Publication News

Rhonda Garcia has good news to share: “I sold my story ‘The Bois’ to Rosarium Publishing for their new 2 volume anthology of speculative fiction, Sunspot Jungle, due to be released this year. I’m over the moon about being able to work with Bill Campbell at Rosarium, and I have to say a special thanks to Walter Williams, who prevailed upon Bill a long time ago at a convention to buy my book, Lex Talionis, and read it. He did both, and we’ve been corresponding ever since. If not for you, Walter, I would not have made this contact, so thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

Writing Challenge/Prompt

The sages say the world will end in ice–but the fires won’t stop burning. What do you, and the world, do?

Put a character in the middle of that scenario and write a story.

Remember: Challenges are supposed to be fun, but don’t forget to stretch yourself and take risks. If you normally write fantasy, try science fiction. If you’ve never tried writing in first or second person, here’s your chance. The story doesn’t have to be a masterpiece, this is all about trying new things and gaining new skills, and most of all, having fun. Challenge stories can go up on the workshop at anytime. Put “Challenge” in the title so people can find it.

Challenges can be suggested by anyone and suggestions should be sent to Jaime (news (at)

Publication News

Elizabeth Bear has a new story up in Uncanny Magazine. You can read “She Still Loves the Dragon” here.

Allan Dyen-Shapiro wrote with great news: “I owe another round of big thank-yous, as I have sold another story first critiqued on OWW, my third sale to a market paying pro-rates. My story, “Crossing the Boundaries of Virtual Jerusalem” will run in the anthology of SF stories set in the Middle East, HOLY COW: SF Stories from the Center of the World, expected publication June 2018.Big thanks to those who critiqued it for me: Steve Brady, Zvi Zaks, Joseph Layden, Richard Keelan, Jacob Sipes, Julius Athens, and Cyd Haselton.”
Fran Wilde also has a piece up in Uncanny Magazine. You can read “We Will See You Now” here.

Editor’s Choice Review December 2017, Fantasy

The Editors’ Choices are chosen from the submissions from the previous month that show the most potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident Editors. Submissions in four categories — science fiction chapters, fantasy chapters, horror, and short stories — receive a detailed review, meant to be educational for others as well as the author.This month’s reviews are written by Resident Editors Leah Bobet, Jeanne Cavelos, and Judith Tarr. The last four months of Editors’ Choices and their editorial reviews are archived on the workshop.


Word for word and scene for scene, this is a strong opening, with vivid and well-realized characters and a story that kept me reading all the way to the killer line at the end. It’s good, and I would unquestionably read on. I want to know more.

What caught my eye as I scanned submissions for the Editor’s Choice was the author’s comment about genre and the rules thereof. Urban Fantasy seems to be a catch-all for fantasy set in the present day, with magic of course, and an urban setting. This piece, says the author, breaks the rules.

First one being, it would seem, that the setting is rural—mostly, a cornfield, and a country road. There’s magic hinted at, between the color of Oliver’s eyes and the fact that he can apparently confer immortality on others. There’s a mystery to be solved, and danger to face, as crusty old Haru agrees—reluctantly—to become Oliver’s protector.

This all works just fine, in fact more than fine. It’s internally consistent, the voice is clear and distinctive, the pacing is brisk and the characters believable. But it doesn’t read to me as Urban Fantasy.

It is contemporary, more or less. There’s a “Supernatural” vibe about it, in the setting, in the way the characters talk and think. Both things and people are well-worn; there’s no shiny newness to dazzle the eye.

This isn’t, so far, about supernatural creatures walking the streets of present-day cities (and there’s the whole debate about “urban” being more germane than “contemporary”; any city in any period on any world might qualify). It harks back to an older subgenre, halfway between Magical Realism and William Faulkner. There’s even a hint of good old-fashioned country-boy science fiction in the mode of Theodore Sturgeon and Clifford Simak.

It’s not breaking the rules of these subgenres. It fits them quite well. And that I think might be worth considering in pitching to an agent.

Genre is a tricky thing. As soon as we label a work, we set up expectations in the reader. She comes to the work for specific reasons, looking for specific things. If she doesn’t get them, she may feel betrayed. This isn’t the story she’s looking for.

I can understand the desire to label a present-day story with magic Urban Fantasy. It’s big right now. Lots of bestsellers.

But a story like this, which follows a different set of rules, might be more appealing to an agent if it’s labeled something like “Supernatural and Neil Gaiman got together and had a baby,” rather than “UF but not really.” There’s a lot to love here, if the reader isn’t trying to fit this delightfully rhomboidal story into a neat round hole.

