I still remember the first time I held an issue of Locus in my hands.
June 2012. Mysterious Galaxy bookstore in San Diego. I had gone with my Clarion class, to hear our Week One instructor, Jeffrey Ford, read. The first few days of the workshop had begun to part the curtains on the wild, weird, wonderful world of the science fiction/fantasy/horror genre, and Locus let me in a little more—with insider deal reports, and reviews of the cutting-edge authors my classmates were turning me on to, and detailed reports of conventions (I didn’t even know what a convention was, can you imagine).
That’s why Locus is essential. Not everyone can afford the time and expense of a workshop like Clarion. SF/F/H publishing is so often a mystery for writers from marginalized communities, not to mention folks living far away from the big cities (hell, I had been a writer living in NYC for ten years by then, surrounded by awesome genre authors and publishers, and I was totally clueless on how to connect). Understanding how it all works—that’s so crucial for outsider voices trying to build a writing career. Locus helps level the playing field.
Anyway, I still have that issue somewhere. And when I got home from Clarion I subscribed immediately. I’ve been a subscriber ever since, and every time my name appears in its pages I clip it into a scrapbook.
The first time a short story of mine was ever reviewed, it was in Locus. “The Beasts We Want To Be,” a Clarion story that appeared in the final issue of the late lamented Electric Velocipede, got a favorable review from Lois Tilton, and underneath it that magical word: RECOMMENDED. I didn’t know at the time that Lois was a notoriously tough critic, but I knew nabbing a RECOMMENDED tag was a huge deal.
That’s why Locus is essential. Few venues bother to give short stories any attention, let alone thoughtful critiques. And with so many stories coming out every month, having a respected venue that puts the effort into spotlighting excellence can mean the difference between a great story getting the attention it deserves and vanishing into obscurity.
Nor does Locus stop being important once you emerge on the far side of “emerging,” and find yourself a fully “emerged” author (whatever that means). Especially if you keep pushing yourself to try wild out-there new things, the kind that many mainstream spaces might be confused by.
This year my novella Kid Wolf and Kraken Boy came out, a weird messy mix of stuff (“…an alt-history Roaring Twenties New York gangster boxing labor-rights queer romance…”) and perhaps unsurprisingly, the only review it got was in Locus. And it was a great one! “…the classically noir setting is brilliantly realized… the mutual devotion between these two memorable narrators gives the whole tale the legend-like aura of classic romance…”
If you’re a writer (or a reader) of science fiction, fantasy, or horror, and you value diversity and fresh perspectives from new voices, you need Locus. You need a space that celebrates the dazzlingly exciting, cutting-edge wave of genre fiction that’s unfolding now. That gives serious space and respect to the work that other outlets won’t touch. Because when you finally sell that ONE special short story to your ONE dream market, you want Locus to be there to see its brilliance. When the book of your heart hits shelves, you need Locus to make sure it doesn’t vanish into the void.
So, yeah. There are countless reasons why Locus is essential. My brilliant colleague (and Clarion student) LP Kindred wrote about a bunch of them already. And LP put it pretty powerfully: “if we don’t start contributing to speculative fiction institutions, they might not be here when we think we’re ready for them and they definitely won’t be around for the generations of writers behind mine.”
Because the fact is, Locus needs our help right now.
Publishing is in an unpredictable, topsy-turvy time, and the folks who suffer most in times of rising costs and economic uncertainty are the scrappy independent underdogs. The ones who prioritize community over profits, and craft over simple content.
That’s Locus. A scrappy underdog. A vital tool we all depend on, which now needs our help. I hope you’ll join me in supporting Locus’s crowdfunding campaign today.
Sam J. Miller’s books have been called “must reads” and “bests of the year” by USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, NPR, and O: The Oprah Magazine, among others. He is the Nebula-Award-winning author of Blackfish City, which has been translated into six languages and won the hopefully-soon-to-be-renamed John W. Campbell Memorial Award. Sam’s short stories have won a Shirley Jackson Award and been nominated for the World Fantasy, Theodore Sturgeon, and Locus Awards, and have been reprinted in dozens of anthologies. He’s also the last in a long line of butchers. He lives in New York City, and at samjmiller.com.
