Q & A With Los Angeles Review Fiction Editor Yi Shun Lai

Last July, I had the pleasure of introducing my readers to Yi Shun Lai (See "It's A Living: Q & A on Making Money as a Writer"). 

Yi Shun Lai (http://www.thegooddirt.org) has been a writer and editor for over 15 years. She's written or edited for The Los Angeles Times, the Christian Science Monitor, the J. Peterman catalog, and Audubon magazine, among others. She makes her living writing corporate copy and executing content strategy.

Yi Shun writes literary essays and short fiction and is the fiction editor for the Los Angeles Review. 

She is currently earning her MFA at the Northwest Institute of Literary Arts. She tweets as @GoodDirt.

I am grateful Yi Shun graciously agreed to return and answer a few questions demystifying the fiction editor's role.

Q:   What is the most common misconception about your role as a fiction editor?

A: That I live to reject people. Seriously. I like to read and acquire and publish fiction. That's why I'm here.


Q: What do you consider the best part of an editor's job?

A: Discovering new styles, new ways of expression, new and innovative ways of telling a story. (I don't necessarily mean that experimental fiction is my shtick. I mean that words have infinite possibilities.)


Q:  What's the toughest part of an editor's job?

A: Working with an author to revise a piece. Sometimes you get work that you want to accept, but that isn't quite right as-is. There's a huge amount of humility, and a little bit of embarrassment, involved in asking a writer to revise his or her work to fit your aesthetic. Fortunately, every writer I've worked with has been gracious and grateful for suggested changes. If we're suggesting changes, the intent is to make the work better.

Q:   What specific advice do you have for authors to improve their chances for getting their submissions accepted?

A: Please, please, read the fricken publication before you submit. When I was at the Atlantic as a fiction intern I got stories about foot fetishes. Three of them over my eight-week tenure. Okay, really???

And get someone else to look at the thing before you submit. Critique groups are incredible things. So are second readers. Use them.


Q:  If you could permanently eradicate one submission error you see all the time that most pushes your This Irks Me button, what would it be?

A:  Papyrus font. Seriously, folks: Times Roman or Courier. Don't be fancy-pants, m'kay? I can't read fancy-pants. Also, we usually have a few submissions that exceed our 4,000-word limit. Don't do this. It's in the guidelines for a reason.


Q:  In general, how far do you have to read in a submission before you realize you love it and want to acquire it?

A: All the way through. I once got to the penultimate paragraph of something, only to have it fall apart in the last paragraph. Horrors! The same is not true for deciding something's just not for us.


Q:  Why do you feel a writer should publish his or her work in periodicals like the Los Angeles Review?

A: Platform. Everyone says it, no one knows what it means. It means that when I google you, you pop up someplace. It means you have legitimacy, street cred, a background. It means you care enough to support the arts and contribute to them.

You publish in literary magazines because you think your work deserves to be seen. And when you publish, that means someone else thought your work deserved to be seen, too. That's pretty powerful stuff.

More practically, the stuff in literary magazines is good work that sometimes never gets seen anywhere else. That's why we're here.


Q:  You write as well as edit. What has being an editor taught you about your writing?

A: Mostly, that you learn from everything you read. That is, I learn from other writers. That could be something as broad as pushing the boundaries in story-telling, or it could mean something as specific as word choice.


Q:  What are some things you would like to see more of in your submissions in-box?

A: My submissions in-box is pretty great as it is. We have a really lovely mix of male and female submitters, and we have some great minority literature and viewpoints. But I'm always looking for LGBT and minority stories, and work that isn't young adult but that revisits that time in our lives. I'm a softie for the teen years, for some reason.


Q:  If people wish to submit fiction to the LAR, what is the best way to go about it?

A: Once you've familiarized yourself with our publication, go to our submissions page and follow the directions. I'm always looking forward to reading something amazing.

An Editor's Perspective: Q & A With Entangled Publishing's Adrien-Luc Sanders, Part I

MuseInks is honored to feature Adrien-Luc Sanders (@smoulderingsea), Entangled Publishing's Managing Senior Editor of the Flirt and Ever After lines. Adrien-Luc dispenses priceless #editortips on Twitter where he somehow manages to highlight the problems that plague many writers' submissions without degenerating into cutting snark. He blogs at Kowloon by Night.

He was so generous with his answers to my questions, that I'm breaking his interview into two parts. Today features his responses to five questions about an editor's lot in life and suggestions for how writers can improve their chances for success in submissions.

Q: What is the most common misconception about your role as an editor? 

A:  That all I do, day in, day out, is read submissions, and there's no reason why I shouldn't have had time to read theirs by now, and clearly I must hate them and enjoy stringing them along.

I don't hate anyone. Well, correction: I don't hate any authors. We won't talk about my mother-in-law. I'd never string subbing authors along. I love reading submissions and acquiring new authors; it's just not the only thing I do.

