Cower not, fierce reader! We have before us today not a novel, but a collection of short stories, edited by Mr. Russell Newquist. Each story in here has it’s own crime against Social Justice, if not multiple. The stories are solid, and I’ll attempt to keep from too much spoiling the stories. These will be done along the mini review format I tried earlier.
This is a very solid anthology. Read and enjoy, fierce reader, for these tales have fires to warm the heart. Vascular muscle is tough, but full of iron. Seven of ten fell deeds.
Click through the link to read the whole thing.
Between the Wall and the Fire, got a shoutout last night on The Mockers Podcast by brothers Eric and Andy Mocker. What did the brothers think of my latest collection of science fiction and fantasy stories? Tune in for yourself to find out! You’ll also get to hear Eric’s opinions on the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Warcraft movies. Don’t miss their weekly sports quiz! And finally, make sure you stick around for their “mockumendations.”
While you’re at it, you might want to go check out their back catalog. They’re still relative newcomers in the podcasting world, but they’re coming on strong. Take a look!
Yesterday I discussed what superversive fiction is and briefly talked about the two anthologies of superversive science fiction and fantasy that I’ve published in the last two years. Today I’m pleased to announce that Silver Empire is now accepting submissions for our next superversive anthology.
Some of my works have been labeled with the term “superversive.” But it’s not a common term, and people often ask me what it means.
Urban Dictionary says the following:
Nurturing; supportive, building up — opposite of subversiveThe superversives decorated the object with daisy chains, linked their arms around it and sang “Jerusalem.”
“You know how subversive means to change something by undermining from below? Superversive is change by inspiration from above.”
This definition is slightly less concise but far more informative. The last half century or so has seen quite a bit of subversive literature – literature designed not for building up civilization but for tearing it down. It has many features to it: heroes who aren’t heroic, the world is portrayed as a terrible, evil place, beauty is nowhere to be found, good always loses in the end, etc. Some of this started out as a fair and necessary reaction to literature that had become too whitewashed. The world has warts in it, and portraying a world without them lacked character and truth. But the pendulum has swung too far. Too much art today shows only the warts and neglects to show the beauty of the world.
OK, that gives us a good idea of what superversive isn’t. But superversive is more than just “not subversive.” We could take the next step by looking at the Superversive Manifesto, proposed by M.C. Tuggle. But although there’s plenty there to like, I think it misses some the mark.
If subversive is about tearing down the structures of society, superversive must be about building them back up. Specifically, I believe superversive fiction absolutely must contain some of the following elements:
The “What every boy needs to know about being a man” speech from Secondhand Lions sums it up very well.
I apply the term superversive pretty strictly. I’ve put out two anthologies of science fiction and fantasy short stories that were deliberately themed with superversive intent. The first, Make Death Proud to Take Us, carried a theme of manly courage. Every story is specifically written to showcase men being courageous – something that is lost in a great deal of modern fiction, where too many men are slimy, sleazy, weaselly, and fearful. The second, Between the Wall and the Fire, tells stories about devotion to family. We live in a world that is constantly trying to break down families in every way. We opted to instead showcase families: why they are important, what they bring to the world.
Some of the contributors didn’t even know they were participating in superversive projects. In fact, I’ve had to explain the term – after the fact – to more than one of them. And yet in the case of one of my authors, I can specifically say that throwing out a superversive topic – with no explanation of why I’d chosen that topic – resulted in the best story she’d yet submitted to me, hands down. The fact of the matter is that even if you don’t agree with the superversive movement, these are the kind of stories that resonate with people.
At Silver Empire, we continue to make the effort to publish superversive fiction. Not everything we publish is explicitly superversive. Indeed, I’m pretty strict about using the label. But I’m also not particularly interested in publishing subversive fiction. There are plenty of other outlets who will do that. Enough other people are tearing the world down without my help. I’m ready to build.
Both the story below and the introduction are lifted from my latest anthology of science fiction and fantasy short stories, Between the Wall and the Fire. Unlike every other story in that collection, this one is not science fiction and it’s not fantasy. I will leave it to the introduction below to explain why it was included anyway.
In December of 2006, my sister-in-law Dani’s family invited my not-yet-wife Morgon and I to join them for Christmas in the suburbs of Chicago. Since our last trip to Chicago had been for my brother’s wedding and we’d enjoyed the trip greatly, we happily accepted.