–Judith Tarr

Editor’s Choice Review December 2017, Short Story

The Editors’ Choices are chosen from the submissions from the previous month that show the most potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident Editors. Submissions in four categories — science fiction chapters, fantasy chapters, horror, and short stories — receive a detailed review, meant to be educational for others as well as the author.This month’s reviews are written by Resident Editors Leah Bobet, Jeanne Cavelos, and Judith Tarr. The last four months of Editors’ Choices and their editorial reviews are archived on the workshop.

LO, I TEACH YOU THE UNDERMAN! by Patrick Gardner

“Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” caught my attention this month with its spare narrative style and immediate slow tension, and kept it by taking an intriguing dip into a pretty frequently-referenced text. However, as with any story working on two levels, I’d like to spend some time on whether each one works—and the seams between them. So this month, I’d like to talk about referencing, how we read referencing works, and what it means to effectively incorporate well-used texts into original fiction.

There are, at base, two ways we reference other texts in our fiction: references meant to be recognized, and references just meant to be felt by readers without being explicit about it—what we’d normally call an influence or inspiration. They produce some very different reading experiences: When a reference is meant to be recognized—think a fairytale retelling—readers aren’t just reading the original story, but constantly and reflexively comparing the story they’re reading to the reference text to see how it matches, and where it departs. The work’s judged not just on how it works as a story, but how it compares to the original story—and what’s being said by the author by how the stories do and don’t match. Those differences are spaces for authors to make comment on the original story and its assumptions, and readers expect those comments there, as well as expecting a certain resonance.

“Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” references, quite explicitly, Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra: the twist on one of its most famous lines is right in the title, and it follows up with another solid clue in Rajiv’s poetic opening line. Put together, after one paragraph I know to go in reading in that comparative way, looking for where the divergences tell me part of the story—with the substitution of “underman” for “superman” being a solid clue that this is going to give me important information about the piece.

As a story that’s working on reference, “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” delivers. It’s taking the idea in the very next line—”Man is something that shall be overcome”—and applying it, quite literally, to the question of AI and self-driving cars, Rajiv’s downward trajectory is a solid opposite mirror to the trajectory of the original, and the ending works with Zarathustra‘s concept of amor fati (the recurring “what else could he do?”). There’s a resonance created by that updating of familiar tropes that’s satisfying, if you’ve read the original. The question is: How does “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” work as a piece of original fiction?

For a reader who hasn’t read Zarathustra, or isn’t dipping into those layers, “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” might feel somewhat to-the-numbers. There’s a clear and compelling conflict set up—Rajiv has no other source of support except Anaya, and the dead bodies endanger them both—and the prose is clear, readable, and engaging (I especially liked the comparison to a deep-sea diver, and the strong visuals when Rajiv tails Anaya). But absent the original-text references, issues crop up: Rajiv’s fatalism feels as if he’s ducking his own agency, and the fear he starts the story with—being hunted, arrested, shot, or deported (oddly, never sent to prison?)—doesn’t change, from beginning to end. He starts with a dead body, no money, and worried about the cops, and that is exactly where he ends.

The core conflict of “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” is clarified—we learn the why—but it never evolves or resolves. No, Rajiv doesn’t win, but he doesn’t even lose: The same situation continues to play out, and the same consequences are feared, potentially gathering on the horizon. That’s a very Nietzschean outcome, but absent that thematic resonance, it doesn’t make for effective fiction. The ending beat—the landing, the new piece of information—is that Anaya is the killer, and if that’s the only new piece of information, it feels like a twist ending, and not a solid resolution.

The question I’m left with is what’s different—what’s changed, what important event has occurred—between the beginning of the piece and the end? In short, what is the story?

That’s a serious question for a piece of fiction to elicit, and given the source material, it might be one that “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” just has to live with. But what I’d suggest, in further drafts, is looking at “Lo, I Teach You the Underman!” for balance between its two channels of information: the thematic, referential, Zarathustra-reading channel and the channel that’s taking this as an original, stand-alone story. It works as one; how might you make it work as the other, and then balance those two readings so neither of them dominate?

It’s a careful balancing trick to make a work compelling on both levels, but it’s possible by looking at both potential readings and going back to the elements of craft: narrative motion, conflict-and-resolution, the internal logic of both the character and the world. As just this story, about Rajiv and his car, what changes might make this satisfying, compelling, or produce a sense of forward motion and significance? Once those are established, how do they dovetail with the Zarathustra references?