My day can consist of anything from filling out mountains of acquisitions paperwork to working on my authors' edits, reviewing their in-house submissions, developing long-term and short-term strategy for the two lines I manage, management meetings, line meetings, marketing meetings, finance meetings (meetings happen, can you tell?), fielding questions from associate editors, author and editor phone calls, random agent phone calls with "oh my god I have the most awesome manuscript for you!" (love those so much), promoting and supporting my authors, managing contract requests, coaching associate editors, vetting the submissions they want to acquire, reviewing manuscripts they've edited for quality control, chasing down paperwork, answering author questions, calming author meltdowns, creating and tweaking the lines' logos and graphics, designing covers...

I'm sure I've left something out there. That list would be twice as long if I didn't have Kerri-Leigh Grady, my partner in crime for Entangled Flirts and Ever Afters, to handle release scheduling and keep my head on straight.

The point is, reading cold submissions is only a fraction of my job. I still try to prioritize it for a set amount of time every week.

But I've been there as a subbing author. I know waiting is a grueling process, especially when the editor (or agent) takes a long time to respond and you have no idea what they're doing that isn't reading your sub. I learned to wait patiently, if not to be patient myself.

I know that personally, I never mean to neglect any author, and if you're wondering what I'm doing when I should be reading your sub? All of the above, plus snorkeling a mug of coffee and wishing for one more hour in the day so I could, well, read your sub.

Q: What do you consider the best part of an editor's job?

A:  Release day. I love watching my authors on release day. They just transform from this jittery bundle of nerves into this radiant tangle of excitement and joy, and you can see that moment where all the grueling work becomes worth it, to see their book up for sale at major retailers. All the late nights, the frustration over that one damned sentence, the writer's block, the edits that wouldn't end, the "oh god this is the seventeenth time I've read this thing PLEASE GOD END ME NOW"--all worth it.

Sometimes it can feel like an uphill battle through endless rounds of edits, picking at every tiny thing until it's perfect, but on release day it just crystallizes and they're so happy. It leaves me kind of giddy, seeing that. Knowing that I was able to help make them that happy, through our work together.

Q:  What's the toughest part of an editor's job?

A:  Firing authors. It hurts, honestly. Some people just aren't suited for this business, and we find out after one or two books that:

a.) they don't have the mentality it takes to be professional about editing and about their careers as authors;
b.) they only had one or two good books in them and after that they just can't reproduce the magic no matter how much we coach them;
c.) they don't listen to edits and keep shoehorning the same massive issues into manuscripts over and over again; or,
d.) they're just flat-out crazy, demanding, or have unrealistic expectations, and they hid it until they had a contract.

Sometimes we just have to say it's not working out, and part ways. I try not to do that; I try to work with authors to get past the issues, and there's been more than one Come to Jesus phone call -- but there comes a point where the time investment in one author is hurting your other authors, and that's when you have to let go.

That doesn't change that during the editing process, we've built a relationship. We may not be best friends, but it's a bit different from the normal relationship you have with coworkers. You're in the trenches together, and you're with each other at 3 a.m. when that turn of phrase isn't working out, you just can't go to bed until it does, galleys are due in tomorrow, and one of you is freaking out. (It's not always the author.) It does create a certain kind of bond, and as you discuss in-depth edits you get to know each other quite a bit. Every relationship with every author is unique, and firing an author makes me feel like I've betrayed that relationship. It's a necessary part of my job, but it doesn't bother me any less to have to hurt and disappoint them that way.

Q:  What specific advice do you have for authors to improve their chances for getting their submissions accepted?

A:  Don't send me your first book. Well--don't send the first book you've ever written.

Until you're published, every book you send out on sub is your first. But there's a 1% chance or less that the very first thing you commit to the page will be absolute genius. Those savants are out there, but more often than not your first story is a practice exercise while you figure out what this storytelling thing is all about. The end result is most likely a mess. Once you finish it: figure out the mistakes you made the first time through, toss that first book in a drawer, and start another one. I can promise you it'll be infinitely better than the first. The third? Better still. I don't care if you send me your second book or your fifteenth, as long as you send me your best--and not your first.

Q:  If you could permanently eradicate one submission error you see all the time that most pushes your This Irks Me button, what would it be?

A:  Other than mangling my name and calling me Adrienne, Ms. Sanders, and Mrs. Luc-Sanders? (Seriously, people, know who you're subbing to. I don't need a personal love letter, but it's nice to know you took five seconds to know who I am before you try to sell me your book.)

No--I think the most common error is not actually having a story. I don't mean the author doesn't have a manuscript--they do. But they don't actually tell a story. They thought of one or two cool scenes, or a bunch of cool concepts, and kind of randomly jumbled them together into something that may progress over a set time period to a conclusion, but isn't actually a story.

There's no arc, no character development, no resolution of conflict, sometimes no conflict at all. It's just "things happened to people until I got tired of writing and ran out of ideas." That's not a story, but that's what crops up in my inbox much too often.

