The project I’m working on has gotten to the “damn it I just want this thing done” phase, which in this case is nicely and thankfully coinciding with the “hey, now I know where I’m going with all this and I just need to type it up” phase. So I’m leaving you all, the better to finish it this week. I’m scheduling this week to be away, although I’ll be back early if it takes less time (which is possible), or back late if it takes more (which is also possible).

If you absolutely can’t live without me for a week, first, seek therapy, but second, I’ll mostly likely continue to update my Twitter feed during this time, because (no offense, Twitter) it doesn’t really involve actual thought. So now’s a fine time to get on the Twitter thing if you’ve not done so already. I’ll also be updating the Whateverettes over there in the sidebar.

While I’m gone you can of course continue to blather on in the comment threads; you don’t really need me here for that. Also, feel free to consider this an “open thread” post — go ahead and chat amongst yourselves, I don’t mind. Just be nice to each other and don’t break anything (I’m probably not going to be posting comments but I will moderate — I’m busy, not dead).

If you need to reach me for some reason, go ahead and do it by e-mail, but be aware I’m likely to respond only to urgent mail (urgent defined by me, as opposed to by others) until the project is finished.

See you all in a week (more or less).

Case in point:

Story about it here.

First off: Happy Independence Day! Here in the US we’re celebrating the day we kicked Britain to the curb, what, 233 years ago? Sigh. We were all so different then, weren’t we. And look at us now: The US and UK, totally all “friends with benefits.” Oh, UK. We love your accents.

Now, then:

* If you were planning to vote for this year’s Hugos today, HA! You’re too late, the voting closed at midnight. And as is now apparently traditional, when I woke up the morning after the Hugo voting closed there was an e-mail waiting for me asking me if I thought I was gonna win anything. My response this year, again: Oh, probably not, and almost certainly not in the Best Novel category, where the competition is, shall we say, awesome scary. And I’m very okay with this, since as noted before when fandom says to you, “Hey, you belong in the same category as Cory Doctorow, Neil Gaiman, Neal Stephenson and Charlie Stross,” well, honestly. How much more win do you need?

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to win all three of the Hugos I’m up for, because then I could retire from Hugo competition, couldn’t I. But I sort of doubt that will happen, and if it did I would be the first to accuse me of ballot stuffing and to demand a full investigation. In the meantime, I’m not going to worry about it. It’s cool to be nominated, and it’s nice to win, and it’s also nice to see friends win, too.

* That said, I totally want to have us METAtropolis folks win Best Dramatic Presentation, Long Form. Dark Knight and Wall-E have already got Oscars, you know? They’re taken care of. And you know you’d rather see me, Toby, Jay, Karl and eBear (and Steve Feldberg, our producer) jumping up and down like happy monkeys on that Hugo stage than to watch some stand-in accept for someone who was never planning to show up. Mind you, the sight of the lot of us hopping up and down is not a reason to vote for METAtropolis – it needed to be judged on its own merits like the rest of the nominees. But it would still be more fun. Just saying.

* In e-mail and comments, I’ve had people asking me if I wasn’t just a bit too severe with Gordon Van Gelder and Gardner Dozois regarding the proposed F&SF workshop, and asking whether I really believe either man would try to take work from workshoppers for the magazine without paying pro rates. So to be clear: No, I didn’t and don’t believe that, and I’ve said a number of times, in both the entries and the comments that I don’t think it was ever their intent. I do think it was unfortunate they were not perfectly clear about the payment angle, however, and regardless of what I thought their intentions were, it’s perfectly legitimate to note out loud that this information wasn’t out there and that its absence was not a good thing.

In the comments, Gardner Dozois notes that one could have just sent an e-mail and asked. Well, sure. On the other hand, as a writer I’m wondering why a detail that fundamental was skipped in the first place; I guessed an oversight (which it was) but it was a puzzling enough oversight to call out. Also, Gordon Van Gelder had information on the workshop posted publicly, so I’m not sure why comment about publicly available material needs to be addressed privately.

Dozois was likewise offended that his 40-year-track record was not taken into consideration when noting the issue of lack of payment information, to which I say: Well, it’s not you, Gardner. It wouldn’t have mattered who it was involved in the workshop, I would have noted the absence of information. Trust me on this. As a professional writer, payment is my hobby horse, and like Rikki Tikki Tavi, I prefer to run and find out rather than be in doubt. I was surprised the payment issue wasn’t addressed, but I also cede the point writers have slightly different priorities than editors and publishers. So I brought it up.

Be that as it may, I do regret if Gardner Dozois feels that I have impugned his integrity. His integrity wasn’t really in question from my point of view, nor it is now (nor is Gordon Van Gelder’s, while I’m at it). I don’t regret pointing out the issue of workshop story payment was not addressed, nor do I regret discussing it publicly. It has been publicly addressed now by Van Gelder (F&SF will pay for the stories), so that’s that. Glad it’s resolved.

Oh, yes. It will be a pleasant night tonight.

That’s it, I’m taking the shotgun to bed. Just to be safe.

