Converse College

I've lost the will to live, which means I can't bring myself to black out the information on all these contest notifications. So, instead, I'd just like to post as is and congratulate all the winners.

Hostile Much?

Concerning the post entitled Urban Legend?, editor, rejecting said...

"We wouldn't treat writers like monkeys if you didn't act like monkeys. No means no. A rejection doesn't mean "try again later" or "revise and resubmit" or "we're just not a good fit", it means you're not good enough. When you get a rejection, suck it up and try someone else, keep trying until you find someone with low enough standards to take you on, but for the love of god don't keep pestering someone who's already had to wade through your dreck once...that's just cruel."

Yowzer. Touched a nerve. Plus, here's a question. If we suck so bad, why write a letter that implies something else and then expect us to get your secret "you suck" code? I think a simple, You are not good enough for us, but good luck would be refeshing and at the very least honest.
What do writers think? Would you rather be treated like a monkey or be told the truth?

Wylie Coyote

The Wylie Agency: What was I thinking? Even the stationery is cold. The latest breaking news on this front is that Wylie takes on a new writer. She's dead. Maybe that's the trick.

Urban Legend?

I once knew someone who worked briefly in a literary agency and told a story about one of the crazy agents who insisted on rejecting people from the slush pile using a fake name based on a famous movie character.

This diabolical scheme allowed that if the rejected writers ever tried to make contact by writing a letter, or sending another manuscript, the whole agency would know because the writer's letter would be addressed to Norma Desmond or Holly Golightly, or who knows, even Marge Gunderson.

And you thought they didn't treat us like monkeys.

Hemingway Rejection

Author and granddaughter of "Papa" himself, Lorian Hemingway runs a pretty nice little short story competition every year. I find her rejection letters to be painfully nice and strangely comforting. She writes: "It is difficult to express how much your stroies mean to me. I know from my own experience what a risk it is to send a story out to someone you have never met, and to trust that person with the heart of your writing. Knowing the trust you have put in me brings a certain sense of sanctity to the reading of your stories, and I emerge from it touched by a new perspective on the human experience."

Glutton for Punishment?

On July 27, 2007, at 9:23 PM, Editor, Advising said as a comment on this blog...

"....I got mad this week, and I knew exactly where to come to vent. I am posting this for you, WR, both because I think you need to hear it and because I trust that you will repost it so that everyone can partake in some intelligent discussion based on what I say.

Do you want to know why I got mad this week? Because the submission piles on my desk have become so completely out of control that I am being buried alive. I'm not sure if you understand exactly how much editors and agents actually have to read on a day to day basis. You know how much I took home to read this weekend? Almost 900 pages. And my desk looks like a small bomb went off. Last weekend, a large part of the English-speaking world (and probably other countries too) locked themselves away to read 700-something pages of Harry Potter. I lock myself away MOST weekends to read the same amount (or more) of material. Some of it is good, most of it is sheer CRAP!I barely read real books anymore. I don't have time. Most of my free time is spent reading submissions, or the books that is publishing. When I do make time to read an already-published book, I am usually reading a comparison title for a book I am editing or hope to edit. I pray for the moments when I have time to read something that has nothing to do with work.And yet, I love my job. I really do. And I do what I do because I wouldn't have it any other way. But before you post your next rejection letter, I want you to think long and hard about the other side of things. Rejections aren't personal. They are business. They don't always mean you're not good enough (although sometimes they do) and if you always take your rejections that way, it is going to turn you into a very bitter writer (if it hasn't already).

The next time you post a rejection letter, remember what we editors and agents go through. Because it's not always pleasant for us either, and we're sorry we can't always send the most perfect rejection letter, but we have neither the time nor the energy to stroke everyone's ego equally. I've begun a process where I am going to go through everything on my desk and if it is good or has merit in some way, put it aside for more reading but if it is not good or won't work for us, I am rejecting very quickly. No more pleasant letters, no more worrying about encouraging things to say to the authors. Because apparently you and your ilk don't appreciate them anyway and I am inundated.

You make me angry, WR. Not because I don't understand what you are trying to do, but because I don't agree with it. You have a severely limited view of what goes on in the publishing industry and you are taking your bitterness and anger out on the people who are actually nice enough to get back to you in some way. You're lucky -- some days I just want to take half of my pile and throw it in the garbage. But I wouldn't do that. I'd rather send a quickly written rejection letter with some reasons why it didn't work for me than leave the person hanging for a response that will never come.

Be glad you receive rejection letters -- it's the sign that you are a true writer in this businessand the feedback you are receiving is like free advice from the professionals at the heart of the industry. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to start reading a pile that feels like the Bible and Merriam-Webster combined. But I'll be eagerly checking back to see when and if a heated discussion begins."

