Editor’s Choice Award February 2021, Science Fiction

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

Gladiator Superclásico, Chapter 1, part 1 by Adam Rossi

This chapter shows a vivid and far-ranging visual imagination. It’s a world of strong colors and striking imagery, and its worldbuilding is intriguing.

There’s plenty of story happening here. We get a sense of who Zé is and what he wants to do and be. We see some of his history; we start to understand what makes him tick. It’s a good beginning.

One thing I would have liked to see, and I’m sure will see as the ms. undergoes revision, is a more rounded depiction of Di, both in herself and as she relates to Zé. She matters a great deal to the protagonist and the story, but in this draft she’s somewhat lightly sketched in. The conflict between them is blocked in fairly solidly: she wants Zé to back off from his obsession with the Clásico, but he’s addicted, and it’s clear he’s not going to give it up.

What I’m not getting is a sense of connection between them. They live together, they walk through the city together, they exchange information and, at the end, have a fight, but she seems oddly distanced from Zé. Amid all the rich description, it’s hard to get a picture of her.

It seems that Zé doesn’t see her except as a reflection of himself. She calls him bello, but to him she’s kiddo—as if she were his kid sister rather than his lover. When we first meet them, she’s busy getting her morning going, and he’s nagging her for coffee. He doesn’t seem to have much respect for her, or to regard her as an independent person.

This pattern continues as the chapter goes on. They don’t interact so much as bounce off each other. One moment she’s remote, disengaged; the next, she’s smiling and bantering and offering sex. I’d like to see more of her inner life, how she thinks, what she feels apart from what Zé projects onto her.

He keeps emphasizing how small she is. The multiple references to her talent as a maker and inventor come across as patronizing. She’s tiny, but she’s smart. She’s little and cute, but she really is bright. She makes her own clothes. These details aren’t integral to the story; they don’t move the action forward, and Zé doesn’t treat her any better because of them. He seems to be trying to convince himself that she’s worthy of respect.

Does this bother her? Does she want to be seen as a fully adult human being, and treated accordingly? Or does she use his attitude toward her to manipulate him, to feed his ego and get him to do what she wants? What’s going on inside as she follows him to various places that are important to him? Are they important to her apart from him? What are her preoccupations, her wants and needs, her dreams—aside from the one fantasy of winning the lottery?

If this lack of mutual respect and this emotional disconnection is their dynamic, a bit more depth and detail would help make it clear. Let’s see more of her expressions and reactions, and a somewhat more complex range of feelings. Even if Zé is oblivious, she can reveal herself in her body language or her expressions. He might not see it, but the reader will.

None of this needs a lot of extra word count. Mostly it can be done with a line here or a change of phrasing there. The more depth and complexity Di gains, the more she’ll round out Zé as well. Then the conflict between them will be stronger, and move us more effectively into the next part of the narrative.

–Judith Tarr

Editor’s Choice Award February 2021, Fantasy

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

Anai Second Part by Sara Carbone

There are some very nice things happening in this submission. I particularly like the concept of the pulse. It’s clear to me what it represents, and the imagery is vivid and evocative. I do wonder if the people she meets have this same gift, but that’s probably established elsewhere in the novel.

I am not a fan of dialogue in dialect unless it’s very carefully and deftly executed. Here, I’m not sure what the dialect wants to do. Is Anai “othering” the people she meets by giving us their words in nonstandard language? Is she judging them in some way? Reacting emotionally to their pronunciation? Hearing them as being of a different class or social status? It must be important in some way to the story, that people in this place speak like this. I’d like to have a clearer sense of its significance.

One thing I would suggest in revising the chapter would be to think about how narrative pacing works. Pacing at its simplest is the speed at which events happen, how they move through each scene, and how fast they get from one scene to the next. Sometimes it’s rapid—things happen one right after another, bam-bam-bam. Other times it’s more leisurely, as we take a break after a fast action scene, or pause to explore the world or examine the characters’ motivations. Good pacing balances the fast and slow, moves briskly when the story needs it, but also gives the reader time to relax and process.

The way a scene is written has a lot to do with how its pacing works. Fast action calls for active constructions—active verbs, and short and punchy sentences. Passive voice can be very effective when it’s used skillfully, but a little of it goes a long way. It slows down the action and removes the viewpoint character, and therefore the reader, from the direct experience of that action. They’re not acting; they’re being acted upon. In general, in fiction, active voice is the way to go.