Honestly, I don’t know what to make of Sarah Palin any more, except I continue to be glad she never actually came within a heartbeat of the presidency. But maybe one of you can explain the whole “eh, I don’t wanna be governor any more” thing to me. Because, really. Got me, man. Anyone from the Whatever:Alaska contingent want to clue me in, here?

Dear Asimov’s, Analog, and F&SF:

Please be aware that here in 2009, you look absolutely foolish for not accepting electronic submissions. We are a decade into the 21st century now. You really have had more than enough time to accept the fact that almost all correspondence and transmission of documents has become an electronic affair, and to create a system that allows you to process and respond to such submissions in an efficient and timely manner. A list of complaints like this, apparently written when Eudora was the hip e-mail client and 56k dial-up was blazing fast, no longer cuts it. Why not? Let me explain.

* On average, it would take us approximately two hours each day just to download submissions. First, only if you’re still working on dial-up, powered by hamsters. Second, so don’t download submissions. Require plain text submissions and have them sent in the body of an e-mail. If download time is really an issue here in 2009, have the e-mails sent to a GMail account; no time required to download because the submissions are hosted on a remote server.

* The risk of computer viruses is higher if we accept attached files. Don’t accept attached files. Route any e-mail with an attached file into a folder that deletes mail unopened and sends an automated response to the sender reminding them that you don’t accept attachments. That way you don’t even have to deal with opening the files or exposing yourself to viruses.

* In our office, it’s very inconvenient to pass around an electronic submission from one reader to another. Why? Because you’re trying to lift a CRT from one desk to another? Put the submissions you want others to see into an online collaboration space, like, oh, Google Docs, which is free and dead simple to use. Heck, several people can look at the same submission at the same time that way, which is actually easier than passing around a paper version.

* I have found it much easier to lose electronic submissions than it is to lose manuscripts. In this day of GMail and online document space it is in fact almost impossible to lose an electronic submission unless you intentionally delete it (and if you unintentionally delete it, on GMail at least, you can undo that delete right after). Whereas it is all too easy to lose paper documents in a pile of other paper documents, or on someone else’s desk, or in a pile of mail, or whatever.

In fact, here in 2009, the only still “reasonable” reason on that list not to accept electronic submissions is this one:

* I hate reading on screen.

Which is fine, but it’s not actually reasonable, any more than a writer insisting on continuing to use a typewriter is reasonable. It’s not reasonable, it’s a quirk or an affectation, since in this day and age everyone else needs to work around that quirk. Eventually people wonder why they have to work around a quirk. Especially for six to nine cents a word.

The real reason “the big three” continue only to accept printed submissions is this one: A postage stamp is an excellent bozo filter. They live in the fear that without that bozo filter they will be awash in substandard submissions from every half-wit with an e-mail address. I understand that fear, which is why when I edited a humor area for AOL, I required paper submissions, too. But that was a dozen years ago now, and in the interim when I’ve worked as an editor I’ve discovered that the crap level is not really all that much higher online than offline, and that in fact it’s easier to deal with the obvious crap online than off (send it to a reject folder; send out a batch rejection at the end of the reading period). The only real difference is that the population of who is sending you crap is slightly different. The point is that the “bozo filter” defense no longer really works.

I’ve been writing freelance since 1998, in which time I’ve written for corporations, for newspapers, for magazines, for online sites and for several different book publishers. In all that time, the only things I’ve been required to print out and send in were W9s and other sorts of contract employment forms, and occasionally an invoice or two. I’ve never had to print out work. On one hand, this is an artifact of me intentionally working with people who accept electronic work. But on the other hand, it’s not as if the Washington Post, the Dayton Daily News or the people who make the Uncle John’s Bathroom Readers are known for being on the absolute bleeding edge of technology, either. And this is my point: Everyone accepts electronic submissions. They have for years.

That the “big three” science fiction magazine won’t accept electronic submissions in this day and age isn’t merely anachronistic in both a business and social sense, it’s actually a bit embarrassing. Written science fiction already has enough problems working around the image that it is trapped in its own alternate universe branching off from 1971; the fact the major print publications of the genre deal with the electronic era as if it was something to be handled from a great distance, with tongs, isn’t helping any of us. The editors of the magazines are always talking about how they love seeing new writers, but I can’t help but think one of the reasons they have difficulty publishing new writers is that they’re showing up to the party in the communication equivalent of 70s powder blue polyester leisure suits and trying to assure the kids that seriously, they’re hip — why, they listen to that groovy cat Dan Folgelberg and everything. I mean, shit, guys. Meet 2009 half way, you know?

I don’t doubt all three magazines still get hundreds of submissions a month, so there’s no reason from their point of view to change what they see working for them. Their choice. I do suspect they’re going to miss out on more writers that they are going to need to survive, as these writers ask themselves what “the big three” are offering that they can’t get elsewhere, and where they’re not required to jump through a truly pointless hoop like printing out their submissions. I don’t really think “the big three” are in a position where they can ignore those writers for much longer. The “big three” really aren’t that big any more.

