Thoughts on Professional Courtesy

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about courtesy. Specifically, professional courtesy. Microscopically, the relative lack of professional courtesy running rampant in independent literary organizations of late. I don’t know whether this is actually a recent development or I’m just noticing it now because I (and a number of writers near and dear to my heart) have been on the receiving end of some bozo behavior.

Maybe you can tell me if any of the following scenarios sound familiar.

1.
Writer A queries the editors of Literary Journal X about the status of her submission, sent over a year before via an online submission manager where said submission has languished as “received.” Writer A receives no response. Over the ensuing months, writer A receives multiple marketing e-mails and calls for submissions from Literary Journal X, but still no response from the editors.

1. a.
Writer B queries the editors of Literary Journal X about the status of his submission, sent a long, long time back, via an online submission manager where said submission has languished as “received.” Writer B receives in response a form rejection e-mail sent through said online submission manager rather than an actual response from an editor.

1. b.
Writers C-ZZ wait patiently for responses regarding their submissions to Literary Journal Z. Postings to Literary Journal Z’s blog apologize for the longer-than-normal delay and assure submitters that responses will be forthcoming. Additional postings on the front page of Literary Journal Z’s submissions manager apologize for glitches. The responses finally arrive: Writer D receives 40 form rejection emails. Writer M receives 9.

2. Two of Writer Q’s poems are accepted by Literary Journal V and she is informed that they will appear in the following year’s issue, she will be paid $XX, and she will receive two contributor’s copies. The year comes and goes with no correspondence from Journal V. Writer Q finds out through the interweb that the issue of Journal V is out and politely queries the editors via e-mail regarding her copies and payment. **Crickets** A month later she receives her contributor’s copies in the mail with no check and no acknowledgement of her previous query. A month or so later, she e-mails the editors again. **More Crickets** A month or so after that, she visits Journal V’s website in an attempt to find some other means of contacting the editors and finds that the website has been revised and contact e-mail address is different. Again, she queries. **Lots of Freaking Crickets** Writer Q does some web sleuthing and finds contact information for the faculty advisor for the journal and contacts said advisor to no avail. It is only after Writer Q has e-mailed the head of the English Department at the University that hosts Journal V that she receives any word from the editors.

3. Writer P sends a submission (via e-mail, per Journal J’s guidelines) at 3:08 p.m. At 3:17 p.m., Writer P receives the following e-mail from Journal J’s editor:

Sorry Writer P--

Not this batch.

Pax,

Editor J
The next day, Editor J attempts to friend Writer P on FaceBook.


As isolated, rare occurrences, these experiences might make amusing anecdotes at literary gatherings. Unfortunately, the reality is that any similar anecdote is likely to be met with, “Oh, that’s nothing. Let me tell you what the punks from Journal/Press/Website L did to me…” Around about the 10th or 20th anecdote, a pattern emerges that is anything but amusing. Of course, we can come up with any number of explanations/justifications for this kind of behavior—“Yeah, well, writers are flaky.” “Aw, they’re probably just overworked grad students. Cut them a break.” “At least they put out a quality magazine.” But where does that leave us?

I’ve worked for literary magazines. I’ve written in this space about how not be an asshole when submitting to literary magazines. As an editor, I’ve dealt with all sorts of crazy writer bullshit. I understand all too well that working on a journal is a thankless job. I also understand that it’s a choice one makes. No one can be forced into litmag slavery. So yes, I am a little perplexed when the literary magazines I support, read, purchase, submit to, etc. don’t have the decency to communicate with me. I am disappointed when the editors of a journal assume that online submission technology absolves them of the responsibility to answer queries.

And yet, writers are asked to be grateful for any attention, any chance at publication. For the most part, I am. And in the grand scheme of my life, whether I hear back from a literary journal or not has very little bearing on my overall happiness. So why complain? I don’t really have an answer to that question. Just an observation: Courtesy is easily given. I think about the times when I was responsible for corresponding with contributors and, whether it was snail mail, e-mail, phone, or face-to-face interaction, the interaction didn’t really cost me that much.

So, I don’t know, maybe we could, as a community, come up with a set of guidelines for being a good editor. Any writer who has received the gold star treatment from a journal that has its shit together certainly must have some ideas on the matter. Thoughts?

Try Us Again (More on Lit Mag Rejection)

There is a sad thread in the Poets & Writers Speakeasy labeled “Encouraging" Rejections? I am naturally drawn to sadness so I like to read it. Maybe it's the quotation marks that get me. Or the question mark. One thing is for sure – sometimes it's hard to tell if a rejection is also encouragement to resubmit, or if the lit mag is Just Not That Into You.

For example, Crazyhorse:

We are sorry this particular manuscript (with emphasis on "this particular") was not selected for publication in Crazyhorse. We hope you will send us another soon, though.