The trip went pear shaped even before we left. As December waned, so did the health of Dani’s grandmother. Morgon and I debated skipping the trip, but then we got word that Dani’s grandmother had been specifically looking forward to seeing us. To this day, I don’t know why – we’d only met her once, at the aforementioned wedding. But I can suck up a lot to make an old woman happy, so we went ahead and made the trip.
It had already started to go downhill, and it only accelerated from there. The heat was broken on Dani’s SUV, and it was cold. The drive turned into a very long one, and by the end of it Morgon was literally shaking despite being wrapped in blankets and spare clothing. Then, of course, the trip got even more awkward as Dani’s grandmother continued to decline.
We did see her, and in hindsight I’m glad we did. She died a few days into our trip. At that point, Morgon and I decided to get out of everyone’s way. We rented a car for the trip home and decided to head out early. But since we were already most of the way there, we decided to stop in and see Morgon’s grandfather Verne in Galesburg. We had hoped to find time to make it up there anyway. Now that we were on our own, and had control of the transportation, we made it a point.
I had met Verne once or twice before on some of his previous visits to Huntsville, but I didn’t know him very well. He was old – in his late eighties at the time – and his hearing was very poor. It was hard to communicate with him. I wasn’t particularly enthused about the trip, but I knew it was important to Morgon.
We stopped in at his little house in the country. It was the first time I’d seen the place, but I liked it. It was cozy. Verne was pleasant and welcomed us, even though his hearing made it hard to communicate. Then the awkwardness of the trip continued. We sat on the couch and he sat in a chair across from us.
And he handed me this story. Worse, he clearly expected me to read it, right there in front of him.
I have to admit that my reaction was uncharitable. Here was a man I barely knew, on a trip that had already been pretty rough, handing me who knows what to read. But manners got the best of me. I expected to read a page or so, skim the rest, force a smile, and tell him I enjoyed it.
That old codger pulled a fast one on me. The story was good – really good.
It is presented here completely unedited, exactly the way he gave it to me nearly a decade ago. The language is simple. The story isn’t always told in order. It isn’t science fiction or fantasy. But it’s a good tale, and it tells a great tale about a simple man and his family.
Most of all, it’s True.
Life Began at Thirty-Three
by Verne Luvall
At age 33, having survived the war, free and able to do as I pleased, there seemed to be a lack of purpose or direction. All of my friends were married. I had dated girls forty miles north and fifty miles south, but none developed into anything serious.
All of that changed quite suddenly. I was a tool and die maker at Gale Products and part of my job was troubleshooting in the punch press department. Virginia Mureen worked in the time study department and her job brought her to the punch press department to post the piece work notes. The foreman of the department took a liking to both of us. One day he said, “Verne, you two should get together.”
I said, “Aw, Bud, I’ve known her all her life. I have played with her brothers, and we live only about three blocks apart, and I just don’t know about dating in the neighborhood.”
From that day on, we were one. We didn’t have one of those romantic courtships. She could always remember what I wore on that first date. It made no difference what we did as long as we did it together. I did considerable fishing at Lake Rice, and she joined me and became a very good fly fisherwoman.
One night as we were walking from the car to her house, without any forethought, I said, “Will you marry me?”
She said, “You know what the answer is.”
After our engagement, our thoughts turned to our future home. I came from a large family in the Depression, and there seemed to be so much dissension. My dad lost the house twice, and it became so ramshackle that I had people drop me off a block away so they couldn’t see where I lived. From all this, some very strong convictions were made.
First, I wanted a brick house in the country with a fireplace and not heavily mortgaged. The only way some of this could be accomplished was to do as much of the work as possible myself. I didn’t want the wife to work outside the home, and there was to be no bickering.
So, we began looking for a home site and searching for house plans. Gale Products owned Gale Lake, and it had a nice fireplace, and we spent many evenings working on house plans in the lighthouse.
Since the inside of the house was where the homemaker would spend most of her time, we wanted it to be as efficient and labor-saving as possible. Once this was accomplished, we had an architect put it all under one roof complete with nine closets.
Unfortunately, we found that the land promised to us could not be sold since a brother had a chattel mortgage on the property and would not ell. Time was running out since it was April, and we set October for our wedding, so we pigeonholed those plans and settled for a simple, two-bedroom house with crawl space and bought a lot in the Mast Addition on Farnham Street. We were the first to build their own house.