I won't say it irks me so much as it makes me sad, as more often than not these are naive new writers who need to spend more time honing their craft and understanding the business, and I only hope as they continue to write, they'll get a wake-up call and improve. I can't really be that wake-up call, unfortunately. While I give personal feedback with rejections, if I coached every new author I rejected I'd end up doing nothing else.

Tune in on Monday for the rest of the interview...

Leather Windows: Why Genre Matters

I facilitate a weekly Writing Practicum, where a core group of dedicated writers workshop their projects. 

One of our members is a very talented writer who specializes in BDSM erotica.  The rest of the group -- including me -- are, to put it mildly, "vanillas."  We are simply not equipped to intelligently comment on the parts of her writing that make it fall into either the BDSM or erotica genre.  We don't read it.  And we certainly don't "get it."

We're very good at discussing character, plot, motivation, clarity, structure, and execution.  But when it comes to the specialized genre-specific stuff, we implode.  We ask what must be very stupid questions.  We try gamely, but it's abundantly clear that we're not the target audience.

The experience has taught me a valuable lesson:  if this is what happens when I as a reader hit an unfamiliar genre, imagine a what happens when I put an agent in the same position.  Agents know what they want.  They tend to be very specific in their guidelines.  I would be a fool to ignore them.

On any given day, one or more agents that I follow on Twitter will post his or her query stats for the day / week / month / year.  A typical post will read:

"Number of queries received this week: 367
Number of queriers who have clearly never read agency submission guidelines: 275
Number of queries for genres I don't represent: 73
Number of partials requested: 2
Number of offers of representation: 0"

Now, while on the surface this may make querying look like the most futile exercise ever devised (and don't get me wrong: on many days I would subscribe to this theory), the numbers actually contain a message of hope instead of despair.

First, it should be obvious that refusing to read and follow submission guidelines is the quickest way for a writer to garner another form rejection to add to his or her collection. 

Guidelines tell writers how to help their submissions make it through the agent's e-mail gatekeeper (usually an intern who began as a fresh-faced naif eager to find the Next Great Novel, but who now fights falling down the slippery slope of cynicism on a daily basis from being forced to read queries from writers who flagrantly flaunt the rules).  The guidelines exist for a reason.  Disregard them at your own peril.


But I digress.  For it is the second stat that I want to focus upon.

When querying an agent, it is imperative that the manuscript in question have a clearly defined genre.

[A Short Tangential Digression for the Vocabulary Impaired:

For those who think that I am putting on airs talking in French, rest assured, genre is a perfectly good and necessary word in English.  Think of it as "shelving space."  It's the category that encompasses your book and all other books of a similar type.  The two largest genres are fiction (made up stuff) and non-fiction (true stuff).  Which should make it immediately obvious why agents and publishers point their fingers and laugh aloud at people who describe their book as a "fiction novel."  It's like calling your Hyundai an "automobile car."

The big genres have smaller sub-genres.  Fantasy, steampunk, romance, historical, mystery, western, science-fiction -- these are examples of fiction genres.  Further classification can be done by age or specialty (there are many sub-genres of mysteries, for instance), but you get the point.]

At this point, you may be thinking:

"Why is it so important for my book to fit into one of the genres my dream agent represents?  I've seen his sales stats, and they're impressive.  He could sell BP oil in the Gulf states!  So he says he's looking for YA fantasy & sci-fi.  I bet he's sick & tired of magic & quests.  I'll send him my adult crime thriller.  No doubt he'll leap at the chance to read something gritty and new.  All he needs to do is see my work, then he'll recognize my brilliance and sign me."

If so, you should reach up and slap yourself senseless before reading any further.  Go on.  I'll wait...

Imagine an artisan who makes stained glass windows.  He's well known for his windows.   Those building churches are willing to do business with him because they know they can trust his workmanship. 

The artisan is constantly looking for new glass suppliers, searching for those who can provide him with the saturated colors that make his windows a thing of beauty.  If you have gorgeous glass, he's happy to consider using it.  But if you have leather -- even if it's the softest, most supple leather on the planet -- the artisan has no use for it.  Trying to sell it to him will only waste his time.

One reason an agent specifies a preferred genre is because of the professional working relationships that agent has formed within the industry.  She may be on a first-name basis with every editor and publisher whose imprint publishes romances.  So she'd be the ideal person to shop around a well-written romance novel. 

But if you send her a similarly well-written memoir, even if she loves it, she may not be the one to try to sell it.  No one in her professional contacts publishes memoirs.  She has never worked with the editors who specialize in such things.  She doesn't have relationships with them.  Accepting your project would set herself up for an uphill climb.  It would be like making windows from leather.

Do yourself, your potential agent, and your manuscript a favor.  Know what genre your project falls into.  Then only shop it around to people who work in that genre.  You'll bypass the "wrong genre" line entirely. 

Assuming you've also read & followed the submission guidelines, you'll have broken through the masses of inappropriate submissions.  Those two simple steps will enable you to distinguish yourself from the hundreds of other hopefuls.  You may now offer the agent your beautiful glass.  The others are just collecting rejections on their world-class leather.