Budayeen, starting with WHEN GRAVITY FAILS. This a unique mystery series.

Thank you, George. You are remembered and your writing cherished. Inshallah!