We had the foundation laid and the house framed and I took over from there. Virginia helped me do the shingling. The siding was delivered to her mother’s double garage, and we spent our evenings priming it on both sides. After I installed it, it was time for the final paint job. While working on the original plans at Gale Lake, we liked the color of the fireplace and decided to use it on this house.
The man at the paint store furnished a basic color plus the necessary material to produce the desired color. He did not mix the two. A relative had been wanting to help us, so we decided to let him do the painting. He did not mix the paint, either, using only the basic color. When we stopped by after work, it looked like the sun was setting in the east. It was a bright orange red – a shock at first, but it sort of grew on us. It really stood out among all those white houses.
In time we added a white picket fence, and one evening I was down behind it pulling weeds when two girls riding horses came by. One remarked that she sure liked the color of that house, but her horse didn’t and wanted to shy away from it.
In time, the fence was no longer needed for our children, Jeff and Missy, so it was again time to look for that home site in the country. At last resort we were about to settle for a piece of ground near Shanghai. One evening we had some friends over for dinner. It was Glenn and Mabel Glass who lived on the Alexis Angling Road. Virginia had gone to school with their daughter Cynthia, and I had hunted ducks on their pond. Imagine our surprise when they said, “We heard that you were going to buy land near Shanghai, but we can’t let you do that. We knew you wanted to buy in the country, but we wanted to be sure you wouldn’t sell out to some chicken thieves in a few years.”
We had choice of three locations, and we chose a five acre patch of brush on the southwest corner of their property. We called it “Stillwood.” There were times later when I thought Wit’s End might be more appropriate. We have always felt a deep gratitude to them for their generosity.
The first improvement had to be a well. The cost of a drilled well seemed too expensive, so I decided on a dug well. A water witcher marked two locations, and I drilled two test holes fifty feet deep with a two inch hand auger. Fred Kelly, who owned a service station, loaned me his wrecker to lift the auger. No water was found on either location, so a 135 –foot drilled well furnished plenty of water.
Eventually, the basement was dug, blocks laid, and the house framed, this by professionals. This was per our original plans. All my weekends, holidays, and vacations were spent finishing it. To be closer, we sold the house in town and moved into a log cabin a few miles from the home site. This was fine, but the log cabin was sold suddenly, and we had to move into the basement of the unfinished house.
The lavatory at the head of the basement stairs was connected to the septic tank. The shower and sink to the floor drain. The four inch drain pipe to which the upstairs bathroom would be connected protruded through the foundation to the trench to the septic tank.
There were no eaves and that night (our first) a four inch rain fell. The trench filled and water began coming in through the pipe. All night and part of the next day was spent catching the water in 50-gallon cream cans and pouring down the drain. Just when it seemed finished, a large piece of soil loosened and fell into the trench causing more water.
The heat convection for the basement did not arrive until after Thanksgiving, so the only heat we had was from a fireplace and a small laundry stove. After work, I had to cut enough wood to last the next day.
It took two weeks for the toilet stool for the lavatory at the head of the stairs to come from Abingdon. In the meantime, an outhouse donated by a neighbor had to be used. It was some distance from the house, so I would escort Virginia there at night. When I finally was able to install the stool, it had to be kept covered since there was no heat upstairs. The refrigerator was also upstairs, so Virginia had to wear a wrap when she visited it.
There was considerable overtime at the factory, so whatever time was available was spent on the house. Sometimes a job wouldn’t get finished until 2 A.M. We lived in the basement for two years. The brickwork and fireplaces were done by professionals.
Our life at Stillwood was full of surprises. Our road had only been graveled to a dead end road which ended a short distance from our drive. More gravel was added to our drive, but after that there were only two ruts.
One Easter morning, Virginia noticed a car stuck in front of the house and about that time there was a knock at the door. On opening, there stood a little black man. He said, “Missta, I’m stuck in the mud. Could you give me a push?” I told him it was useless because I had been through that before. We tried to no avail. Then, he asked to use the phone. He called a man in town who had a wrecker. “Elmer, this is Bob,” he said. “I’m stuck in the mud out here in the country. Could you come get me out?”
Elmer said no because he was too busy, but he said, “You’ve got to help me. I’ve got to get home and take the wife and kids to church, and I’ve got this chick in the car.” He finally got a neighbor to pull him out with a tractor.
One evening, the daughter of a Galesburg policeman and her boyfriend landed in the same spot. They were supposed to have been at a party on the southeast edge of town.
Thanks to friends and neighbors, Jeff had horses to ride. One was Star, a very large but gentle one. One day, we saw Missy tying this big horse to the bumper of our little Volkswagen.
