Mean
Enough is Enough: The Slushpile is Not the Enemy
First I read this and then I read this, and then as we know there is the Tin House thing and Brevity is considering a reading fee to help fund honorariums and, perhaps, dissuade inappropriate submissions, which is certainly their right and I do understand where they are coming from, and finally, I read this. I’m frustrated. I can’t speak for the big fancy magazines, but for the smaller magazines such as PANK, we live and die by the slushpile. With no slushpile we would have no magazine and frankly, it would take way more time and effort to solicit writers for twelve monthly issues and a 240 page annual than it does to read submissions. Save for a handful of writers, literally, a handful, we have published the magazine exclusively via work from the slushpile or as we simply call it, the submission queue. Let me go on record as stating that even on the most frustrating days, I love reading submissions. It is what I get to do to relax and step out of my “real” life. I actually feel fucking lucky to be able to co-edit a magazine. Even when I’m reading something terrible I think, “well this is just awesomely bad,” and I feel a little thrill. I literally feel a thrill. When I stop feeling that thrill, I will take a break.
The slushpile fatigue being lamented here and there and everywhere tires me. It bores me. Please, let’s just shut up about it already. If you don’t want to deal with the slushpile, don’t have open reading periods. It really is that simple. Listening to your dissatisfaction with having to deal with the bad writers and new writers and mediocre writers who dare to submit to your magazine that is willfully accepting unsolicited submissions is about as interesting as listening to someone talk about their diet. I don’t care what you had for breakfast.
It could be said, some days, that to edit is to complain. There are days when it feels like every last thing has been expressly designed to get on your editorial nerves. I get it. I complain. I love to complain. I have practically made a hobby out of complaining. I can own that. You don’t care what I had for breakfast either, but I’ll probably tell you. It was cherry youghurt, fruit on the bottom, Dannon, for the record. The slushpile, some days, is quite deserving of complaint because it is ever present. It will never go away. It will only get bigger and bigger, especially if you, as an editor, are doing your job well. The slushpile is a force and a presence that must be reckoned with. Some days, that reckoning feels like a battle. Sometimes that battle is bloody.
As long as there are human beings on the planet there will be writers who want to be published and many of those writers will not understand what it means to be a conscientious submitter so they will send you poorly formatted work and inappropriate work and crazy work and sad work, not sad in terms of content, but sad as in wilted and pathetic work so sad that you feel the need to hold a cold compress to your forehead. You need to accept the following: you will never dissuade these writers from submitting to your magazine. You can charge $2 or $20 or $40 or make them take pictures of themselves in a rainforest holding pencils in their noses and they will jump through those hoops to send you their writing because, god bless them, they don’t know any better. They will do whatever you ask them to so they can reach, in some small way, for some measure of greatness, so they can be seen, heard, read, understood, acknowledged. Trying to fight this need, this desperate desire, is like trying to fight the rise and fall of the sun. It cannot be done.
Writers will forget to include a cover letter or otherwise ignore your guidelines. They will purge their life story in a cover letter or they will try to be funny and fail or they will be unintentionally funny. They might write an angry response or fifteen to a rejection. They might blog about your rejection and include a “Fuck you,” (true story). They might ask you to elaborate on why you rejected their story or insinuate that perhaps you didn’t carefully read their magnum opus (true story). They will send you angry notes about your lack of monetary compensation. They will withdraw a submission five times because they are still working on it. They will revise and resubmit rejected work even though you didn’t ask them to. Writers will tell you about the 111 publications where their work has appeared or they’ll mention a bunch of tiny magazines you’ve never heard of or they’ll just say, “My work has appeared in more than one hundred journals internationally,” and leave it up to you to figure out which journals they are referring to (true story). They will tell you they know their vampire story is a great fit for your 20 year old magazine when you’ve only been publishing five years and in that time have never taken up the mighty vampire. They will send a 70,000 word manuscript or a five word poem or a one word poem (true story) or ten different stories or something about Roman gladiators in space (true story). You will have to read these submissions for free, oh poor baby, having to do something you love without being monetarily compensated for it (like nearly every other editor of a literary magazine throughout the history of literary magazines) and it will take more of your time than you ever imagined and some more time on top of that. Life is rough. Some of the writing will give you chills it is so bad. Some of the writing won’t be bad but it won’t be good. It will be unremarkable and that will probably piss you off more than anything because it’s nothing. It is entirely lacking in character or soul. It’s just there, bland and inconsequential.
