I took last week off from writing a blog because I was busy with stuff for both After Happy Hour and Scribble House—things like getting ready for the return of the Send It! group next week and wrapping up the Issue 27 reading period, but mostly finishing up a workshop I did yesterday through Chill Subs about common mistakes made by submitters. Doing that has made me think a bit more deeply than I usually do about why we reject work for After Happy Hour.
People have asked me this question before, of course, mostly during events like AWP or other conferences when I'm at the AHH table wearing my Managing Editor hat. I feel like they're usually a bit annoyed by my answer, because the truth is, the best way to get an acceptance from us is the same generic advice you get from every journal: Send us your best, read what we publish, follow our guidelines. And, yes, this is stuff every writer has heard before. But there's also a reason editors keep saying it over and over again: Almost everything that we reject at After Happy Hour, it's because the writer didn’t do one (or more) of those things.
Read this if you like: Karen Russell, Carmen Maria Machado, quirky short fiction
tl;dr summary: Collection of (mostly) literary stories in which characters hope, for better or worse (mostly worse).
I usually mostly enjoy being a freelancer—more than I've enjoyed any past jobs, if nothing else. Even so, there are those days that it just feels like a personal affront that it's 2025 and we still have to work for a living. No matter what you do for money, there are times that it's just a grind.
And I get why a lot of writers neglect work in their stories. If you're the kind of person who writes (or reads) as an escape, then your job is probably one of the primary things you want to escape from. It already sucks up 40+ of your hours every week. Does it really need to take up real estate in your creative writing, too?
Literary genres in general can be confusing to navigate, especially once you get into the convoluted quagmire of speculative subgenres or the oddly specific categories for romance. The “punk” subset of genres is one that I find particularly head-scratch inducing. I often think I understand a term only to see someone use it in a way that makes me question whether they (or I) actually know what it means. It doesn't help that “punk” takes on a different meaning when it's being used in a cultural, stylistic, or musical context.
I have to give the usual caveat for a post like this, which is that genre definitions aren't set in stone. That's even more true with genres that were recently invented, like a lot of the punk subgenres. That being said, here's a run-down on the various literary flavors of punk, and how they relate to the term in a broader sense. So, to kick things off...
Read this if you like: unique alien ecosystems, Rick Claypool, Vernor Vinge
tl;dr summary: Political prisoners in an Orwellian dystopia are sent to a labor camp on Kiln, a planet where the life is aggressively symbiotic and potentially sentient.
When I was first preparing my short story collection to send to publishers, I was self-conscious that I’d broken a writerly rule: 3 of the 12 stories start with the viewpoint character waking up. And even worse, some would say: two of those include the dream the character was having right before they did. I wasted a good amount of time trying to “fix” those stories to avoid this, but quickly realized those adjustments hurt the stories rather than helping them. That rule is still a decent one to follow, but in these stories, the moment of waking really was the right place to jump in.
Granted, that collection still hasn't been picked up by a publisher, so maybe that is a bigger problem than I want to think. But all 3 stories that start with wake-ups have been published, so some editor at least thinks they passed muster. And I'm far from the only writer who includes dreams and sleeping in my work. The collection I'm currently reading has dream right on the tin (Adam Dove's Everyone! In the Dream! is You!) and makes use of dreams at multiple points. You can even find examples in the canon—maybe most famously Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis, which opens on Gregor Samsa waking as a beetle.
I've been watching two ghost-centered TV shows of late. Ironically, the one with the punnier name (School Spirits) is a kind of mystery/thriller drama, while the more straightforward-titled Ghost is the sitcom. There are other differences between the shows, too. The characters in School Spirits are mostly teens (or were teens when they died, in the ghosts' case) which adds a coming-of-age, YA kind of feel to the show. In Ghosts, the central characters are living married couple Sam and Jay, whose ages aren't specifically stated that I recall but who are generally in that “early adulthood” range, and have more adult-ey kinds of problems. The ghosts are broadly adult, too, and while some of them were on the “young and stupid” side when they died, none are portrayed as having been kids.
[Note: This post contains minor spoilers for School Spirits for those who aren't caught up through season 2 and care about such things (and I suppose for Ghosts, too, inasmuch as a sitcom can have spoilers).]
Read this if you like: The Wheel of Time, David Eddings, character-driven high fantasy
tl;dr summary: Three magic users in a world where magic is dying set out to avert war, solve a murder, and avoid bringing about a prophecied doom.
One function of myth is as a cultural teaching tool. It demonstrates moral behavior and outlines the rules and standards applied to different members of society. Religion has often been a tool to reinforce prescribed societal roles, and this includes gender divisions. You can usually infer which activities, behaviors, and physical traits were most strongly coded male or female by looking at the culture's deities, culture heroes, and other legendary figures.
But the gender division in mythology isn't always a firm binary. There are a slew of deities from around the world who are both genders, or neither, or known to switch back and forth on a whim. I'm intrigued by these figures and their roles in their respective pantheons, and thought other folks might find them interesting to learn about, too.
More so this reading period than in the past, I’ve been seeing more submissions in the After Happy Hour slush pile that make use of alternate approaches to formatting dialogue. This tracks with what I’ve read in other literary journals in recent months. It seems like ditching the quotation marks is on-trend right now—and there’s nothing wrong with doing that, in a general sense, but I’m not sure everyone who’s making this shift is doing so with a reason. I like it when it works, but a lot of the stories I’ve read, it feels like more of a distraction.
When a reader sees quotation marks they know exactly what this means, even if the writer hasn’t attached a dialogue tag to it: someone is speaking aloud. It’s an easy shorthand. Readers don’t have that same implicit understanding of other formatting approaches. You can teach the reader the conventions of your story quickly, but it’s still going to stand out for them as different from the norm. This means it takes a bit more mental effort to read the story—and, even if just at a subconscious level, the reader wants to feel like there’s a payoff for that extra effort, and a clear reason why the author made that formatting choice.