It’s important when writing a scene to be clear about what that scene wants to do. How does it move the story forward? What is its purpose in the progression of the narrative? If the character is walking around apparently aimlessly, as Anai does in this chapter, what is her reason for doing it? What does she want to accomplish? Does she have a goal? She shows us something of herself in how she acts and reacts, but how does that lead us from the previous scene and into the next? What does she do and say here that will resonate later in the novel? Can she move more quickly, with more focus and visible purpose, from one place to the next?

Every scene should have a point. It doesn’t have to be stated in so many words, but it should be evident to the reader that what’s happening here is important to the story. Especially at the beginning, when we don’t know the characters yet and the story is just starting to take shape, every detail means something. We may not know exactly what, but if it’s there, it must be there for a reason.

If Anai is walking around the town, let us see why she’s going that particular direction. Maybe she’s hoping to see a particular person, or find a specific place or object. Maybe she’s looking for something nice to eat or something pretty or practical to wear. Or she might be checking the layout of the town, or looking for an escape route. Focus on one or two main details, and make her motivations clear. Let us feel that she’s acting with intention—even if that intention is simply to check out her surroundings and get to know some of the people there. That will help us move through the scene, and keep us turning the pages.

–Judith Tarr

Editor’s Choice Award February 2021, Horror

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

One Last Time by M.C.Perron

This story hooks me in the second paragraph and pulls me through to the end.  I enjoy the elderly protagonist, something I don’t see enough of.  Giving Katie her dog to interact with helps to keep the story from being too internal.  The story has a nice tight focus, with a single scene and single setting.  The mention of the vibrations getting closer creates some suspense, and the suspense builds when we learn the vet boarded up the doors and when we see the Changed Ones.

I think there are several ways in which the story could be strengthened and its impact increased.

First, the plot structure could be more effectively realized.  For this story, there are basically two types of structures possible.  One is to show an evolving situation.  The other is to reveal a situation.  The story is currently aiming to reveal a situation.  We see Katie and Gerard on the balcony and wonder what’s going on, and as the story progresses, the situation is revealed–Changed Ones, explosives, a sacrifice.  The problem is that the situation is revealed in the paragraph beginning “She had volunteered that night . . .”  and there are 16 paragraphs after that, during which there’s pretty much no suspense and no surprise.  Everything goes as planned.  So the ending has little impact.

In stories that reveal a situation, often the reveal comes very close to the end or right at the end.  A great example is “The Star” by Arthur C. Clarke, in which the situation is revealed by the last word of the last sentence.  So one solution would be to rearrange the placement of information, leaving the fact that the house has been wired with explosives to the very end.  That would create more suspense up to the ending and more impact at the end.

In other stories that reveal a situation, the reveal comes earlier, but when it comes, the story flips to an evolving situation structure.  So another solution would be to keep the reveal where it is, but then after the reveal, the situation starts to change.  Things don’t go as planned.  Perhaps Gerard doesn’t die and jumps out of the chair and Katie has to go after him.  Perhaps the switch doesn’t set off the explosion, and when Katie pulls on the wire, the broken wire comes out from under the door.  Something like this would escalate the suspense up to the climax and create more impact at the end.

A related point is that I’m not really sure of the significance of Katie’s story.  It’s not clear to me whether she is truly making a sacrifice or if she’s just ready to die.  If she’s just read to die, I can understand that, but it doesn’t make her a hero.  It makes her someone who can help others out without inconveniencing herself.  In that case, you might want to bring out the fact that there is some price she’s paying for doing this.  For example, she might think that she’d much rather give herself a shot like Gerard and go peacefully to sleep than die in an explosion, ripped into pieces, or be thrown out of the balcony to the ground to die slowly as the Changed Ones eat her alive, etc. But she has to make sure the explosion goes off and stops the Changed Ones.  If it’s truly a sacrifice, then we should feel her desire to live (which she perhaps lied to her son about) and all she wishes she could still experience.  And if she’s giving up a life she’d rather hold onto, she should be getting something for it.  For example, perhaps her son and granddaughters would not be able to get on the boat without her doing this.  Because she volunteers, they are given space on the boat.

