New Market — Polyphony 4

Opens September 1, 2003; Deadline, October 15, 2003.

Polyphony 4, Wheatland Press, PO Box 1818, Wilsonville OR 97070. Publisher/Fiction Editor: Deborah Layne; Fiction Co-Editor: Jay Lake.

"Wheatland Press announces an open reading period for Polyphony 4, the fourth volume in the critically-acclaimed Polyphony anthology series. The publisher and editors are committed to finding outstanding cutting edge fiction from new writers as well as from established writers. We will be looking for stories that stretch (or break) the boundaries of traditional genres. Send us your magic realism, surrealism, literary stories with a genre sensibility, and other hard-to-classify stories with strong literary values, compelling characters, engaging tone, and unique voice. If you really want to know what we are looking for, check out the previous volumes of Polyphony, available directly from Wheatland Press, genre booksellers, or online booksellers."

Pays 6 cents/word, to $600 maximum, on acceptance for First Print and Electronic World Anthology Rights. No multiple or simultaneous submissions.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES AND WHEATLAND PRESS CONTACT INFO IN THE EXTENDED BODY

"We will accept submissions by lettermail only at our PO Box. Manuscripts received with a postmark date outside the designated reading period will be discarded unopened. E-mail submissions are welcome from overseas contributors. If you live in the United States and feel you must E-mail a submission to us, please query first."

4,000-10,000 words. No simultaneous or multiple submissions.

1) "No reprints. Not even if prior publication had limited or private distribution. If you feel you must submit a reprint, please query first. We' ll still say 'no,' but it might make you feel better. Reprint submissions
will be rejected unread."

2) "Please use normal manuscript headers. Manuscripts without full author identification and contact information on the first page of the story will be rejected unread. This does not mean use a cover sheet; this means put your name and address in the upper left hand corner and the word count in the upper right hand corner, on the same page as the title and the first paragraph of the story. It also helps to put 'by Your Name' under the title, just in case. As basic as this is, at least one story got rejected from the
final reading round of a prior volume because it had become separated from its cover letter, and we couldn't identify the author. Improperly identified manuscripts will be rejected unread."

3) "Do not include copyrighted material in your story. Manuscripts which feature quotations from popular music or published authors will be rejected unread. It is difficult and expensive to clear rights for this sort of material, and the potential liabilities to both author and publisher are enormous. This is fiction. Make up your own material."

4) "If you are submitting by letter mail from overseas with a SASE, please supply American stamps or a sufficient number of IRCs. Colorful as they are, foreign stamps are not accepted by the United States Postal Service. Enclosing cash for return postage is not helpful either because that is another transaction we have to deal with. We will also be happy to reply by E-mail to overseas subs, even those that come by letter mail."

5. "There is no need to summarize or sell your story in the cover letter. We're not buying cover letters; we're buying manuscripts. We're interested in knowing your credits, especially if you're a brand new writer. Personal data, 'I am a zeppelin pilot and professional mime, often simultaneously,' for example, are not relevant until after we buy the story."

