Fiction Editor Alan Ackmann shares some thoughts on why authors should concern themselves with the details.

Every avid reader has that person (or those people) in their life they really wish would read more. Sometimes it’s a selfish desire, as we yearn to discuss the books we love with the people we love, and sometimes it’s altruistic; we want others to share in our joy. Whenever Christmas rolls around, I spend hours in bookstores looking for that one, perfectly selected book that will turn someone into a reader—it’s strangely evangelical, as though I’m out for a conversion.

When I was in graduate school, a professor told me a story about such a desire. One Christmas, he bought his father a book set in the Ozark mountains—a setting very similar to where his father spent most of his life. I’ve forgotten the name of the book, if I ever knew it at all, but his father read it, and my old professor was no doubt hoping for the best when he asked the old man for his thoughts. I’m glad to report they were positive.

His father’s opening compliment: “Sunofabitch sure knows his mules.”

This, I’m led to believe, qualified as effusive praise.

There’s an important lesson here, I think, about one of the things readers value most, but writers often curiously dismiss: factual authenticity. Many writers place a high premium on emotional authenticity—whether a character’s actions feel believable—but pay little heed to good old fashioned worldly accuracy. I’ve had countless authors submit to Relief whose cover letters contained things like: “I took some liberties with the history / science / politics / geography / scripture” and their argument is always the same: that’s why it’s called fiction. There’s a perception, a false one, I think, that writers can warp the details if it suits their purposes. I’ve had workshop leaders wave off comments about factual details with a dismissive, “Oh, come now—you don’t need to care about those things,” and it troubles me because readers seem to care about them so much. Even the opening notes to Richard Bausch’s Good Evening Mr. and Mrs. America, and All the Ships at Sea contain this sentiment: “This is a work of fiction. I made everything up except the facts and the politics, which everyone knows are of little importance.”

I love Bausch’s work, and suspect a tongue in cheek quality to his assertion, but it still seems like writers careening valiantly over the facts bothers me more than it does most people.

I suspect it’s my background. I was a history major for a brief period in college, and gained a great affection for historical trivia, and a great disdain for writers who opportunistically embrace some facts but disregard others. For me, though, it’s a not just a question of bespectacled fussiness; it’s a question of trust. My professor’s father liked the book that he was given, among other reasons, because the writer got the details right—the mules, one can assume, behaved in believable ways and were credibly presented to someone who knew that subject well. And because the writer respected his material enough to treat it carefully, the reader respected the writer and was more willing to embrace the story that he had to tell.

Winning a reader over is one of the hardest things for a writer to accomplish, and one of the best ways to do it is to show a reader that you value the same things they do.

Besides, as most writers know, one of the most irritating games that readers (whatever their training) like to play is “Spot the Anachronism”. I’ve had workshop readers tell me the VW Beatle my character drives wasn’t manufactured when I said it was, or that my description of a cancer treatment wasn’t completely right. My favorite moment came a few summers ago, when I gave a reading in Tennessee for a group of writers I desperately wanted to impress. The story was a hit, and I got a lot of compliments. But there was also an older man who came up afterwards, shook my hand, and told me I’d gotten a date wrong in the civil war. When he said it, he was grinning.

Stuff like that can really rile your dander.

Is factual accuracy the most important thing? Of course not. It falls below characterization, conflict, emotionally compelling situations, clear prose, authorial humility, and lots of other things. I’m not even sure it would crack my top ten, to tell you the truth. Unless detail oriented facts make up a crucial plot point, they are secondary concerns, ranking somewhere below stylistic sentence variety and somewhere above grammatical correctness.

Okay, maybe not that far down. But it’s important nonetheless.

As with all things, though, there are ways to focus on the factual details well and ways to do it poorly. In the next entry for our “crafting fiction” series, which will be posted two weeks from today, I’ll highlight some of the common pitfalls with this concept and present some authors who, in my opinion, do it well.

Hope to see you there.

Fiction Editor Alan Ackmann shares some pointers about what NOT to do in your submission’s cover letter.

Blogger Kevin Lucia recently gave some very solid advice about what you need to include in your cover letter. The counterpoint to his advice, of course, is what you shouldn’t be doing. We here at Relief consistently see people doing things in cover letters that (forgive us) are better left undone. So I thought I’d build on Kevin’s earlier blog by adding a few tips about what not to include in your cover letter.

But first, a few disclaimers:

(1) None of the quotes used here are taken word for word from actual cover letters. They are simply meant to illustrate miscalculations we see many writers making.

(2) If you see a mistake you’ve made listed here, try not to freak out. The reason we’re featuring that error is because many, many, many people made it—not just one. So you’re probably in good company.