Circling back to the issue of whether the plot is revealing or evolving, we have a similar problem with Gerard’s subplot.  The fact that Katie is going to put him to sleep is revealed in paragraph 6, and then everything happens as planned.  (It bothers me that Katie doesn’t seem to check how the injection is affecting Gerard and never checks to make sure he died.) I don’t think the story is making the best use of Gerard possible.  Similar to the options with Katie, the information could be rearranged so we don’t learn that Dimitri is a vet or that he gave Katie a syringe until later.  Or the situation could evolve after you reveal it.  Gerard could jump up when the Changed Ones appear, causing Katie to drop the syringe and lose it through the floorboards.

I’ve been talking about the placement of information, and this applies on a smaller scale as well.  By the time I finish reading the first sentence, I’ve mentally put the rocking chair in the living room.  So it’s jarring when I find out later she’s on the balcony.  It would be better to establish that in the first or second paragraph.

I’m also jarred when I learn the ground is shaking in paragraph 16.  When the story mentions vibrations in paragraph 2, I think of those as sounds, because they are compared to humming, so the ground shaking seems like something new and different.  It would help to more clearly set the scene to describe the ground shaking earlier and how it vibrates up through the house to the balcony and the chair and into Katie and Gerard.

A few smaller points.  I inject my cat with insulin twice a day, and the description of the injection process doesn’t seem accurate to me.  The vet should have prepared the syringe so Katie doesn’t need to squirt any out, just inject.  After she does squirt a bunch out, she never measures how much she’s injecting into Gerard.  If she doesn’t inject enough, he won’t die.

There are a few awkward sentences.  One involves this simile:

>their mouths moving like that of a school of fish out of water, just much slower and less fish-like <

This is awkward for several reasons.  The simile is comparing a plural (their mouths) with a singular “that of a school.”  Also, the sentence is saying that the two things are similar and then it’s giving two differences, which is contradictory.  If these two things are similar, just let them be similar.  Something like this would be stronger:

> their mouths moving like they were fish out of water<

That’s a great, original detail that makes these Changed Ones different than most zombies, and now it comes across more clearly.

The other detail in that sentence,

> their skins ashen-grey no matter their ancestry. <

Doesn’t fit here.  It’s not something that would make Katie laugh, which is how the sentence began.  It feels like the author forcing a detail (one much less interesting than the gaping mouths) into the sentence.  This could either be cut or put into a separate sentence.

Finally, I’m sad to say I was unfamiliar with the Rainbow Bridge and had to look it up to figure out what it meant.  This hampers the impact of the ending.  My suggestion would be to either set up the Rainbow Bridge early in the story, so we know what it is and what it means to Katie when it shows up at the end, or to cut it and use another image that arises more naturally from the story itself.  If the balcony is a place where she and Gerard have spent a lot of time, reuniting with him on the balcony in the rocking chair with the blanket might be a hope she has at the end.

I hope this is helpful.  I enjoyed reading the story.

–Jeanne Cavelos, editor, author, director of The Odyssey Writing Workshops Charitable Trust

 

Editor’s Choice Award February 2021, Short Story

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

Broken People by Chad Rueffert

“Broken People” delighted me this month with its gentle practicality and how it uses a genre staple to dive deeper into the nuances of human interaction—creating one of the rare stories dealing with plague that’s felt to me like it eased this year’s pandemic instead of deepening the stress of it. It’s not a full trope inversion, but a compassionate one grounded in its insight into self-destructive tendencies, magical thinking, survivor’s guilt, and how people process them all. So this month, I’d like to discuss what we’re doing when we deliberately innovate story tropes: how we can build those inversions into every layer of our work while still producing a story structure readers recognize.

Despite its length, “Broken People” is a smooth, engrossing read all the way through. It introduces its worldbuilding organically—enough classic second-world fantasy to let readers fill in the blanks, and enough unique-to-this-setting specifics to stay interesting—and delivers a fairytale structure in inventive ways that don’t call attention to themselves, but just make the entire piece feel considered, thoughtful, and fresh (“a son already placing his feet in my footsteps” was a favourite example of how it takes a familiar sentiment and makes it new).