I’m thinking this is going to be an iterative process, but modern fiction with a Nietzschean aesthetic is an ambitious goal, and I think it’s worth taking the time to work it out to its fullest potential.

Best of luck with the piece!

–Leah Bobet, author of Above (2012) and An Inheritance of Ashes (2015)

Editor’s Choice Review November 2017, Short Story

The Editors’ Choices are chosen from the submissions from the previous month that show the most potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident Editors. Submissions in four categories — science fiction chapters, fantasy chapters, horror, and short stories — receive a detailed review, meant to be educational for others as well as the author.This month’s reviews are written by Resident Editors Leah Bobet, Jeanne Cavelos, and Judith Tarr. The last four months of Editors’ Choices and their editorial reviews are archived on the workshop.

OSSUARY by Laura Hewitt

“Ossuary” caught my attention this month with the poetry of its images, its strong and cohesive voice, and the sheer power of Sharon’s emotional predicament, rendered without judgment, spilling off the page. It’s a powerful if unfinished-feeling piece, and this month I’d like to talk about how to craft strong imagery and what narrative satisfaction means.

The author describes “Ossuary” as “pretty larval”, but nonetheless, there’s a lot of beautiful work being done here, notably with Sharon’s narrative voice and the strength of the visual-emotional imagination on display. The sheer vividness of the images she remembers is drop-dead impressive: they’re poetic, recited in almost ritual language, just idiosyncratic enough to be real, and suffused with this incredible yearning. There are a few components which make those images work: a fine eye for detail (sometimes literally), the choice of images that are familiar but not archetypical (good hair!), sensory mixing (a posture that mutters, images that slap against your consciousness like waves) and the strength of emotional association.

The eye for detail is the most obvious part of the mix that makes the story’s imagery work, but how those images are set is also a major factor: the contrast with the simplicity and exasperation of Sharon’s voice provides the kinds of tonal peaks and valleys that make every paragraph feel cohesive, but unique. The dips into stark simplicity—”Here are the things she knows that she wishes her children would stand still long enough to hear:”—make the vivid imagery feel brighter and taller by contrast, and provide a breath to readers between those vivid images.

It’s in that contrast, between the images of Sharon’s past and her now, that I really feel Sharon’s loneliness—not just at being the only person who remembers the old world, but the horrible feeling of being the only adult. That’s a powerful and nuanced emotional place to start a narrator, and she comes across as this beautiful mix of frustration and care, grief and practicality. She’s a gorgeous character, written gorgeously.

As it stands, I think there could be some small adjustments to the mnemonic devices. While I like how they seep into Sharon’s narrative language, here and there—”They drone, they groan, but they intone” shows she’s way too used to constructing rhymes and acronyms to hold not enough information—there might be a few too many of them. The readers don’t know what problems and processes they refer to—they’re largely symbols without referents that show up in the story—and so there’s not quite enough weight to that information to make it meaningful.

The mnemonics that work, at least for me as a reader, are the ones that have some rooting information attached to them: that this is for getting a trapped partner out of a Circle, for example. I’d suggest paring back that sheer quantity of mnemonics and focusing on a few less, which are better and more substantially rooted: I think that’ll communicate the nature of this world more strongly, in this case, than the casual, unexplained-detail approach to worldbuilding.

But the major issue with “Ossuary” is in its sense of conflict and narrative motion. In short, this reads like the beginning of a longer work. The conflict is set up—Sharon is dying, her children don’t quite understand, and with that lack of time, she can only pass down survival, and not the world they’ve lost—but not yet developed, and not yet resolved, so I feel left somewhat hanging. But then what happens, and how does this play out? I’m left asking. This is less a request for a novel than a request for a stronger sense of arc and narrative satisfaction: many issues are raised in “Ossuary”, and if the story clearly and emphatically resolves one, even if it does so very softly, I’ll know as a reader which was important, and which was the core, and derive satisfaction from that.

What the author wants to do with this is a choice only for the author, of course—and the author’s notes indicate this is meant to be a snapshot—but I think there are some potential ways to make this satisfying, whether it’s by following through on those set-up conflicts or bringing the conflicts intended, however quiet they may be, more to the surface.