When asked about Jeff, she said he was running Star down in the pasture and she fell. “I think he’s dead.” Just as we were about to look for him, he came limping through the yard, and we were relieved to find that he was not seriously injured. We never did find his glasses.
Then there was Tony the pony that was given to me by a man I thought was my friend. He assured me that fences would not be a problem, but Tony could always find a bad spot in my fence.
He would watch me prune a tree and after I left, he would finish the job to suit himself. The grafts I made on nut trees were just the right height to scratch his belly and he utilized all of them. One day two of our neighbors’ horses came to visit him. They were running up and down on either side of the fence having a great time. It could have been funny, but the horses were running in my new strawberry bed. He would also play hide and seek with Missy.
We had several dogs. Binky, a black Lab, was the first while we were living in town. We both took her through obedience school. She was also a good hunter.
Next was a collie. Virginia always wanted a collie, so I gave her a puppy for Christmas. We named her Holly.
Then there was Tika, a Doberman which Jeff sent us from Mississippi. She died suddenly after only two years.
One day an Irish setter showed up wearing a collar and broken chain. This we later learned was because he was afraid of storms. The back door still shows evidence of his attempted forced entry. Other than that, he was a pretty good ole dawg.
Last but not least was Boots. She was a spayed border collie cross which Missy could no longer keep in town. Ordinarily, a spayed bitch would stay pretty close to home. Not Boots, she had to be where the action was. One day, there was a knock at the door, and it was a neighbor who said, “Your dog has been killing my ducks and chickens.” He said he could replace them at the Salebarn for $20, so I turned it over to my insurance. After that she was tied unless I was with her.
One day, I didn’t think it necessary just for the short time it took for lunch. When I went out, there laid a lamb on the drive. I knew the neighbor would blame the coyotes, but I also knew that I would be driving past his house many times, so I confessed. The lamb cost $75, and this was billed to the insurance, and they canceled my policy. This wasn’t as bad as it seems because my new insurance was much less.
All our dogs were buried near a tree of some significance. Holly was buried near a maple tree which began as a tiny seedling on her grandmother’s grave. It had been transplanted to our place in town and then to the country.
Besides some fantail pigeons, we also acquired two white banty hens. A friend thought they needed some male companionship, so he contributed a gamecock rooster.
One of the hens became broody and tried to hatch a pile of rags in the garage. Feeling sorry for her, I found some banty eggs for her. When they hatched, one of the chicks was a husky black rooster. As he grew older, he kept testing the old rooster, and one day the feathers flew and the old rooster was banished from the flock. He immediately made friends with Shag and followed him around like his shadow.
Jeff belonged to the Warren County 4-H Club, and at the Prime Beef Festival, the 4-Hers got a chance to catch a greased pig. Jeff caught one, so it was necessary to build a pen. We were fortunate in having a hog house given to us. For feed, the whole family would glean the picked cornfields on a Sunday afternoon. There was also a person nearby who furnished popcorn to the numerous concessions, and he gave us the stale corn. One day, he said, “Here’s a treat for our pig.” He gave me a sack of stale cashews. He was right. The pig would almost climb the fence to get them.
This was just the beginning of our piggy experiences. Jeff worked for the neighbor farmers during school vacation, and he would bring home runt pigs that the farmers didn’t want.
He belonged to the Explorer Scouts. One summer they took a canoe trip in the Country Waters on the Minnesota Canadian border, and I was allowed to tag along. This left Virginia to care for some little pigs. When we returned home, she said no more.
Jeff’s project in 4H was bee keeping. A beekeeper friend helped him assemble the necessary equipment. Once I was working with the bees, and he was watching while waiting for Virginia to take him to some activity in town and was stung. On the way into town, he broke out with a rash and had trouble breathing.
Virginia had the presence of mind to go directly to the hospital. After being discharged from the hospital, it was necessary to take a series of immunization shots. The bees had to be removed until he left for college. I managed ten to twelve hives for several years after that.
We always had a large garden, fruit trees, and berries, so our freezer was always full. That is except when the neighbors’ livestock invaded. One day a couple of cows were sampling our sweet corn and an old sow and pigs were dining on the tomatoes.
Eventually, board by board, we managed to make the house livable. You might say I made the house, but she made it a home.
Virginia passed away on June 25, 1989, five days after being diagnosed with acute leukemia and is now resting in a little cemetery close to home. I pass her almost every day.