The man’s problem—immunity to suicide—is legitimately startling, but quickly grounded in an understanding we as readers get to build for ourselves: this isn’t magic, just the impact of a person who can do things for others selflessly that he can’t imagine doing for himself, who has no idea that this is why people keep saving his life. While the witch’s plan to help him is easy to predict once it gets going, the pleasure of watching it—and them—unfold is enough to keep me riveted.

There’s a balance in those elements that’s important to point out. It’s by working both with and against reader assumptions that “Broken People” lets readers know what kind of story it is—a witch’s-bargain fairytale—and that it’s not going to do the same work as other pieces in that subgenre. By focusing on a balance between little familiarities and little innovations, the story keeps a feeling of being confident and comfortable in a kind of fantasy world and still gets the delight of something new.

There’s a great example of how this balancing act works in the opening sentence, which does a great deal of work in a very short space. It establishes that fairytale tone by starting with sun, moon and sea (familiar!); creates a progression almost like a film camera focuses down to its subject, narrowing the world of the story from the biggest scope—the sky—to the witch in her home (a familiar, filmlike opening shot!); sets up the kinetic and slightly unexpected metaphor set of the story (unfamiliar and new!); and establishes thematics by having the witch’s first action be one of hope and light (unfamiliar in this tropeset!). The casual, conversational storyteller’s voice gives readers a clue that this story isn’t going to be an emotionally brutal one. In short, as a reader, I have two familiar structural things to stand on—a set of fairytale imagery and a structure—and two elements that feel a little different, metaphor and theme. And I’m primed for exactly what I’m getting.

That’s the fine technical work, but when we pull back, what makes “Broken People” work is that it’s rethought not the elements of a witch’s-bargain story, but fundamentally changed is the emotions around the tropes. There’s a keen emotional intelligence that pervades the entire story and both of its central characters, despite their inability to see and address the ways they themselves are stuck.

I think the nature of tropes and archetypes can make it simple to assume that the same story shapes will always lean toward the same emotions—that X always equals Y—and it’s when we decouple that assumption, as writers, that we open up a ton of opportunity to say new and interesting things about how people handle situations, emotions, and ideas–but new things on the same topic as the last ones.

With “Broken People”, if we ask What is this about? on the plot level, the answer’s the same: man and witch make deal, it doesn’t go how he expected. When we ask, though, what is this about? on the thematic/emotional level, it’s a story about two pragmatic people who have both been caregivers and neglected themselves absolutely for it finding a way to click together in a cycle that lifts them both up. Nobody is angry, just hurting and cynical because of it, and that can be enough to motivate an entire story; nobody is particularly magical, just a community relying on each other to repay good deeds and kindnesses, and that can be enough to make a blessing.

“Broken People” does a great job at understanding the emotions readers will expect out of this story shape, analyzing where they don’t have to be the same, and bringing in new emotions that crucially have a relationship to the expected ones. It’s working with readerly assumptions in finding better ways to handle this situation or a different story to tell, and that’s what makes it delightful: the continuity between familiar expectation and new approach.

Either frustratingly or happily for the author: I have no particular notes on improvement. I think this is ready for editors.

Best of luck!

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

 

On The Shelves

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: On The Shelves

 Fire Heart Tiger by Alliette de Bodard (Tordotcom February 2021)

Fire burns bright and has a long memory….

Quiet, thoughtful princess Thanh was sent away as a hostage to the powerful faraway country of Ephteria as a child. Now she’s returned to her mother’s imperial court, haunted not only by memories of her first romance, but by worrying magical echoes of a fire that devastated Ephteria’s royal palace.

Thanh’s new role as a diplomat places her once again in the path of her first love, the powerful and magnetic Eldris of Ephteria, who knows exactly what she wants: romance from Thanh and much more from Thanh’s home. Eldris won’t take no for an answer, on either front. But the fire that burned down one palace is tempting Thanh with the possibility of making her own dangerous decisions.

Can Thanh find the freedom to shape her country’s fate—and her own?

 

A Song With Teeth (A Los Nefilim Novel) by T. Frohock (Harper Voyager February 2021) 

As the Allied forces battle to defeat the Nazis, a shadow war rages between angels and daimons fighting for the soul of humanity in this thrilling conclusion to the critically acclaimed Los Nefilim historical fantasy series.