The choice the author’s note mentions Sharon as facing, about her own death, didn’t come across to me in the text. It’s a potential functional conflict to bring out—one which can maybe bring in a stronger sense of resolution—but it’s barely alluded to in the HALT sentence. It’s not mentioned again, as a question, a problem, or a choice, and Sharon’s whole character is so much about safety and survival, in the times we see her, that it’s hard on that information to imply she’s contemplating suicide. This is the woman who’s decided it’s better to scold her child now than have him suffer later; she’s not about the sparing of short-term pain.

Again, if that’s a conflict the author wishes to go after in a new draft, I’d suggest this is going to need some building out—about two more beats, so the question is evident, the choice is evident, and then Sharon’s choice is evident, even subtly.

Either way, I’d suggest there’s no reason to flinch at building out a little more, whatever direction that takes. The great thing about our craft as writers is that if a new draft doesn’t work the way we wanted, the old draft still exists, and it’s perfectly possible to go back to that old version and take another run at things until they work how we’d like them to. Three drafts, or five: If it gets “Ossuary” to the point where it’s landing just right, that’s work well worth it.

Congratulations on some beautiful prose-work, and best of luck!

–Leah Bobet, author of Above (2012) and An Inheritance of Ashes (2015)

Editor’s Choice Review December 2017, Science Fiction

The Editors’ Choices are chosen from the submissions from the previous month that show the most potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident Editors. Submissions in four categories — science fiction chapters, fantasy chapters, horror, and short stories — receive a detailed review, meant to be educational for others as well as the author.This month’s reviews are written by Resident Editors Leah Bobet, Jeanne Cavelos, and Judith Tarr. The last four months of Editors’ Choices and their editorial reviews are archived on the workshop.

Immortology Chapters 1-3 Rev by Zed Draeco

This concept hits a sweet spot for me. I just love getting wicked with science, and I am irresistibly fascinated by “Ghost Hunters” and all the rest of the paranormal shows. I realize that Proper Science does not recognize the existence of ghosts and the paranormal, but oh, what fun to watch people try to prove it. Pseudoscience, homemade tech, running dudes, and all.

So for me personally, this is a Yes, Let Me See More. I cannot speak for agents or editors; that’s not my brief. What I can do is point to ways in which the partial might be polished for submission.

The first thing I would note is that the concept is close to that of a podcast from 2016 called “LifeAfter”:  ttps:// It’s probably wise to cite the predecessor and let the agent know how your novel differs from it. If it’s inspired by the podcast, say so. If it’s a case of Great Minds Thinking Alike, that’s notable as well; but it’s good to be aware that there’s something like it out there.

As for the partial itself, I have some thoughts.

Clarity: On a cold read, it’s a little hard to get the picture of where and when this novel is set. I wondered if it was set on a space station, and was the robot real or imaginary or part of an alternate universe the protagonist had slipped into? Why have a robot in one’s room? Does everybody have one? Somewhat later we learn the year and some salient details of what has changed and not changed since the present day, but I might have oriented myself more quickly if this information had appeared earlier.

Worldbuilding and Logistics: Near-future SF is tough to do. Because the world is built so directly from our own, the extrapolation has to be spot on. I would wonder if Facebook is going to last as long as the ms. says it will, considering how short the epochs of online communities are. Would it be more advisable to invent a social network several generations down from Facebook, and if so, would a relatively young person even remember that Facebook existed? Think about MySpace or, really going back into the mists of time, GEnie.

I wonder about the narrator, too. He opens with a peroration on midnight phone calls (would those still be a thing in 2032? Or would they be texts or direct brain downloads or…?), which implies that he gets a lot of them. Is he a Jessica Fletcher-like nexus for sudden deaths? Is his occupation somehow prone to multiple fatalities?

Words and Polish: A submission package has to be as close to perfect as the author can make it. It’s best foot forward all the way—and that means every word should be just the right one. We all try not to use the same old same old words and phrases, but sometimes the effort to say things differently can confuse rather than enthuse.

Some examples that caught my eye as I read:

the glow of its display blinking on where it lay on my nightstand. It took me a minute to figure out which “on” went with which verb, and was the display lying on the nightstand, or was it the whole structure?

I…opted to be the fish that bit the hook and called Arif back. On reading through a couple of times, I unpacked what must be the intended meaning—a reference to a fish taking the lure—but as written, the sentence states that the fish called Arif after biting the hook.

and like some irritating sticky paper at the bottom of my shoe, there was no shaking the call from my head. Figurative language brings life to a story, but it’s a delicate balance between vivid imagery and phrasing that bumps the reader out of the story. Here, the drama of the moment is powerful; trying to ramp it up with a simile of some length actually lessens the drama. Keeping it simple also keeps it strong and keeps the story moving briskly forward.

