Week 20 – in which we refine our submissions policy, consider the pros and cons of prologues, and desire to be kissed on the throat.
Good day to you all, wherever you may be – and, wherever that is, I pray it’s not as stiflingly, stultifyingly hot as it currently is here in the UK.
We’ve just finished our first pass through the latest round of submissions, and they are as diverse, intriguing and occasionally bafflingly weird as I’d hoped. If you’ve not heard back yet, then it means that you’ve made it to the second round, during which submissions are passed on to a second set of eyes. Out of the 50 submissions cap, we’ve so far rejected 40.
So, I thought this would be a good point to go back over what we are (and aren’t) looking for, and to share the reasons why we rejected some of the submissions we received.
The most obvious reason is that – as stated in our submissions criteria – it’s on the list of things we’ve said we don’t want.
First up is poetry. While we don’t want to completely close the door to – I don’t know – a space opera written in iambic pentameter, it’s highly unlikely that we’ll take on a collection of poetry, no matter how speculative. And we’re looking for fiction, remember. Why aren’t we interested? Partly it’s a matter of cost – poetry books are shorter and tend to have a smaller readership, so sales are unlikely to reimburse our financial investment. But it’s also because we’re just not that into poetry, publishing-wise. There are lots and lots of small presses dedicated to verse of all sorts: please try them.
Romantasy. BookTok might still be going nuts for it, but we’re not a fan. This is not a snobby judgement. I’m sure there are some great romantasy books out there – if you like that sort of thing. We don’t. But what if you’ve written a book with kissing in it, and you’re not sure if you can submit? We’re not against books with romantic elements, be that kissing or more advanced forms of intimacy; we’re just not interested in books where that is the central focus. So, for instance, The Hunger Games has a love triangle that is pivotal to the plot, but it is fundamentally a story about political power. 1984 has kissing in it, but you wouldn’t call it romantasy (or romanscifi, which is also now apparently a thing). These terms are all marketing gimmicks. Just write your book and worry about the genres later. Just don’t make it all about kissing.
Erotica. Yes, we’re still getting this, of all stripes. Again, no judgement, but it’s not our thing. Even if there’s a speculative element to it, if the main purpose is to give you a warm feeling between your big toes, then please submit elsewhere. Yes, literary and SFF books have sex scenes in them, but they tend not to be followed by more sex scenes, and then more. If such events outweigh the themes, characterisation and plot, then it’s a no from us.
Traditional fantasy. Obviously, we’re not against fantasy, but we’re unlikely to take on something that adheres strictly to the tried and tested tropes. I have to admit my heart sinks a little whenever I open a submission to be presented with a map, or a list of dramatis personae detailing everyone’s lineage and affiliations. There has to be something more than the run of the mill. Remember, we want speculative fiction, and if all that’s speculative about your book is that it’s got dragons in it, then some other writer has done your speculating for you long ago.
Young Adult. Again, nothing against books that appeal to teens, but we’d also want it to appeal to adults, ideally, or at least have intellectual weight – and we’ve had some very good submissions that didn’t do either. We want to be broad in our appeal (in as much as speculative fiction and non-fiction can be broad!). Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials has been read by pretty much ever adult I know. This is not so much about money, but depth: the young adult books we’re interested in should be intellectually substantial for the reader, no matter what age they are.
Children’s literature. As with YA, unless it has speculative depth, we’re not interested. So, the book would have to be unusual and multi-layered – like Alice in Wonderland.
Picture books. Probably not, unless the concept was very strong, and perhaps if the submitter was the illustrator. We are however interested in graphic novels or longer illustrated works.
Literary novels. Nothing against them per se, but there would need to be a clear speculative element. Also, we are more interested in story than cutting edge stylistic pyrotechnics or narrative experiment. We’re interested in these, but the story has to come first. Sometimes literary novels forget that reading should be enjoyable.
Historical fiction. Only if there is some speculative element, which usually means alternative history (e.g. Napoleon won the Battle of Waterloo), and even then we’d probably want a bit more (e.g. with the help of time travel). Also, we’re not keen if there’s too militaristic a focus, and the same applies to thrillers and other action genres.
Horror. Because some of our editing team are a bit squeamish, this would have to be more than just a tweak on familiar tropes and sub-genres. The only horror I’ve ever read or watched has captivated me despite any gore and visceral terror there might be (OK, OK – the squeamish member of the editing team in question is me). So, some of the Alien movies, The Girl with All the Gifts, Dracula, among others.
