Monday, 29 June 2009

• Hey, That’s My Old Man’s Lingo

   

   

  (Chances are, no one will recognize where that quote is from.  And I weep for your future.  I really do.  The next thing you’ll tell me is that you don’t remember scratch-n-sniff stickers. Pshaw.)

  The writing business is a tricky world, filled with strange words, protocols, and finicky people.  Like any trade, you have to pick up the lingo, understand the lexicon.  This will keep you from confusing SASE with SAHM, which are two entirely different creatures.  I could make a really dirty joke there, but I won’t.  I am, however, inexplicably humming “Stacey’s Mom.”

  But back to the point.  Some terminology is difficult to figure out.  Sometimes, Google fails you.  I know that’s difficult to accept, seeing that it’s Google’s functionality, along with music downloads, that keep Earth spinning on its axis.  However, Google is not, despite appearances, God.  (Although, that’d make an interesting character in a sequel to American Gods.  God as Google.  It could work.  Unfortunately, I digress.  Perhaps someone has switched out my coffee with decaf.)

  Here are a list of literary lingo and explanations, guideline related advice, and general submission advice.  (No, not that kind of submission--but while we're on the subject, always use a safe word, kids!)  It’s not comprehensive, but it will get you started.  (Note: this is largely for magazine submissions; one focusing on novels will follow later.)

  ·        SASE.  This stands for self-addressed, stamped envelope.  When sending snail mail, this ensures that the magazine/publisher/editor/editor’s secretary/guy in the mail room—or whomever—will send you a response.  Do not send these out, unless it is required.  If you’re sending internationally, you’re going to need international reply stamps/coupons.  You can only get those, in person, at the post office (in the States, anyway).

  ·        Pay attention to word count.  Time and again, I hear someone go, “Oh, they’ll just have to deal with it.  It’s three thousand words over.  It’ll be fine.”  It will be fine?  And the editor will deal with it?  Hello, Ego!  If you can’t follow simple guidelines, it does not reflect well on you.  It’s disrespectful, as well, to suggest that an editor—a person you, presumably, want to like you—should have to “deal” with your laziness.  Stick to the guidelines, unlike the Pirate Code.  Okay?

  ·        Query, first.  When a magazine tells you to ‘query first,’ it means they want to hear about your idea—before you send the actual idea.  Sometimes, this implies that you don’t even need to have written the article in question.  If an agent wants a Query Letter, it’s a different animal.  Not an entirely different species, just a second or third cousin.

  ·        Writing on Spec.  I do not recommend this.  Why?  Well, you are given a word count, a pay schedule, and a deadline (possibly, a topic).  What you aren’t given is a guarantee that you’ll be paid or that your article/essay will be published.  The only time a gamble like spec writing pays off is if you’re in need of clips.  Even then, however, I’d suggest writing a blog.  Sure, it’s not a traditional writing sample, but it might due in a pinch.  Read this for more on the dangers of Spec Writing.

  ·        Include a brief cover letter.  As Dorothy Parker once said, brevity is the soul of lingerie.  Er, that’s not what I meant: brevity is the soul of wit.  That’s closer.  The point is that if a brief cover letter is specified, do not send a dissertation.  This will annoy people, and most likely get your work tossed in the slush pile.  Which reminds me…

  ·        The Slush Pile.  This is where a writer’s submission goes to die.  Think of it as the Isle of Misfit Writing.  What are the reasons your poem/essay/short story/monologue/novel excerpt landed in the slush pile?  There are many possibilities.  Perhaps you didn’t follow the magazines guidelines.  Or maybe you sent something that is riddled with bad spelling and bad grammar, or it did not fit with the magazine’s style.  The last one can be a bit dodgy, especially if the type of writing they ask for is vague—like “anything good” or “anything that moves us.”  Unless “good” has become an entirely objective term, and you somehow became psychic, it stands to reason that you will not be able to magically discern what might qualify.  Honestly, something might end up in the slush pile due to timing, which is something that no one can control.  Let’s say an editor, or the editor’s assistant, has just been through a breakup.  His/her heart’s been ripped out, thrown into a blender, and puréed.  Here you come, with a brilliant and witty story about a guy being dumped by his girlfriend for an older man with a five year plan.  (“Excuse me, can you state—for the record—where you worked during college.”  “Hooters.”  And if you don’t know what that quote is from, SHAME ON YOU.)  The story can be fantastic, but the person reading it is human; thus, it might hit a nerve with all the blunt force of a stampeding elephant.  Thus, slush pile.  Editors/assistants/readers are people, too.  Remember that.  Try not to fault them for it.

  ·        Include publishing credits, if possible.  Pay close attention to the “if possible” part of that statement.  Do not make up writing/publishing credits, if you’ve never had anything published.  There’s a particularly funny story about Noah Wyle, when he first started acting.  Essentially, if I remember correctly, he padded his resume.  Heavily.  It actually helped him get a job.  However, he is the EXCEPTION, not the RULE.  (Shout out to He’s Just Not That Into You.)  So, if you’ve never had anything published, do not freak out, and don’t lie.  Who knows if the editor will later ask to see clips?  Maybe he/she will Google The Princess Bride Quarterly, which does not exist, and find out that you are a liar.  Worse yet, you’re a fraud who’s committed the ultimate sin: misuse of The Princess Bride.  Don’t make me send the Brute Squad after you.

   

  Alright, that’s it for now.  There’s an empty coffee cup just begging to be filled.  I’ll leave you in the hilariously awkward hands of one Ms. Josie (not José) Gellar.

  [During a “sex-ed” class in which the students are trying to put condoms on bananas, Tracy has just revealed to Josie that she wants to have sex for the first time. Josie is somewhat stunned, but tries to offer advice]

  Josie Geller: You know, Adelie penguins spend their whole lives looking for that one other penguin and when they meet them, they know. And they spend the rest of their lives together.
  Tracy: But I’m not a penguin.
  Sam: [has walked up next to them as Josie talked] It’s a metaphor.
  [Josie turns to look at him and loses her grip on the condom which flies up and smacks him in the eye]
  Josie Geller: [to Tracy] Excuse me. I have to go die now. [Josie bangs her head on the table]

   

  (What? I didn’t say that it’d be applicable.  Funny, yes.)

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