The year is 1944, and the daimons are rising.

With the Inner Guard thrown into disarray by the German blitzkrieg, the daimon-born nefilim of the Scorpion Court gather in Paris, scheming to restore their rule over the mortal realm. Working as a double-agent, Diago Alvarez infiltrates his family’s daimonic court, but soon finds himself overwhelmed by his kin’s multiple deceits.

Meanwhile, Ysabel Ramírez hunts a Psalm that will assist Operation Overlord, the Allies’ invasion of Normandy. Her objective takes her to Paris—into the heart of territories controlled by Die Nephilim and her power-hungry uncle, Jordi Abelló, who seeks the same Psalm in his quest to wrest control of Los Nefilim from her father. When their paths cross, he abducts her and leaves her to the mercy of his Nazi followers.

But Ysabel is as cunning and bold as Jordi. She knows only one of them can survive to one day rule Los Nefilim, and she’s determined to be the one to succeed her father as queen.

Trapped in her uncle’s château hidden deep within the Fontainebleau forest, Ysabel discovers the truth behind her uncle’s lust for dominance: those that wear the signet of the Thrones are not blessed . . . they are cursed. And it may take a miracle to end this war once and for all.

Soulstar (The Kingston Cycle, Book 3) by C.L. Polk (Tor February 2021)

For years, Robin Thorpe has kept her head down, staying among her people in the Riverside neighborhood and hiding the magic that would have her imprisoned by the state. But when Grace Hensley comes knocking on Clan Thorpe’s door, Robin’s days of hiding are at an end. As freed witches flood the streets of Kingston, scrambling to reintegrate with a kingdom that destroyed their lives, Robin begins to plot a course that will ensure a freer, juster Aeland. At the same time, she has to face her long-bottled feelings for the childhood love that vanished into an asylum twenty years ago.
Can Robin find happiness among the rising tides of revolution? Can Kingston survive the blizzards that threaten, the desperate monarchy, and the birth throes of democracy? Find out as the Kingston Cycle comes to an end.

Editor’s Choice Award January 2021, Fantasy

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

Jumping Through The Stars, Chapter 1 by A.M. Entracte

This is a nice opening sequence. We meet the protagonist, there’s a mystery for her to solve, she’s deeply invested in it, and she undergoes a rapid emotional reversal that leads straight into the next chapter. The reader gets enough of the backstory to be intrigued, but not so much that it slows the main narrative down.

I especially like the first paragraph, or epigraph if you will. The conception of Earth as a place born of magic and desire is beautiful, and I’m intrigued by the idea that it’s a human creation. That makes me want to know more.

Later on in the writing process, the prose will need some work: careful copyedits and line edits, and particular attention to awkwardness of meaning and syntax:

Paul’s face was usually lined with laughing lines,

for example, and odd expressions such as this

A sense of worry overcame her.

and this

“No,” she said, instant anxiety threatening to overwhelm her.

In revision, the emotion may come through more strongly if the phrasing is more streamlined. In the first, perhaps simply, “She began to worry.” In the second, she might show a physical reaction—her stomach clenches, for example, or her breath comes short.

Watch verb tenses, too. The ms. seems to be undecided between present and past, and sometimes the more obscure tenses get a bit confused. The trail has gone cold years ago should be either “The trail has long since gone cold” or “The trail went cold years ago.”

In revision, look for passages in which a lot of stage business happens—

Paul took off his glasses, leaned his arms against the desk and put both hands on his forehead. He exhaled slowly while dragging his hands over the front of his face to rest them both against the bridge of his nose,

or where the narrative gets a little too specific:

she interrupted, stretching her right arm, palm up, across the desk,

We don’t really need all these details at this point; they distract from what’s going on in the scene. In the first, which one of the various sets of actions best contains the rest? Which is the most effective for its particular context? And in the second, is it essential that it be her right arm, or that we be told specifically that it’s palm up? Can we get the picture if we’re just told, “She held out her hand”?

These are just examples, and the text itself may change considerably by the time the novel reaches the line-editing stage. For now, they’re things to keep in mind, small rough bits to polish when the time comes. The priority at this stage is to get the story down, and make the big decisions about how best to tell it.