(3) Making one of these errors, by itself, does not constitute an automatic rejection, nor has it ever. We read and evaluate everything that comes in here at Relief regardless of its cover letter. We have accepted works whose cover letters made these errors, and will surely do so again. But that’s not an excuse for not putting your best foot forward.

(4) I’m drawing examples from fiction here, but the advice applies to non-fiction and poetry as well.

Now on to the proclamations!

Do not include a complete synopsis of the story.

When I read a submitted story, I like it to unfurl naturally, and for my experience to be as close an approximation to reading the magazine as is possible. If a cover letter includes a detailed, moment by moment account of the story, that effect is lost, making the story harder to assess. Think of it like a movie. Isn’t it harder to watch when somebody’s already told you the ending? Same thing.

Including a synopsis is sometimes appropriate when submitting a book-length manuscript to an agent or publisher, but since fifteen pages isn’t nearly the same time-suck as four-hundred pages a summary is typically not needed for a short story.

Do not give a lengthy explanation about why the story is Christian.

There are several reasons. First, if the story is “Christian” (whatever that means) it will be clear in the work itself, and stating it is therefore redundant. Second, explaining why the story is “Christian” can be borderline insulting if not done tactfully, as when writers say things like (and I’m paraphrasing) “there are some scriptural references here. I hope you pick up on them” or “my main character, who sacrifices himself for other people, is a lot like Christ.” It’s risky to assume that a panel of Christian editors needs the Christianity explained, at least in highly specific terms—besides, if we did need a cover letter to fill knowledge gaps in the story, other readers would as well. And since they won’t have a cover letter, that’s a problem.

Second, our aesthetic here at Relief is actually resistant to stories that are too up front about their Christian-ness. We don’t go much for allegory, and if your climax hinges on the “right” interpretation of a Bible verse or some such thing, that’s often something we have to overcome—not something we embrace. I’m more interested in good storytelling and strong characterization than in whether something is overtly “Christian.” In a well-told story, Christian content comes through subtly; it doesn’t need a spotlight.

The exception to this is if you are explaining why you sent a story to Relief. It is fine to state that the story’s content matches what we’re looking for; that can show awareness of your market. But such an explanation should be get-in-and-get-out, with efficiency being key. There is a fine line between explaining why someone should read your work, and belaboring how they should read it.

Do not emphasize that you think the story is good.

Despite all those editors, students, critics, and cliffs-notes, good writing arguably needs no explanation. If the writing is of a high standard, it will get noticed on its own. Sometimes writers take the same approach with a submission cover letter as they do with a job cover letter, where you have to sell your qualifications. In a job cover letter, you want to play up your strengths. But in a submission cover letter, statements like “everyone I’ve shown this to thinks it’s awesome” or “this is a grand, important statement about the condition of Christianity today” or “teachers have always praised my ability to create characters, and I think this story is a prime example” make a writer seem arrogant rather confident. And no matter what the circumstance, you should never make a reader feel privileged for reading your work.

Do not say that all the foolish people who read the story before us missed the point.

This is one is similar to not explaining why the story is good. Some people say things like, “I’ve lost track of how many people have rejected this! Hopefully you won’t make the same mistake.” Now, stories get rejected for all sorts of reasons—but it isn’t smart to tell us openly that others have already formed a negative impression of your work. Similarly, don’t say things like “all the members of my writing group hated this story, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it!” or “no-one seems to understand what I’m doing with this, so I thought I’d show it to professionals.” It may be true that you’re an unappreciated genius with philistine friends who are incapable of comprehending you. But that still shouldn’t be your ice-breaker at the party. Remember, you want us to be forming our own opinion, not deciding whether we agree with someone else’s.

Do not apologize for what you’re submitting.

This one is the counterpoint to the previous two. You don’t want to come off as brash in a cover letter, but also don’t want to seem mousy or insecure. Statements like, “I’ve always been afraid to submit my work” or “This is the first story I ever wrote in college” raise red flags. In that vein, don’t say “even though this isn’t as good as I’d hoped, I’m sending it anyway,” or “this story probably isn’t what you’re looking for, but I thought I’d give it a shot.” Writing is a vulnerable activity, and we’re all insecure about our work (and I’m always cautious around writers who aren’t). But a cover letter is not the time for sheepishness. After all, if you don’t think the story is good enough to be published, why should we?

Do not turn your cover letter into a lengthy biography.

Again, this is a question of degrees. In your cover letter, it’s wise to give editors a brief idea who you are, as well as to convey relevant information that might help us read your work. But the important words there were brief and relevant. When sharing where you’ve studied, for example, or with whom, you don’t need to give a detailed account of your coursework, or what your tutor is like in the classroom. It also isn’t necessary to give a full account of how you came to writing, what it’s meant to you, or what your favorite books are. Such things often distract from the business at hand: getting the editor to read your story, and to take it seriously.