Once in a while, or if you’re lucky (and I feel pretty lucky) your slushpile won’t be that bad at all. It will be filled with a surprising amount of great writing and your biggest problem will be that you can only accept a fraction of that writing so your tough decisions won’t be about how to deal with the incessant and overwhelming volume of submissions. No, the difficult decisions will be about which brilliant stories and poems and other kinds of writing you will be able to take and which brilliant pieces you will have to say no to and then you’ll think about those pieces over and over again and wonder if you made the right choice and then you’ll see that story in another magazine and you’ll think, goddamn, I let that get away.
Here’s the thing though–whatever your experience with the slushpile, it is not the enemy. Writers are not the enemy. They can be frustrating but we should not be fighting them or trying to keep them away like some kind of contagion. I think we all have to stop being so goddamned condescending about the slushpile and inexperienced writers and bad writers who won’t just stay away, leaving us surrounded only by the “good” writers who do as we say. Even with all its baggage, the slushpile is awesome. Writers think so highly of your publication that they send their words to you and nine times out of ten, they will let you publish that work for FREE. And of course, there will be the lazy writers who just pick your magazine out of Duotrope or the Writer’s Market and don’t know or don’t care about your magazine as much as they care about seeing their name in print but as most editors will admit, it’s pretty easy to spot those writers and dismiss them, so really, what are we bitching about?
This is not to say writers should be elevated on a pedestal. Don’t be ridiculous. This is not to diminish the very real challenges bigger magazines are facing with overwhelming submission queues. This is just to say that maybe we’re wasting too much energy bitching about submissions. Most of our magazines would not exist without the slushpile. Have we really forgotten this? If you don’t think the slushpile is awesome, you need a sabbatical. You need to walk away. If you cannot handle the slushpile, if you are burnt out, if your complaints outweigh the pleasures of reading unpublished work, you need to have a come to Jesus moment with yourself and come up with a better solution. The slushpile is what it is. This is what it will always be.
To summarize: the slushpile is not the enemy.
Tags: Submissions
As a regular contributor to the slushpile, I thoroughly enjoyed this.
“submission queue.”
i like that.
bravo, rgay.
I am totally writing a story about Roman gladiator vampires in space having a mid-life crisis while engaged to someone they don’t want to be engaged to and sending it to someone.
great post, roxane.
Seriously. Well said. I have enormous problems right now because there is SO MUCH good stuff in the Emprise Review slush pile and I can’t possibly publish it all and how do I decide? And you know what? I’ve never read anybody who writes as boringly as Stephanie Meyer in my slush pile. If the piece is bad, it’s at least spectacularly, bizarrely bad in a highly entertaining way. Fuck the crabby gatekeepers. They need to go open an auto dealership or something, because they clearly don’t want to be in the industry they’re in. I feel lucky every day that I get to do this.
Thanks for this. I hope you don’t mind me “outing” myself here, but a submission of mine was rejected by PANK (you) and I reevaluated it. I’ve been editing it and I see it getting better. I’m eternally grateful that you rejected it.
Someone once told me that if you aren’t getting rejected, you’re not submitting high enough.
-a warm, sincere thanks from the slushpile
“Someone once told me that if you aren’t getting rejected, you’re not submitting high enough.”
amen, kristin…
Send it to Artifice Magazine.
best part of my day when i come across a name i’ve never read or even heard of before and the story or poem just crushes me. one of the fiction writers was like, my advisor at brown, joanna howard, told me to send you this story. i’d just read ‘on the winding stair.’ it was a nice nod.
i even love reading the stories that you know are f-ing beautiful but don’t necessarily work for yr magazine. shit, you just read a great story. i had to reject a piece of flash from a well known flash fiction writer whose stories i even used in my own classroom. it sucked but i still loved reading her story.
it can be daunting at times, but in the best way.
Consider it already rejected :)
Roxane? I had cheerios with bananas for breakfast. That was half-hour ago. And for the record: I’m a slush-pile puppy.
I am a reject. Therefore, done.
You probably know how strongly I agree with this, and I’m very glad to see it said here.
We all need to acknowledge and remember that somewhere there is an editor hating us, thinking what poor, lazy writers we are, and that we do not care enough about their magazine, that we have not done our due diligence. And sometimes (often) they are right. I think we basically hate the slush the same reason we hate listening to writers go on too long at readings — it’s embarrassing how much we have in common with them.
