Following on from Hex's suggestion yesterday, I got a few responses, so I pulled this together. Below are 12 short excerpts (Mods, all are under 100 words, which is, as far as I could research fine under copyright law, and in a day or two I will come back and mark up who wrote each published or self-published work so that they're clearly attributed. If this isn't okay, please delete the thread. And blame Hex. 
)
What we're considering is around editorial ie does the extensive additional editorial input for published work make a difference to the read of that work.
So, there are 4 each of self, un and published work below, all recent sff. Can you tell the difference?
1.
Dog Valley was a fine place to raise your children. It was reckoned to be one of the safest – brigands and thieves gave it a wide berth, and there was always enough to pay the taxes when the king’s collectors came calling. Anyone who passed through was made welcome, and traders used to come here first, after the winter snows cleared. Prosperity and safety – all because of the big mountain dogs the villagers had tamed hundreds of years ago. Legend has it Redbeard Hinton wrestled a pack of ‘em, until they were all beat, and they followed him faithfully after that.
2.
After an afternoon of similar tantrums on my part, someone decided it was time to have cake. My mother seemed to be taking forever in the kitchen, and I went to check on her. I don’t know why I was the one getting the cake instead of the maid, who was far more maternal.
3.
Presently, a middle-aged man appeared on the screen. His hair and the goatee-style beard that he kept trimmed short were bright white, complementing his fair skin. Behind him, lavish paintings, with equally splendid frames, hung on cream coloured walls, whilst ornaments and a number of fine-looking vases, filled with fresh cut, colourful flowers sat on a table. The man’s surroundings were beautifully decorated, as could be expected of the family home of a wealthy, successful business man.
4.
He was a child of the horned moon. That much Corleu's great-gran told him, after, pipe between her last few teeth, she washed the mud out of his old man's hair and stood him between her knees to dry it.
"You have your granda's hair," she said.
"Tell him take it back." A thin, wiry child, brown as dirt otherwise, he stood tensely, still trembling with the indignity of being crowned with mud, tied up with Venn's granny's holey stockings and left in the sun to dry.
5.
Jimmy gave a soft beep, and his light-antennae projected an image onto the wall. John got up, ready to trace it like he had last night, follow the hills and the path along the top of the island that linked two lighthouses with his finger, and then ask Jimmy which part of the map matched where they were.
There were no hills, just a square, flat, featureless plain. He touched the wall, and it moved under his hand. A block raised from the centre of the projection, forming under him as he moved his hand along. What the hell –
6.
The ringing of the phone jerked me from my sleep. I clawed my eyes open and rolled off my bed. For some reason someone had moved the floor several feet lower than I had expected, and I fell and crashed with a thud.
Ow.
A blond head popped over the side of the bed, and a familiar male voice asked, "Are you okay down there?"
7
Zama calls. And it’s not even my birthday. Of all of us, Siphokazi is the only one cares enough to try to hold the family together, and naturally, that’s what Zama’s calling about.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” says my sister, her tone dripping accusation.
“No,” I say, “of course not.” but I have. Who has time to keep track of these things? And it’s morbid, dredging it up year after year. The past only holds you back. It’s like a drift net. The kind you get tangled in and drown.
8.
Troublesome hardly described it, but Thren wouldn’t let his son know that. His flight from the mansion was a blur in his memory. The toxin had numbed his arm and made his entire side sting with pain. His neck muscles had fired off at random, and one of his knees kept locking up during his run. He had felt like a cripple as he fled through the alleyways of Veldaren, but thankfully the moon was waning and the streets empty, so none had seen his pathetic stumbling.
9.
Loathsome toad of a self-centred, self-satisfied idiot.
She slammed out of the flat, the door juddering in its frame behind her.
“Wait! Ellie!”
“Get to – to Falkirk, Andy.” She stamped down the stairs, aware he was hanging over the banister at the top, watching her go. When she slammed the door to the street the huge clanging crash rang right through her body, wildly satisfying. And then she noticed the sleet.
10.
A young paramedic was in the helicopter and he administered sedation.
We crossed into Illyrian airspace in silence, but for the gradually subsiding sobs of Tojo as he settled into selep, and the thrub-thrub-thrub of the helicopter blades.
Claude glanced at me.
“The Reaction was bad in Japan,” he said, gruffly, by way of explanation. “Public beheadings, torture… you know. It reminds him.”
11.
Angry, Mojag pushed Gaeshi away from him. Then he rolled onto his back and cradled his knee. “You tried to kill me!” he hissed. “Traitor!”
“No! I--”
“You almost choked me to death,” Mojag spat. “I know you don’t like me, but killing me? That’s low! You… you…” He roared out in pain and frustration before starting to cough, his throat raw. He shoved at Gaeshi again when the other man came near and then snatched a waterskin out of his hand when he offered it.
“It’s this place,” Gaeshi said. “I can feel it infecting me…. We need to find Sorrel and get out of here.”
12.
I pushed the door open a little and looked out. The corridor was empty. We slipped in and out of shallow pools of light cast by the lamps. Nobody else walked by – most of the monks were in their cells by now.