I stammered out a question. “Are you…sure he’s…dead?” It sounded stupid, but I didn’t realize that until after I’d said it. A bunch of things are going on here. We’re told he stammers, then we’re shown how he does it. One or the other would do the job; it’s not really necessary to give us both—and then to undercut it with an editorial comment on how stupid it sounds. Tighter writing, pulling it all together into a single line, would convey the essential information while also, again, keeping things moving.

Chess’ reaction to Bram’s shocked “Jesus Christ” wanders a bit, too; he takes it for a statement of religious belief, which seems odd and somewhat off topic, as does the extended discussion that follows. The connections need to be clearer and the conversation more organic, flowing more naturally out of the characters and their situation.

I would suggest a thorough copyedit and a word-by-word revision, striving for tightness, focus, clarity. Pare away repetition, keep the figurative language to a minimum, and make sure the meaning of every sentence is clear.

Bram’s voice tends to be discursive, which is an aspect of his character, but he circles around and around the same words and phrases, the phone call, his incredulity, his ongoing expectation or hope that Arif is alive after all. It’s clear how Bram feels; cutting and tightening his expression of those feelings will actually make the story stronger. When you reduce repetition to a minimum, you give yourself more room for story-stuff, and more space to stretch your narrative muscles.

–Judith Tarr

Editor’s Choice Review December 2017, Horror

The Editors’ Choices are chosen from the submissions from the previous month that show the most potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident Editors. Submissions in four categories — science fiction chapters, fantasy chapters, horror, and short stories — receive a detailed review, meant to be educational for others as well as the author.This month’s reviews are written by Resident Editors Leah Bobet, Jeanne Cavelos, and Judith Tarr. The last four months of Editors’ Choices and their editorial reviews are archived on the workshop.

The Realm of the Comforters by Meg Sefton

The first two chapters of The Realm of the Comforters reveal a compelling premise: that the spirits of children who are murdered help welcome and comfort newly killed children into the afterlife. This is a strong, emotional premise, and it’s interesting to see how these spirits interact and try to overcome their trauma. The chapters have some moments where they express the situation of these characters in a strong way, such as “for the baby that has been loved will go away but the baby who has been killed by her parent’s hand will never be satisfied” and “a separate me, floating up above where I lay down under my daddy.”

The chapters also have some vivid description, such as Rachel’s eyes that look like “veined marbles of the most precious kind,” and the moon “full and complete as a cream pie Mama made on Sundays.”

So I think this novel has a lot of powerful material to build on. I think it’s appropriate for a YA audience because it seems like it will deal with finding one’s place in the world and amongst peers, and those are strong concerns of that age group.

I don’t think the material written here is actually the first two chapters of the novel. I think these are important notes on which to build the novel. There is no actual scene until the second-to-last page, when Gabriella starts to tell her story to the others. Before that point, we have a combination of exposition (background information) and recapitulation (summarized action), which basically means things are being explained to us, but we’re not in the moment with the character experiencing events. Much of the chapters are telling (Gabriella’s opinions and judgments) rather than showing (sensory details), so it’s hard for us to feel like we’re there, going through what Gabriella is going through.

It’s often said that the writer writes a story twice–the first time to herself, and the second time to others. For me, this feels like the author telling the story to herself, figuring out how this fascinating afterlife works, what the characters do in general, and how Gabriella feels about it. That’s a key step in the writing process. But after you explain all that to yourself, it’s time to figure out how you’re going to allow the reader to experience it.

For example, instead of explaining to us how babies in the afterlife behave and what the teen spirits do, you could show us a specific example. Perhaps a scene could start with Gabriella dying, and then she could see Rachel, and then they could hear a baby howl, and Rachel could rush off to help and Gabriella could follow, afraid to be left alone in this strange place. The encounter with the baby could be described moment by moment, and perhaps the scene could end when Gabriella calms the baby and feels like she actually helped someone for the first time.

Each scene should show a change of significance for the main character. She might make a friend or lose a friend. She might be helped or betrayed. She might gain self esteem or lose it. She might gain freedom or lose it. Thus far, the action doesn’t seem to be divided into chunks (scenes) in which something of significance changes. Instead, we seem to be fast-forwarding through lots of events that don’t seem to have any particular impact on her, until perhaps the graveyard scene at the end. Rushing through the events puts us at a distance from them, so we can’t really care and be engaged. I think Rachel is meant to be a close friend to Gabriella, but I don’t feel I know Rachel, and I don’t see their friendship building step by step from an initial uncertain encounter to growing trust to deep loyalty.

