“Nothing for me.”

Thank you for sending us “—————————.” As writers, we understand how much work goes into creating and submitting your pieces. Unfortunately, this work does not fit in with the current issue on which we are working. We appreciate you taking the time to send to us, and we do hope that you’ll try us again.

It’s a business, that’s all. Pursuing publication in literary magazines takes a seasoned callus, a quick snicker for the form rejection concluding all correspondence with various selecting committees (editors…no—unless editing equals arranging, as a florist assembles disparate flowers in a slender vase). Peremptory form rejections enforce, as a common factor, power over. The imbalance always favors the selectors, never the writer. I’m not inclined to submit—I offer.

“As writers…” So they admire the sustained effort, long hours immersed in solitude, dead ends and sacrifice. Then why the dismissive form rejection? When I invest my work with hours, days, weeks, months, a year or more—and for an essay well short of a thousand words…the return is a pre-conceived, timid template with minimal investment from the respondent. And yet—I’m required to craft a witty cover letter, outlining personality and endeavor. I’m required to notify them immediately should I need to withdraw my work. I’m required, I’m required.

“As writers…” The implication: they’re better qualified, especially attuned to style and nuance, and more sensitive to subtlety and complexity than, say, a common reader. The correlation is hardly absolute. Flashback: the fine crop of graduate students commenting on my work lacked refined reading skills and sharp judgment, fondly rejecting outright anything that “did nothing for me.” They were prime for teaching, with swift recollection of names, dates, titles, first lines. Perfect for appeasing little inquiries.

I ask fair reading. I’ve stumped for that before. For those positioning themselves “as writers,” why no acknowledgment of mechanism or craft, which my work necessarily employs? Ah, I outpace myself. First they must know the devices.

“As writers…” Apparently in their vast reading this selection committee failed to register the lean etymology of the verb send. Heavily transitive, it has little force minus a direct object. Intransitive, send has scant leeway in its employment: e.g., “send out for pizza,” “send for an updated catalog.” Someone who can’t construct a simple sentence will grasp my writing? It’s a losing prospect. How easy to misread draught for drought… 

Abandon all hope, ye who submit here. All hope of adequate response, timely decision, engaged reading, professional conduct. No offense—I began writing years before many of these readers ever took a breath outside the womb. I eagerly submit to masterful writing. I’d much rather converse with Balzac, Dickinson, Defoe, Austen, Beckett, Shakespeare et al.

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