Cozy fantasy/sci-fi. This seems to be a growing genre, and we’ve received a few of these. It may border romantasy, but even where it doesn’t, we’re probably not going to be interested – again (stuck record), unless the speculative element is very strong.
Mashups. There were a few submissions that were mashups of popular genres, and we like these, though again it has to just be more than (e.g.) zombies + cricket (is cricket a genre…?). Mashups are hard to pull off well, and especially if the story is to have some speculative depth.
Novellas and short stories. We have nothing against novellas; they’re just a hard sell. First of all, they cost not much less than full length fiction to produce, but have to be priced lower, so the profit margins are tighter. The market for them isn’t as broad – and this applies to short story collections too – because the general public mostly wants to read full length books. There will no doubt be exceptions to this, but the book would have to be exceptional in terms of its story/themes/etc for us to be unable to turn it down. And we don’t want to set a blanket ban on shorter books – Fahrenheit 451 is only about 47,000 words. But as a rule, anything under 40,000 is probably going to be a no, and in this batch, 12 out of the 50 submissions fell into that category. In future, such submissions will not be considered (unless it’s a picture book or something that has some other reason to be so short).
Books that sell something else. By which I mean, books where the story is secondary to some philosophy, thesis, or non-storytelling goal. So, perhaps you have some spiritual philosophy for which the story is an allegory – or whatever. Generally, these books don’t work for us, as we are interested in story first and foremost.
Which just leaves non-fiction. Submissions for this have been a slow trickle, even though the window is permanently open, and since we first opened we’ve only received 15 in total. Once we rule out memoirs (which we’re unlikely to accept – with the usual proviso), and those submitters who are trying to sneak fiction in through the non-fiction portal, the general issue is accessibility. We want to publish popular speculative non-fiction. So, nothing too academic, no memoirs, and nothing too close to a self-help manual. We know that’s a hard ask, but them’s the criteria.
Reassuringly, we seem to have had no AI – or at least, none that we could detect (which is, now I come to think of it, the scarier prospect…). My own view is that AI helps improve writing up to a point, but that point is usually not sufficient to make the writing stand out. So, those who do stand out aren’t the sort of writers who benefit from AI. I appreciate that AI is moving forward – perhaps even to the point where it can fool skilled critics – but in the majority of uses, it will only serve to level things out, not add quality and originality. At least, that’s my current position. We’ll see if it holds.
Finally, a word about prologues. I made the mistake of taking to social media (again?!), and opining that most prologues are unnecessary and feel a bit like homework for the reader. Why not just get straight to the story, and weave whatever function the prologue serves into the main text? I wasn’t just being rage-baity toward those diehard fans of precursory matter. In fairness, I have seen them used well (a recent submission set up a false start where the “heroes” we are meant to root for turn out to be the villains), but most of the prologues I’ve read have been an irritation, and I’m starting to feel the same way about epigraphs – and I speak as someone who has used both! Maybe I’m developing the occupational impatience of the editor, who doesn’t have time to fart around with amuse-bouche, and is hungry for the main course. My chief objection is that, as an author, you have a window of opportunity in which to engage the reader, and the less patient that reader is, the smaller that window becomes. I’m not prioritising commerce over art, here, but story over artifice (if you will allow me that distinction!). There’s a lovely opening to Margot’s Got Money Troubles, by Rufi Thorpe (which has just been made into a rather great series starring Elle Fanning on Apple TV), and which I think sums my feelings up:
You are about to begin reading a new book, and to be honest, you are a little tense. The beginning of a novel is like a first date. You hope that from the first lines an urgent magic will take hold, and you will sink into the story like a hot bath, giving yourself over entirely. But this hope is tempered by an expectation that, in reality, you are about to have to learn a bunch of people’s names and follow along politely like you are attending the baby shower of a woman you hardly know. And that’s fine, goodness knows you’ve fallen in love with books that didn’t grab you in the first paragraph. But that doesn’t stop you from wishing they would, from wishing they would come right up to you in the dark of your mind and kiss you on the throat.
Kind of wonderful, isn’t it? And don’t you now wish to find just such a book and fall from the first sentence under the spell of its urgent magic?