One of her last requests was that Jeff take me on his upcoming trip to Costa Rica. She knew how much I enjoyed the one in 1983. I can still remember how the gate keeper at the Peoria airport let her walk out to the plane to say goodbye.
She was active in a number of organizations and was an election judge during elections at the Townhouse in Kelly Township. It was heated with a hand fired stove and had outdoor plumbing.
I would take her there early in the morning and pick her up after the polls closed. It was a good place to catch up on the neighborhood gossip.
She leaves so many friends and pleasant memories. She should have been an ambassador because she could enter a room of people and be friends with all. This gift helped me overcome the complex I had acquired during childhood. She made me feel important.
During my younger days, one word that was never mentioned was love, so it was too difficult for me to say. However, I could give Virginia a big hug and say, “Boy! I could sure go for you.”
Upon retiring, I didn’t take a full pension, so she would be assured of an income after I was gone. I expected her to live to be a sweet little old lady, just like her mother who lived with us for five and a half years.
Nothing has changed within the house. Her sewing basket still sits by her chair. Her knickknacks are in place, and her many beautiful needlepoint samplers adorn the walls.
One is a replica of an old pair of my hunting boots which has a plaque beneath (not needlepoint) which says…
A husband is…
A husband is someone who takes your heart
and keeps it next to his forever and a day.
There is a particular brand of togetherness with
Husbands you can never feel with anyone else.
A husband is the only labor saving device
you can cuddle
His standing joke; the best thing you ever did
was marrying me is nearer to the truth
than he will ever know.
My husband is someone I love so much
that a lifetime is not long enough to share
Another sampler best summarizes my life after 33. It reads…
To Love And Be Loved
Is The Greatest Joy On Earth
~ VL ~
Jeff Miller has left a very fantastic review of my latest science fiction and fantasy anthology, Between the Wall and the Fire. A few excerpts that particularly humbled me:
The collection starts out very strong with “Edge” by Russell S. Newquist. The story starts with some explanation of motorcycle physics and introduces the main character a P.I. You start to get the feeling of some SF noir and then the action ramps up, and ramps up again. The situation gonzo as you start to find out about the inhabitants of this world. I really enjoyed how this was layered and that for a short story a definite beginning/middle/end. Like most good short stories you are satisfied with it while at the same time wanting more. In this case I could not have thought of a better ending. Just perfect.
I’ll have a post later this week about how that particular story came about. It was an incredibly fun one to write, and I’m glad that people have enjoyed reading it. Also this:
“Knight of the Changeling” by Rusell S. Newquist was another one I greatly enjoyed. What happens in the genre of urban fantasy when a changeling is discovered and you try to recover the switched-out child? First off I just loved how the changeling was detected. Mostly I enjoyed the dangers of fairy land and then how it was all resolved.
This story, on the other hand, was a giant pain in the rear from beginning to end. I had thought that the theme of “family” would make for an easy Peter Bishop story. That was not the case at all. Even coming up with the concept for this story was like pulling teeth. So I’m very glad that people enjoyed the final product!
Jeff also has some really wonderful things to say about my fellow co-authors on this anthology, and you should definitely take the time to pop over and read the whole thing. On behalf of all of those co-authors, we thank you Jeff!
Yesterday my friend S.D. McPhail and I set up shop at the second annual Catfish Literary Festival at the Athens-Limestone Public Library. We got lucky – they gave us the table right by the door! We had a good number of people come by. We sold a few autographed books and gave away a few, including five pre-release advance review copies of Susan’s upcoming novel, Treasures of Dodrazeb: The Origin Key with a special collectible cover.
Susan and I also had a chance to sit on a science fiction and fantasy panel. We got to discuss some of our writing processes, influences, and thoughts on the genre. We also got put on the spot trying to convince one audience member who had never read any science fiction. I thought my case was strong, but I have to confess that Susan got in the better answer!
I also managed to entrench my foot firmly in my mouth with the leadership at my church not once but twice yesterday. First, I completely failed to recognize Deacon Dan’s wife, even after she recognized me! I’m quite sure it’ll take me a decade or more to live that one down. Second, when Deacon Dan opened up a copy of Between the Wall and the Fire, literally the first page he turned to happened to be at the beginning of my story “Knight of the Changeling.” That would have been fine, except that I had chosen to name the deacon character after one of the deacons at our church. One that wasn’t named “Dan.”