[email protected]
http://www.wheatlandpress.com

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anything so I was safe but I was seething with anger at the sknniy punk frontin' on me like that so I stopped, turned, and stepped back toward Skinnyboy and said something like, Why you acting like it was a mistake? Skinnyboy hesitated a moment, surprised that I had stopped and came back. What? he asked, walking toward me, trying to look as if he wasn't going to do exactly what I knew he would do next. I stood still, with my right leg back to maitain my balance. You heard me, I said, as he was upon me. He swung a slow, clumsy punch and I just leaned away like Muhammad Ali would and I turned to the two big guys and asked, Could I have a one on one with him? They looked at each other a moment, not quite sure what to make of the situation and then calmly nodded yes, without speaking. I knew this would work because I was respecting their turf, and letting them know that I understood that they were in charge. I was younger, smaller, and no match for either of them, so they had nothing to lose. Their egos weren't challenged. This also left Skinnyboy all alone because now the big guys wanted to see him prove himself against the black guy his own age and size. After all, he'd started it but he probably thought I'd just run like a scared dog with my tail between my legs because I was outnumbered and on his turf. Skinnyboy hadn't counted on my counter move to nullify his boys or that I'd stop and fight him. Now he had me all to himself but it he was all mine! I turned to face Skinnyboy and he came in and swung a looping right hand that I easily avoided. I hit him with a quick jab. His head snapped back. He swung the same punch again and I did the same thing, snapping his head back again. Then he tried to kick me and I grabbed his foot and held it, causing him to hop up and down so he wouldn't fall. I kicked him in the ass and threw his foot down. I was making a fool of him but I knew not to push it too far because if I did the two big guys might have felt the need to put me in my place. Next time, maybe you'll think about who you try that with! I said to Skinnyboy, who stood there looking angry and stupid yet not willing to try and throw another blow. I looked to the bar door where one of the big guys had ran in to get somebody. Another big guy popped his head out the door to see what was going on. He glared at me a moment and I looked at him. I knew him and he recognized me. They called him big Red and he was one of the few white cats that walked freely in the tough black area of Stapleton. He was respected for whatever reason I didn't know, but he and I had a run-in before and I waited to see what he would do or if I would have to run. He just looked at me with what I think might have been a reluctant respect. I'd had a run-in with Big Red a month or so ago. There was this guy I would see in Stapleton from time to time that I didn't like because it seemed like he was trying to pass for white and I wasn't sure if he was Puerto Rican, Arab or what, but he had black blood for sure because his afro was about as thick as mine had ever been and his skin wasn't quite white. You could see that he wasn't all white, although he did speak like a white dude. Although we'd never spoken or had any run-in before I couldn't stand the guy. So one day I was getting a burger from one of the local fast-food joints and the wannabe white guy was in there too, along with Big Red. Me and the wannabe got into words and I sucker punched him a stiff jab and we began to rumble, knocking over tables and chairs. He was big but looked clumsy and I felt I could take him, although I had to move around alot so he couldn't pin me down. He charged me more ferociously than I'd expected so I made my way out the door in order to have more room, throwing punches as I backed out with him following and throwing punches back at me. He was enraged because of all the blows I'd landed upside his head and face and his nose was bleeding. He just couldn't land a clean shot on me. Soon, Big Red had seen enough and jumped in between us, pushing me away and saying, Get outta here! I said, Fuck you! What? he said, surprised. He stepped toward me and I backed up a little. He was older, bigger and clearly stronger so all I could offer was a, Fuck you, mutha fucka! as I got a little distance from him. He came quickly at me when I said that so I turned and ran off a little, picking up a discarded soda bottle from the ground and turning back. I could always count on finding an empty beer or soda bottle on the ground in New York to use as a weapon. Fuck you, mutha fucka! I said again, and threw the bottle at him. He ducked it and I picked up two more, while looking for more in case I needed them. He cursed back and charged at me again, threatening to get me. Suck my dick, you white bastard! I hollered and threw both bottles at him before speeding away angry that I had to run from a white boy. The fight with Skinnyboy was the first time me and Red had seen each other since that incident. We looked at each other, saying nothing. I waited just a moment for effect and turned and walked away. What happened a few days later was an amazingly perfect end to this affair. It was late at night and I was coming back to my projects after being on a stakeout for my next score. It was a stone silent night, about one or two o'clock in the morning. There wasn't a soul on the street but me and someone about a half block away, across the street from my projects walking toward where the whites lived. I squinted to see better who it could be and thought, No way! It was Skinny Boy walking by my projects to go home, I guessed. I started jogging his way and when I got close I yelled, Hey! Remember me? He turned around and looked surprised but kept going. What else could he do? You wanna fight me now, by yourself? It's just you and me!, I yelled, angry all over again as I thought about him trying to show off for his buddies. He kept walking, saying nothing so I ran at him and did a flying kick to his back and he went sprawling to the ground. He got up and kept walking, not even running. Come on! there's nobody here but you and me! I said angrily, moving in to fight him but he just kept walking. I leapt in close and punched him on the side of his head, yelling, Fight back you punk! He wouldn't fight back and I wondered why he didn't just run. A black woman opened a window from one of the buildings across from us and screamed to me, Leave that boy alone! I yelled back to her, You don't even know what happened. He tried to jump me in his neighborhood! She closed the window and I watched as Skinnyboy had gotten further up the block. You're a fuckin' punk! I yelled at him. I looked around the whole projects and couldn't believe it was so still and quiet. Maybe there had been some real bad violence or something. Like a big fight, or some gunfire. I walked home to my building feeling great that I'd shown Skinny Boy a thing or two again.