Yowzer. Where to start? Have at it, bloggers.

Rejection Pin Up

This Story rejection from long ago was posted on my bulletin board for years. The handwritten note says: "Thank you for letting us consider your work--and thank you to [name of a writer friend] for pointing you in STORY'S direction. I found much to admire in [name of story] in particular; we're sorry to have to disappoint you on these." I'm not sure why I thought it pin-up worthy; maybe because it made me feel like the literary world is a small and friendly place. Or maybe because in the intervening years, Story sadly ceased to exist. You can see the thumb tack marks in the corner of the original.

Literati Roll

If we consider that in losing a fiction contest, the appointed judge is actually making an indirect rejection, then I have been rejected by the following luminaries:

Mary Gaitskill
Aimee Bender
Andrea Barrett
Yiyun Li
Carole Maso
Jo Ann Beard
Stuart Dybek
Pam Houston
Martha Cooley
Stacey D'Erasmo
Ann Pancake
Nell Freudenberger
Elizabeth McCracken

Among others.

I'd love to know how the whole contest judging thing works. Like, how many stories do they receive to make their selection? Do they ever regret their decisions? Do they ever recognize stories they've read in other contests? Do they ever stumble across the published books of writers whom they had decided weren't good enough?

Maybe someone will comment and fill us in.

Classic Coke, Revised

A reader sent this one in, and it's just such a rite of rejection passage that I decided to post it, though I've had New Yorker rejections on this blog before. The example above has become the standard form letter, though there is one older version that used to praise the "evident merit" of the submission. I guess upon revision the editors decided to remove such "effusiveness" in order to keep writers from feeling encouraged to send in more of their crappy stories.

Let's take a moment of silence together to admire the beauty of this classic: such sleek lines, such stature, such dashed hopes. Ahh! That tastes good.

Even in Indiana

Here's another one. When Indiana Review tells you who won the fiction contest (not you), there's a little tiny tear off at the bottom in case by some small, small chance you are the rejected loser who wants to subscribe!

Shenandoah Hustle?

Well, not to put to fine a point on it, but looky at what I found in my treasure trove today. A rejection from Shenandoah (which I had understood to be NOT a crappy rag, but what do I know). It says: "We thrive on unsolicited manuscripts, and 90% of what we publish comes from this always surprising pool of work. We are pleased that you are willing to share your perceptions and carefully wroght sentences with us." Somehow it's not comforting that they get 90% of published work from the slush pile--BUT NOT MY SUBMISSION. Anyhoo, in the same envelope, as cursed by commenters on this blog, is a subscription form conveniently filled out with my name and address. I could even have charged it on my Master Card. But, as you may have guessed, I did no such thing.

Clue: fishing for subscribers from the rejected pile is not likely to produce successful outcomes.

Rejection Poem

Here's this dude's gut-wrencher, which actually quotes from a rejection letter in a poem, while he poetically bespeaks indigestible shit. Hmm? Literary rejection is a heavy topic, methinks.

The rejection in the poem says the editors are looking for poetry that: "Aim[s] towards capturing a certain essence that paints a picture of divine beauty that cannot be reached within any other art form; something to immerse the reader into a welcomed world of arresting images that jerk the eyes onto the page and leaves the reels of the mind turning long after the poem is finished." Um, come again?

Rejection YouTube Style

A reader sent in this video take on literary rejections as posted on YouTube.

Crazy-Lady Font

I love that ME Parker writes a little note at the top of the rejection to divulge your novel's standing, even though you didn't win the Dana Award. This particular year my novel was in the top 15%, the following year it was top 5%. But the mish-mosh of fonts gave me a headache and made me think of a houseful of cats, which was disturbing. So I stopped applying.

Now He Tells Me

On the topic of entering fiction contests, one commenter (Cliff Burns) says this: "Never, EVER enter contests that charge an entry fee. Why subsidize their lousy rag with your hard- earned money? One press in Vermont recently tried to charge for a $35 "reading" fee before they would consider a poetry manuscript. I wrote to the publisher telling them that in the 20+ years I've been a professional writer, it's always been my experience that the author was paid by the editor/publisher, NOT vice versa. One final pet peeve: when a magazine turns down a story/submission with a form note and then has the GALL to include information urging you to subscribe to their crappy little magazine. What a bloody laugh... " While I think of the $10/15 entrance fee more as supporting the arts, this advice does come a little late, Cliff. I've only sent stories to a million contests at small literary journals (you may call them crappy rags, if you like)--and once in awhile I have even won and taken home the booty.

Bloggers: What do you have to say on the topic? Are fiction contests just a rip off, or a way to finance alternative literary voices?