Don’t Suck

Back in 1999, I started an online magazine for superhero fiction that was, in those heady days of the internet’s infancy, the first and only one of its kind. The magazine went on to do great things, including winning the Writer’s Digest Grand Prize in their first ever Zine Publishing Awards, and landed me a gig on their Zine Advisory Board, helping to shape the future of electronic publishing.

It also — and I don’t think I’m exaggerating here — launched a few careers, including my own. Just a year later I would go on to sign a six-book deal and a few of the fine folks who saw publication in our digital pages are now doing fine, fine works for much larger houses.

Today, Sean Taylor, one of my right hand men, and the first to truly believe in what I was doing, wrote a post about two simple words I had included as a rider in our submission guidelines.

Don’t suck.

That was it. That simple. The rest of the sub guides were what you’d expect — story length, format, style notes, don’t blow up Cleveland. You know. The usual.

But those two words added at the end were simple. I wasn’t being funny. I wasn’t being coy. I was receiving dozens of submissions every week and every story I bought came out of my pocket. And I bought every single good story that came my way.

At first, I was paying just $20 per story. A mere pittance, to be fair. Then I was offering 3¢ a word, and ultimately up to 5¢ a word, making us a pro market. And all out of pocket since the magazine was offered for free.

So, yes, on the one hand I was issuing a warning not to waste my time. The magazine was my passion, but I had a full-time job and a full-time girlfriend. My time was valued at a premium.

But mostly — mostly — what I meant by those two words was simple and direct and obvious. It wasn’t one of those things where I was being intentionally cryptic because I wanted people to suss out my deeper meaning. I meant what I said. Don’t suck. Be good at what you do. Take your craft seriously. Be aware that I have no shortage of good works to choose from and if you want to be published, you’d better be as good or better than everything else in the slush pile.

It was something I applied to every aspect of the magazine, and to my life. There is not a day that goes by when your best efforts will not serve you better than some half-assed attempt.

It may sound odd to hear that I have a favorite obituary, but actor James Rebhorn wrote his own obituary shortly before his passing and it included this stellar piece of wisdom: “…there is no excuse for poor craftsmanship. A job well done rarely takes more or less time than a job poorly done.”

Don’t suck. These are your submission guidelines for life. This is my challenge to you, dear reader.

Go forth and amaze us.