We reached a corner of the cloister. A bitter breeze drifted between the pillars, carrying a scattering of snowflakes to the floor. Lamps burned along the outer, covered section of the octagon. In the centre, however, darkness reigned. As my eyesight adjusted, I could make out the shrubs which dotted the cloister.
) What we're considering is around editorial ie does the extensive additional editorial input for published work make a difference to the read of that work.
So, there are 4 each of self, un and published work below, all recent sff. Can you tell the difference?
1.
Dog Valley was a fine place to raise your children. It was reckoned to be one of the safest – brigands and thieves gave it a wide berth, and there was always enough to pay the taxes when the king’s collectors came calling. Anyone who passed through was made welcome, and traders used to come here first, after the winter snows cleared. Prosperity and safety – all because of the big mountain dogs the villagers had tamed hundreds of years ago. Legend has it Redbeard Hinton wrestled a pack of ‘em, until they were all beat, and they followed him faithfully after that.
2.
After an afternoon of similar tantrums on my part, someone decided it was time to have cake. My mother seemed to be taking forever in the kitchen, and I went to check on her. I don’t know why I was the one getting the cake instead of the maid, who was far more maternal.
3.
Presently, a middle-aged man appeared on the screen. His hair and the goatee-style beard that he kept trimmed short were bright white, complementing his fair skin. Behind him, lavish paintings, with equally splendid frames, hung on cream coloured walls, whilst ornaments and a number of fine-looking vases, filled with fresh cut, colourful flowers sat on a table. The man’s surroundings were beautifully decorated, as could be expected of the family home of a wealthy, successful business man.
4.
He was a child of the horned moon. That much Corleu's great-gran told him, after, pipe between her last few teeth, she washed the mud out of his old man's hair and stood him between her knees to dry it.
"You have your granda's hair," she said.
"Tell him take it back." A thin, wiry child, brown as dirt otherwise, he stood tensely, still trembling with the indignity of being crowned with mud, tied up with Venn's granny's holey stockings and left in the sun to dry.
5.
Jimmy gave a soft beep, and his light-antennae projected an image onto the wall. John got up, ready to trace it like he had last night, follow the hills and the path along the top of the island that linked two lighthouses with his finger, and then ask Jimmy which part of the map matched where they were.
There were no hills, just a square, flat, featureless plain. He touched the wall, and it moved under his hand. A block raised from the centre of the projection, forming under him as he moved his hand along. What the hell –
6.
The ringing of the phone jerked me from my sleep. I clawed my eyes open and rolled off my bed. For some reason someone had moved the floor several feet lower than I had expected, and I fell and crashed with a thud.
Ow.
A blond head popped over the side of the bed, and a familiar male voice asked, "Are you okay down there?"
7
Zama calls. And it’s not even my birthday. Of all of us, Siphokazi is the only one cares enough to try to hold the family together, and naturally, that’s what Zama’s calling about.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” says my sister, her tone dripping accusation.
“No,” I say, “of course not.” but I have. Who has time to keep track of these things? And it’s morbid, dredging it up year after year. The past only holds you back. It’s like a drift net. The kind you get tangled in and drown.
8.
Troublesome hardly described it, but Thren wouldn’t let his son know that. His flight from the mansion was a blur in his memory. The toxin had numbed his arm and made his entire side sting with pain. His neck muscles had fired off at random, and one of his knees kept locking up during his run. He had felt like a cripple as he fled through the alleyways of Veldaren, but thankfully the moon was waning and the streets empty, so none had seen his pathetic stumbling.
9.
Loathsome toad of a self-centred, self-satisfied idiot.
She slammed out of the flat, the door juddering in its frame behind her.
“Wait! Ellie!”
“Get to – to Falkirk, Andy.” She stamped down the stairs, aware he was hanging over the banister at the top, watching her go. When she slammed the door to the street the huge clanging crash rang right through her body, wildly satisfying. And then she noticed the sleet.
10.
A young paramedic was in the helicopter and he administered sedation.
We crossed into Illyrian airspace in silence, but for the gradually subsiding sobs of Tojo as he settled into selep, and the thrub-thrub-thrub of the helicopter blades.
Claude glanced at me.
“The Reaction was bad in Japan,” he said, gruffly, by way of explanation. “Public beheadings, torture… you know. It reminds him.”
11.
Angry, Mojag pushed Gaeshi away from him. Then he rolled onto his back and cradled his knee. “You tried to kill me!” he hissed. “Traitor!”
“No! I--”
“You almost choked me to death,” Mojag spat. “I know you don’t like me, but killing me? That’s low! You… you…” He roared out in pain and frustration before starting to cough, his throat raw. He shoved at Gaeshi again when the other man came near and then snatched a waterskin out of his hand when he offered it.
“It’s this place,” Gaeshi said. “I can feel it infecting me…. We need to find Sorrel and get out of here.”
12.
I pushed the door open a little and looked out. The corridor was empty. We slipped in and out of shallow pools of light cast by the lamps. Nobody else walked by – most of the monks were in their cells by now.
We reached a corner of the cloister. A bitter breeze drifted between the pillars, carrying a scattering of snowflakes to the floor. Lamps burned along the outer, covered section of the octagon. In the centre, however, darkness reigned. As my eyesight adjusted, I could make out the shrubs which dotted the cloister.