An interesting and frankly alarming thing in the comment thread of the last post. I noted in the last post that a major issue I saw with the proposed F&SF online writing workshop, which offers the chance that work in the workshop could get published in the magazine, is that there was no indication that those chosen stories would then be paid for. To which several people in the comment thread said something along the lines of “oh, well, that wasn’t a problem for me, because I just assumed there would be payment.”

Jesus, people.

Never assume as a writer that you’re going to get paid. Ever. There are too many people who assume writing shouldn’t have to be paid for — and too many writers willing to be paid little or nothing for their work — that your default assumption when there is no mention of payment for your work is that there will be none. Commensurately, your very first question when you see that there is no mention of payment for your work should be “What are you paying for the work?” If you’re worried that this being the first question out of your mouth will offend someone, then you’re not ready to be a working writer. If people who want your work are offended that this is your first question, they’re not serious about wanting your work.

To be clear, someone not mentioning payment right off does not mean the writer won’t get paid. In the case of F&SF and its workshop, I’m fairly certain the intention is to pay for those workshop stories. But in my case “fairly certain” is followed immediately by “so, you are paying for those stories, right?” Because, you know, I was fairly certain LeBron James was going to the NBA finals this year, too, and I was also fairly certain earlier in the year that right now I would be working on a project that fell through. “Fairly certain” by definition leaves room for a fair amount of uncertainty. A working writer learns to zero in on uncertainty, especially when it comes to him or her being paid. It never hurts to be absolutely certain you’re going to get paid, and to know how much. And when!

This is, incidentally, why this post by John Green arguing against advances is not a brilliant thing from the point of view of an author (a point which appears has already been mentioned to him by other authors, given the number of backpedaling updates he’s added). Green argues for higher royalties rather than higher advances, which is a fine idea if a) you have an independent source of income and/or b) are already raking in the bucks from your book sales and you have infinite faith that c) your publisher will always be there to send you royalties on a regular basis and/or d) won’t try to screw you on contractual details that allow them to hold on to your money for as long as humanly possible. As most authors don’t fulfill conditions a) or b) and should never assume c) or d), most authors are better off getting a large, upfront chunk of cash into their hands asap — that is, they should have an advance. Anything other is assuming you’re going to get paid, and fraught with danger.

So: Know that you’ll get paid. Know how much you’re getting paid. Know when you are going to get paid. Don’t assume any of it. Know. That is all.

I’ve been asked what my opinion is about the fact that Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine will soon be offering an online workshop. It’s an workshop which offers an interesting twist: for a currently unspecified amount of cash, aspiring writers can workshop with noted SF editor Gardner Dozois — who, if he takes a shine to a story from the workshop, can slide it into the magazine. Dozois can do this up to three times a year, apparently.

This sounds like a good deal for newbie writers hopeful for mentorship and publication, but those of us who are firm believers in Yog’s Law (”Money should flow toward the author”) could quite reasonably note there is a problem here, i.e., it sure looks like writers paying money for access to publication, instead of getting paid for their labor. Compounding this problem is the current lack of real information on the workshop, including apparently any explicit notation that the workshop participants whose work is selected for publication will get compensated for their scribbling efforts.

Fortunately, there’s a simple and easy way for F&SF to avoid the appearance of being skeezy folks looking to screw newbie writers, which is, obviously, for F&SF to pay the writer of any workshop story that Dozois elevates to publication the same rate the magazine pays any of its other writers. This compensates the writer, and resolves any major ethical concern that this workshop is a process for gulling the unschooled.

In fact, I’m sure F&SF was always planning to do this; it’s  just that in all the excitement and hullabaloo, editor Gordon Van Gelder somehow managed to neglect mentioning the whole “oh, yes, and by the way, we’ll pay for those workshop stories we print” business. This was rather silly of him and I’m sure he’ll take steps to correct this oversight as soon as humanly possible, because no one likes looking vaguely unethical any longer than they absolutely have to, especially in a genre where the standard rate for short fiction is as low as it already is.

Other than this unfortunate oversight in explanatory verbiage, I have no opinion about the workshop one way or another, except to note that as far as I know, it’s the only possible way currently to submit an electronic manuscript to any of the “big three” science fiction magazines. This is of mild interest to me because as many of you know one of the major reasons that I’ve never submitted a story to any of the “big three” magazines is that they don’t accept electronic submissions, and I don’t own a printer. However, if I’m not going to bother to buy a printer to submit work to these magazines, I’m even less likely to pay for a workshop simply to get around an arbitrary and increasingly antiquated submission barrier. So, no stories from me in “the big three.” Still.

Update, 10:30 7/3: Gordon Van Gelder notes the magazine will pay “beginner’s rates” from stories plucked out of the workshop.

So here’s my favorite Talking Heads song by way of apology.

How was your day?

This week’s AMC column rates science fiction movies by their explosions. Because it will soon be July 4th. When things explode. And so on. You can nominate your own favorite explody science fiction films in the comments over there. And also so on.