Could they mean? Do they? But then…

We could not publish Crazyhorse without the fine writing we receive.

Meaning the editors didn’t notice anything especially fine about my writing in particular, they simply need “writing.”

C. Michael Curtis, long-standing fiction editor of The Atlantic Monthly, has a great essay How to Read Rejection. Among topics such as why-cutsey-cover-letters-brand-you-amateur, he discusses how editors must sacrifice kid gloves for the sake of clarity, because there’s deluded psychos out there. The Atlantic Monthly apparently had to stop typesetting their rejection letters in italics, because people read too much into it.

Curtis confirms that encouraging rejections are legit. Traditionally, these have manifested as a handwritten postscript. Now there’s this new trend, the encouraging rejection form letter. The Speakeasy Forum has determined AGNI sends these. Maybe this development has to do with the oft-discussed “MFA proliferation,” meaning there’s more work circulating that shows promise, but isn't quite seasoned. At Cutbank. we debated adding the "try us again" form letter to our repertoire. Having read for a lit mag I can vouch there is a huge difference between the "no way" and the "not bad" pile. Although it seems to me if you can’t be bothered to write a short note, then the work can’t have been that compelling.

Last week I received two encouraging rejections, one Xeroxed and one handwritten. My gut reaction to the form letter was that I would submit the same piece somewhere else, but not resubmit a different story to that lit mag. The handwritten, of course, will recieve another story stat.

Litmag Wisdom (?)

Having worked as Managing Editor and Assistant Managing Editor of The Bellingham Review and Cutbank, respectively, I have some opinions on what and what not to do when submitting to litmags. I should note that these opinions are largely informed by the graduate student experience of screening submissions and not the nonprofit, non-university-associated editorial experience. I should also note that I am a writer who sends out work, who receives rejections regularly, who understands the heartbreak, and who is near enough to broke. I have chosen to work for litmags during time as a grad student as a way of learning how they work. I highly recommend that other writers do the same if the opportunity presents itself.

As an editor-type, these are my pet peeves (in no particular order):

Clever cover letters. First: As a graduate TA with a second, part-time job, I only have so much time to devote to reading submissions. I don't want to wade through paragraphs of self-congratulatory schtick to get to the relevant information. What's more, the more one writes, the more chance there is of annoying the screener to the point of prejudicing him or her against one's work. Bottom line: Name, contact info, bio in under 50 words, and recent publications (the last two items being optional). In addition, I don't need a synopsis of your story, nor do I need a lengthy explanation of what your poems mean. If I'm doing my job correctly, I'll be able to figure those things out for myself.

Form cover letters. It may seem only fair that since many litmags send out form rejections, writers should be allowed to send out form cover letters, CVs, or page-long lists of publications. Not so, my friends. Not so.

Bitter Cover Letters. I don't really need to hear that you expect a "timely" response to your work. Nor do I need to hear your sob story about how you've repeatedly submitted and been rejected by our litmag. I don't need to hear about your terminal disease and how this may be your last chance to "place your children".

Postcards vs. SASEs. It's all about time. We have form rejection slips. When you send postcards instead of SASEs, you're asking us to find a pen and actually write a response to you. This is the part where I remind you that we're unpaid volunteers, reading and responding to work simply for the love of the game. As a screener, I want to spend the bulk of my time carefully reading submissions--not scribbling personal notes to writers who chose not to pay the extra 15 cents for envelope postage. In addition, I'm not keen on the "notification of receipt" postcards. We don't mention those in our submission guidelines, so it's safe to assume that they are not part of the deal.

Content. Far be it from me to say what writers should write about. I'm merely noting the content that seems most prevalent and least interesting based on what I've seen so far: parents in nursing homes, with Alzheimers, with terminal illnesses, etc.; pomegranates; cicadas; conversations in cars; pet death; average joe plans a murder or deals with its aftermath; professor-student sexual relations; life as a student; life as a teacher; redneck makes good; relationship didn't work out...bummer; travel to a foreign place opened my eyes; having a baby opened my eyes; brush with death opened my eyes; nature is good--I want to describe it in vague detail; etc. and so on.

What I'm getting at: "Write what you know" works to a point, but it's no substitute for complexity and vivid imagination.


Those are the big ones. Those are the ones I wish I'd known when I graduated with my handy-dandy creative writing degree 10 years ago. Before I sent my work to The New Yorker and Atlantic Monthly. Before I knew that litmags even existed.

One of the best things a professor ever did for me was to show me his file folder of rejections. Said professor was somewhat of a major player in his field and it never occurred to me that such a writer could ever be rejected by anyone, for any reason. Such was not the case. His advice: develop a thick skin. You are not your work. If one magazine doesn't want it, another one will.

I would add to this a simple tip: Make mistakes. Learn the ropes. Be your own best advocate and avoid the silly pitfalls as much as you can. Also, don't be a weirdy.