I have now promised Deacon Dan that he will be written into a future story, so keep an eye out for him in future installments of The Tales of Peter Bishop!
Finally, I had a great time chatting with everyone who came by our booth. We look forward to seeing all of you again next year!
Back in October, I was sitting on a panel at the Rocket City Lit Fest discussing traditional publishing vs self publishing. It was a fun panel, and I enjoyed the discussions with the other authors at the table. The audience also asked a lot of great questions. But it was what happened afterward that really stood out.
I was approached by a stranger named Susan who asked if we (Silver Empire) were taking submissions. At the time, the answer was pretty much “no.” I wasn’t ready to deal with them yet. I had enough on my plate, and I just wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. Then she described her book to me. She said she had a “third century Persian historical science fiction novel.” I’d never heard of such a beast – but I was intrigued. I asked her to send it over, and told her plainly that I definitely wanted to read that.
Now, maybe you get it and maybe you don’t. If you don’t, my explanation probably won’t help – yet here it is anyway. I love scifi. I love history. I’ve read some great historical fantasy (the Tales of Alvin Maker and The Once and Future King come to mind), but I’ve never read much historical science fiction. And third century Persia? That’s definitely not a place that westerners write about very much. But I wanted to read it, so I asked her to send it over.
I was nervous, of course. It was my first unsolicited submission. And even though I hadn’t had others yet, I very much knew what would later be proven to be true: an awful lot of submissions suck. They’re just plain unreadable. On top of that, Susan had informed me that her family thought it was a romance – despite her insistence that it wasn’t. Now, nothing against romance, but it’s definitely not my genre (I wish it were – romance novels sell). So despite my interest, I didn’t have particularly high expectations – but I had hope!
As it turns out, the book was fantastic. Susan told me she’d spent a lot of time shopping it to publishers, with a lot of rejection. I told her that even though it was fantastic, I could see why. Traditional publishers, I said, would have no idea how to market this book. I also had to tell her that I had no idea how to market it, either! But unlike the traditional publishers, I was willing to try!
We made a few more edits to the book and made it even better. And today, I’m pleased to officially announce Treasures of Dodrazeb: The Origin Key by S.D. McPhail. I can honestly tell you that it’s the best third century Persian historical science fiction sword-and-science novel I’ve ever read. But don’t take my word for it. Here’s what other readers have said:
“The Treasures of Dodrazeb: The Origin Key is a stunning debut novel from an author to watch. McPhail’s creation is packed with tension and excitement, from the political machinations of the empire to the almost Atlantean history of Dodrazeb and mythical Anutupi. The imagery is enchanting, but the adventure is mesmerizing.”
–Ashley Chappell, author of the Dreams of Chaos series.
WOW! Add Susan McPhail to your must-watch writer list! Her debut novel, THE TEASURES OF DODRAZEB: THE ORIGIN KEY delivers! Suspenseful and intriguing, McPhail manufactures an elusive world amid ancient Persian historical truths. Rasteem, the protagonist, is a warrior prince, hell bent on revenge. Plot twists and turns make this imaginative story come to life. Truly a force majeure, this story alone will parent a new genre!
– Dana S.
The Treasures of Dodrazeb: The Origin Key is the unlikely combination of fantasy adventure with some science fiction thrown in. The elements of mystery, romance, politics, and magic all swirled together make this a rich and exciting experience from beginning to end.
– Lucy C.
Treasures of Dodrazeb: The Origin Key will be available on July 30th in eBook and paperback formats. It is now available for pre-order directly from Silver Empire, and will be available for pre-order soon from other booksellers.
One author has already sent me half of a rough draft, while several others have made verbal commitments. Let your imagination go crazy – the more wildly different the stories are, the better!
Back in the day (say, pre-1965), anybody who wanted to become a writer had a fairly clear place to start. Write short fiction and submit it to the magazines. If it didn’t get accepted, write some more. You’d hone your skill, get practice, maybe entertain your friends, and have a nice collection of stuff that could eventually get published once someone finally recognized your talents. Short fiction is a lot easier to write than novels, and a lot faster. So if something didn’t get published, hey, no worries. At least you hadn’t wasted a lot of time with it. Even better, in those days you could actually make a living by writing short fiction. Maybe not the greatest living ever, but you could do it.
In 2016, the market for short fiction is dead.