The main one here, as the author’s note points out, is whether to tell the story in third person limited or in first person. They’re very different narrative modes. Third person allows for changes of viewpoint if the story needs it, and allows a bit of distance from the action and the protagonist, which can sometimes be useful. With first person, the story is right there, happening to you, but a skillful writer can convey to the reader whether the narrator is reliable, or whether there are other things going on than the narrator either realizes or will acknowledge.

It all depends on what the story needs to be. What feels right? Which mode gets the story across in a form that comes closest to the one the author wants to tell? Do we get the most out of it if we’re shown the action in third person, or if we live it inside Ariana’s head?

It might even work to use both modes, especially if there’s a second viewpoint. Maybe Ariana is first person and the other is third. Or events she’s not aware of are in third person—the epigraph for example: that’s someone else’s viewpoint, someone with a much broader and deeper understanding of the world and its history. If that’s an ongoing thing, then telling Ariana’s story in first person draws a clearer distinction between the two. I don’t think it’s essential—Ariana’s voice in third person and that of the epigraph are quite distinct; there’s no confusion as to which is which—but it may be something to think about as the novel evolves.

As for the other questions in the author’s note, I don’t think the chapter needs an additional scene, especially if it features a new or tangential character. The focus is on Ariana’s excitement about a new lead, Paul’s crushing rejection, and Ariana’s investigation of the secret apartment. Unless the added character plays a key role in one of these sequences, their presence will slow down the action and distract from the main thrust of the plot. I’m in favor of keeping it simple, especially as Ariana’s world is about to blow wide open.

Overall, this is a good draft, with lots of potential. I’ll be interested to see how it develops.

–Judith Tarr

Editor’s Choice Award January 2021, Science Fiction

Published on by Jaime Moyer Category: Editor's Choice

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.

Sun Chaser by D. Campbell

This is a jewel of a story, beautifully conceived, tightly focused and precise in its language. It reminds me of a number of classic stories, notably Ray Bradbury’s “All Summer in a Day” and the Original Star Trek episode, “For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky.” It honors its predecessors even while it puts its own stamp on its subgenre.

Yes, it is science fiction, most definitely. It’s set in the future, extrapolating from events and phenomena of the present. That’s pretty much the definition of mainstream SF.

I have a couple of questions about the current draft. First and most minor, beer is a thing in the story. I like that, but it pinged my worldbuilding instincts, and made me wonder how and where in this underground world people are growing barley and hops, not to mention food crops in general. Not that the story needs a digression, but—maybe a very short line, closely tied to its context?

I wondered too about Papa’s card. Evie’s theft is a suspenseful scene, building on the tone and feel of her first attempt to sneak up the stairs, and leading into her second, when she succeeds. That’s a nice resonance. But in waiting until after the Sun Day ceremony to use the card, isn’t Evie risking being discovered? Wouldn’t Papa notice that this crucial item is missing?

Maybe he would keep his card in a safe place, a box or container? Somewhere that he doesn’t worry about because he believes it’s secure? That he wouldn’t make a habit of checking regularly? Would he leave it behind when he goes to the ceremony? Wouldn’t he keep it with him whenever he’s outside the apartment, in case of emergency?

Would it make more sense for Evie to steal it after the ceremony, when Papa is home and probably asleep? She could slip it out, do what she’s planned to do, then return it before he wakes. Otherwise she risks being discovered before she can use the card.

One more suggestion I would make is to rethink Celia’s character a little bit. In this draft, I don’t get a sense that she’s about to become a human sacrifice. She’s annoying and entitled, which is a good reflection of Evie’s age and personality—Evie doesn’t like her and it’s clear to see why. What I’m not getting is the full significance of her role in the ceremony.

Evie does mention that Celia is a fanatic, that she believes she’ll be the one to prove that the sun has stopped burning humans to death, but I think the story needs more. A little more ambivalence, a stronger sense of what’s all too likely to happen. If it’s clearer that people are in denial, and Celia worst of all, that will help. So will layering more complexity, building up various characters’ emotions (Celia’s in particular), clarifying the disconnect between the believers and the skeptics—beginning with a clearer indication as to what that belief is. It’s just a bit too subtle in the draft.

I don’t think any of this will add much more word count. The story is strong. It just needs a line here and a clarification there, to bring it to its fullest potential.

–Judith Tarr