For that matter, only mention non-writing information if it somehow applies to your story. If you’ve worked in an emergency room, and your main character is an EMT, its fine to mention your familiarity with that world. But if the information doesn’t apply to the story, take it out. I’ve had writers tell me where they were born, how many kids they have, what their pet’s names are, what music they listen to while they work, what the weather is like while they’re submitting, and other questionable chatter. Again, this distracts from the business—that’s business—at hand. So try to keep things professional, at least for your first impression.

Do not express your disdain for the electronic submission system.

Okay. Computers can be scary. We get that. We also get that attaching a file to a website and tapping a mouse-key doesn’t bring the same tactile satisfaction as stuffing an envelope and paying for postage. But the advantages to our electronic submission system are both profound and numerous. Here are just a few:

First, storing our submissions in an electronic database means they aren’t stored in filing cabinets or on countertops, which limits overhead for storage, office space, and secretarial fees. Second, the electronic system at least triples the speed with which we respond to authors; it is much more navigable than your typical filing system. Third, the system means we can access work from anywhere, and (again) much more quickly—which is handy for all of you with submission queries. Fourth, the fact that we can access work anywhere means we have staff anywhere. Relief staffers can be found in Illinois, Arkansas, Texas, Indiana, and elsewhere. We can recruit better people and more of them, and they can all use the system at once.

In short, it is not an exaggeration to say that without the electronic submissions system (lovingly built and maintained by our own Coach Culbertson) Relief could not exist.

If you have questions about the system you can consult our on-line submission guidelines, posted near the writer’s network. You can also contact us with questions. But don’t use your cover letter to complain about how you really prefer the old-fashioned way. As Dylan said, the times they are a’ changing.

Do not make a big deal about how willing you are to revise.

We do have an editorial process here at Relief, and have been known to work with writers on their stories—most frequently on the sentence level, but occasionally on the level of plot or characterization. We never change things without permission, but often find that a creative give and take (not at all uncommon in publishing) can benefit the work. I view stories submitted to Relief the way I view stories I submit to magazines myself: as an invitation to discuss the work, rather than a take-it-or-leave-it proposition.

That’s how I roll.

With that in mind, I view every writer submitting to Relief as having an implied willingness to discuss further revision—that’s part of being a professional. It is therefore unnecessary to state this willingness in the cover letter. You certainly don’t need to overstate it, and claims like “I am willing to change anything you want if it means you’ll publish the story” often make a writer seem desperate rather than agreeable. If you’re willing to discuss revision, good for you! You’re humble enough to consider alternate perspectives. But again, you probably don’t need to say so. In fact, when a cover letter indicates willingness to revise, I wonder whether there’s some flaw in the piece the writer wants help fixing. Now, when I or any editor reads a story, it is with the sincere hope that the story will be good—and when writers state their willingness to revise I stop looking for what’s good and start looking for what’s bad. That isn’t the reaction you want.

Do not italicize when you should use quotes, or vice versa.

This one comes directly from our former English teacher and current editor-in-chief, whose red pen has never entirely left her stern, presumably well-moisturized hand. It’s not that we’re nitpicky (although we are, as our proofreaders can tell you); it’s that a cover letter which does not follow conventions of punctuation raises questions about the writer’s mastery of other aspects of craft. It’s like any other business document—the point isn’t that there’s an error, it’s that this error damages both credibility and professionalism. So please, don’t give us reason to be suspicious.

For the record, here are the conventions: the names of books and literary magazines are italicized, and the names of short stories and poems are put into quotations. Repeat it five times and it’s yours.

And finally…

Do not tell us that God wants us to publish you.

Lots of people tell us we should accept a story because God told them to write it. Some imply—or even say—that if we don’t accept a story we’re going against His wishes. Now, we certainly believe that the Spirit can move in people when they write, and that God’s hand, especially when requested, is capable of guiding creativity. This fact alone, however, is not a free pass to publication. And telling an editor up front that they’re sinning if they don’t publish you is a really good way to bias your reading.

Um…so what the heck DO I say?

After all this advice about things you shouldn’t do, it might cross your mind that any cover letter abstaining from all these things wouldn’t be more than a few sentences. Well, you’d be right and that wouldn’t be wrong. Cover letters are business writing, and in business writing efficiency is key. In many ways, the best cover letters are the shortest ones. As Kevin said, you don’t need to do much more than the following: tell us what you’re submitting; mention how you found the journal; give some brief, relevant, information about yourself; and thank us for our time. And that’s pretty much all it should take.

After all, you want us to be focused on your work—not your cover letter. So let the work speak for itself as much as possible.

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