The other critical element we need to see in these scenes is the protagonist struggling to achieve a goal. Right now, Gabriella seems to fit in effortlessly and go along with what everyone else is doing. That doesn’t make for a strong protagonist. Does she perhaps feel different from the others at first, and have to work to make friends and fit in? Or does she think they’re great friends at first and later discover she’s not the same as them, she doesn’t really fit in? Does she want to go back and help her mother, and the others won’t let her? Gabriella needs a goal that she struggles to achieve (she can succeed or fail or do a little of both, but she needs to struggle intensely), and as each scene either moves her closer to her goal or takes her farther from it, that will be a change of significance for her.

Changing the text into scenes will require that you find other ways of providing exposition. Instead of having Gabriella simply explaining the world to the reader, you can reveal the world through the events that occur in scenes. The novel’s setup also provides one of the easiest ways to provide exposition: including a stranger to the world. Since Gabriella is new to the afterlife, she doesn’t know anything about it. She’s in exactly the same position as the reader. So the chapters can allow Gabriella and the reader to learn about the world together. Rather than having Gabriella learn about it and then explain it to the reader, the character and reader can experience things together, at the same time, which will make the bond between character and reader much stronger. I would be so much more involved reading about Gabriella following Rachel and finding this baby, and wondering what happened to the baby, and then realizing the baby was killed just as Gabriella realizes it. This can be a very powerful novel.

One final area I’d like to discuss is the style. I found myself often stumbling over sentences and having a difficult time parsing them. One reason is the lack of commas. There are rules about where commas belong, and those commas help cue the reader. They tell the reader how the different words and phrases relate to each other. Without those, I find myself often reading the sentence incorrectly and having to go back, which throws me out of the story. Other sentences contain more than one idea. A sentence should be a single idea. It can be a simple idea (a short sentence) or a complex idea (a long sentence with multiple parts), but it should be only one, unified, focused idea. This sentence, for example, has multiple ideas:

“I think we’re beautiful in our tattered clothing like soft worn shredded silk, our white faces illuminated by the moon, our bedraggled nails having grown out since death, clearing wild strands of hair aside so our view may be unobstructed though the tracking of the baby has less to do with “seeing” as we knew it when we were alive and more to do with a nocturnal sensation and this is why we are enfleshed: We are equipped, more than any other, to detect sources of pain that have been the result of unimaginable darkness, pain issuing from the breasts of babies murdered by the mothers and fathers who didn’t love them.”

The first idea is that Gabriella thinks they’re beautiful. This idea ends with “unobstructed.” The second idea is that they have a special sense that allows them to find the baby. This ends around the colon. The third idea is that this special sense detects the pain of murdered children. Putting all three ideas into one sentence weakens all of the ideas and makes it very difficult to follow.

I see a lot of promise here. Breaking the story into scenes and breaking the sentences into ideas should help this world and these characters to pull readers in and provide them with an emotional, unforgettable experience. I hope my comments are helpful.

—Jeanne Cavelos, editor, writer, director of Odyssey

Reviewer Honor Roll

The Reviewer Honor Roll is a great way to pay back a reviewer for a really useful review. When you nominate a reviewer, we list the reviewer’s name, the submission/author reviewed, and your explanation of what made the review so useful. The nomination appears in the Honor Roll area of OWW the month after you submit it, and is listed for a month. You can nominate reviewers of your own submissions or reviewers of other submissions, if you have learned from reading the review. Think of it as a structured, public “thank you” that gives credit where credit is due and helps direct other OWWers to useful reviewers and useful review skills.

Visit the Reviewer Honor Roll page for a complete list of nominees and explanatory nominations.

[ November 2017] Honor Roll Nominees

Reviewer: Lea Zane
Submission: Mayana’s Hunt by Dave Zeryck
Submitted by: Dave Zeryck

Reviewer: Gregor Hartmann
Submission: The Great Scarecrow Massacre by Robert Haynes
Submitted by: Robert Haynes

Reviewer: Mitchell S
Submission: The Fervent (Opening Chapter) – C4C by Jonathan White
Submitted by: Jonathan White

Reviewer: James Sadler
Submission: Dragon’s Hope (Working Title) by Donna Collins
Submitted by: Donna Collins