OK, maybe it’s only mostly dead. You can still go through its pockets looking for loose change and sell the occasional short story on Amazon for $0.99. But for the most part, they don’t sell very well – and Amazon royalties on $0.99 e-books are crap, too. There are a handful of folks who have made series of short stories work. John Hartness seems to have done well with the Bubba the Monster Hunter series (which are excellent, by the way). And you can do OK with anthologies, as we’ve done at Silver Empire.
But the old school path that really made money – the magazines – has been dead for some time. They pay has sucked for decades. Until a few years ago, if you could manage get published in one of the magazines, the pay scale (three to five cents per word) hadn’t changed since the 1960s. There’s been an awful lot of inflation since then. If you could get published. That was getting dramatically harder, too. For one thing, more people were trying – the competition got steeper. But the bigger problem is that the magazines were all going out of business. Today they’re pretty much all gone. Locus still hangs around, and one or two others. But all of them are struggling.
Magazines are dead, and they’re not coming back.
This isn’t a problem unique to the short fiction market. Magazines in general are dying, of every kind. When I was a teenager, Time and Newsweek pretty much ruled the news magazine market. Time only survives today because of the massive corporation that owns it, and Newsweek has been barely kept alive by mega-rich owners who want it as a vanity project. The readership that used to support their advertising model is gone. They’ve all moved online.
Online magazines aren’t doing much better – and they’ll probably die off soon, too.
Simply moving the business model of magazines into an online space hasn’t worked – and it never will. There’s too much competition out there, and too much of it is simply free. There are a handful of “online magazines” of various kinds that are working – but all of them are struggling, too. Politico just killed its last paywalled section. Expect to see more trouble from them soon. The New York Times has struggled since it went with a paywall model. Only magazines such as the Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg which offer specific information that helps their readers actually make money have really thrived.
In the fiction world, things haven’t been much better. I couldn’t name a single online science fiction or fantasy “magazine” that has any kind of clout or significant readership. There are some respectable ones out there, such as Sci-Phi Journal, but they continue to struggle just to exist.
And today this rolled across my feed. I stumbled across the link from Twitter:
Well, this is getting absurd. First Cirsova magazine closed for submissions till 2017, now Pulp Literature just closed for submissions. Obviously, there is a serious dearth of high quality adventure fantasy publications for fantasy short stories. One can probably count those now accepting stories on one hand, and maybe have fingers left over: Hfq Ezine, BCS (which wants a very specific style), Grimdark (which wants a very specific vibe)…?
It’s a real problem, and not just for aspiring authors. There’s nowhere solid left for up and coming authors to really practice their craft – and the readers lose out just as badly. How much more wonderful sff stories would we have if that one author you’ve never heard of had been able to publish that one story and just hadn’t given up? But there’s nowhere left for him to start. So maybe he’s doing something else.
But Mr. Szeles’s solution is no solution at all:
Could I get the support needed now (professional and financial through Kickstarter) to edit and publish such an anthology, pay pro rates, put in the time, work, and love needed to create something magnificent?
The answer? He could probably raise enough through Kickstarter to get the project off the ground. And in a year or three it would probably die a slow lingering death, just like every other online magazine. The problem isn’t the magazines themselves. The problem is that the business model is outdated – and it’s never coming back.
But all is not doom and gloom. At Silver Empire, we believe we’ve found a solution. We’ve come up with an innovative new business model that we think is more in tune with the times. Or, more accurately, we’ve borrowed a business model that’s already working in other fields and we’re going to apply it to the short fiction market. And that’s why we’re creating Lyonesse – we want to Make Short Fiction Great Again.
Will it work? I can’t promise it – all business contains risk. But I believe strongly that it will work, and that it will work well in the modern age. I believe that we’ll be able to pay authors rates that are at least comparable to the rates the magazines were paying before they died – and I think that we might actually be able to pay far better than that.
To that end, we’re looking for lots of science fiction and fantasy short stories – and I really mean LOTS. We’ve already gotten a fair number of submissions. I haven’t been able to comb through all of them yet, but some of them are pretty darn good. But we’re still looking for more. My answer to Mr. Szeles is, send them over. We are accepting submissions. Details on submission requirements are available here. And if you’ve already submitted and haven’t heard back from me yet, don’t fret – I’ve got a bit of a backlog right now because we just finished up Between the Wall and the Fire (speaking of short fiction, check that one out – some of the stories in it are damn good).
We’re not ready to share the details yet, but we’re hoping to have the whole thing up and running by late fall. So stay tuned. It’s going to be quite a ride!