Thanks for the link, by the way.
i just had pepsi and a handjob for dinner but we’re not talking dinner
Woof!
Ruff ruff.
I’m an editor for one lit mag and a slush pile reader for another. I love it, I respect the writers who send us their work,and I certaily appreciate it when it’s evident that they cared enough to follow the guidelines, etc. Not all writers do this, but that’s not really where my focus lies. Take the bad with the good., etc, etc, and read on, right? Thanks for this essay, Roxane, and for the excellent work you do at PANK.
“certainly”
see? we all fuck up sometimes.
At Fairy Tale Review we do not have something called a slush pile (not that we know of, if we understand what slush pile means). We have manuscripts, many thousands, amazingly fascinating manuscripts, sent to us with trust, each one different and special to read, and we appreciate all of the writers who send us their work to read. What we don’t publish means just as much to us in the whole constellation of things as what we do. As a journal staffed by writers, we understand how it all feels, sometimes, to be a poignant and breathtaking and difficult enterprise. We really don’t care at all whether a writer is so-called “known” or unknown (and we especially love an underdog). We find nearly all of our work from unsolicited submissions—and much of it from previously unpublished writers and/or writers without books. What would we do without all of these manuscripts, some which we publish, some which we can’t? We would be very lonely, and so would fairy tales. If we could publish so much more from our submissions, we absolutely would, which is why we are soon launching a special online edition in addition to our print issue each year.
I don’t believe you.
Should I stop writing? Would that make things easier for everyone? I would probably make more money in selling sperm, anyway.
I do, because I read FTR and it certainly rings true from the issues I’ve read. What do you think isn’t true?
no don’t
I’d buy your sperm, but only after eating dinner with Drew Kalbach. Need a Pepsi to wash it down.
As someone who has been rejected four times already I enjoyed this. I just hope my work wasn’t the really bland type she mentioned. Really good article.
To commenter “L,” it is all true and we’re sorry you imagine otherwise.
Dannon’s fruit on the bottom yogurt is delicious.
Also, this was a terrific post. Thank you.
I used to read for a larger magazine, and have done some editorial work on a smaller one. The work that came through unsolicited to the latter was, per capita, far superior to the former (the bigger magazines, of course, are getting great work that doesn’t come through the slush). My theory is that the $$ or $$$ by your name in The Writers Marketplace brings in a ton of bullshit that smaller magazines probably don’t see (I understand I can’t speak for ALL small magazines). A magazine like PANK takes a little more seeking out then a magazine like McSweeney’s, The Paris Review, or Tin House. The reality is, the more visibility your magazine has, and the more you pay, the more crappy manuscripts you’re going to see. The enthusiasm for the slush is admirable, but I can certainly see why it can be wearing as well.
This is all true. I know this as a FTR author.
1000% behind this, thank you
These are good points. The slush pile at a smaller magazine is much more manageable than a slush pile at a bigger magazine, in which it becomes quite literally impossible for the editors to read more than a few sentences of each story at most.
I agree in a sense, Brandon, with what you say. I have actually read slush for a big fancy magazine (and have read slush off and on for about eleven years now) so I do know what the slush at those magazines is like; I’m not being naive. I quite enjoyed slush reading back then too and I feel that it was one of the best educational experiences I’ve ever had. I could be the weirdo, though. Thats very possible.
One of the best educational experiences I’ve ever had too. Saved me a lot of time in terms of learning what kind of mistakes people are making over and over again. On the other hand, at some point, I had to stop. After awhile, though, I found that kind of reading exhausting. I couldn’t find time and energy to write, edit the pieces I actually wanted to work on for my own small journal, and read the kind of books I wanted and needed to be reading. Props to those who CAN do it all.
As a regular contributor to the slushpile, I thoroughly enjoyed this.
“submission queue.”
i like that.
bravo, rgay.
Janey, you don’t have to eat it. You can put it in your freezer and let it sit there forever.
(Really hoping people still don’t think I’m Molly Gaudry. This would not represent her very well.)
Super like. Mostly because you had something good to say and said it well, but also because it’s incredibly tiring when people get to do what you so desperately want to do and all they do is bitch about it.
I am totally writing a story about Roman gladiator vampires in space having a mid-life crisis while engaged to someone they don’t want to be engaged to and sending it to someone.
great post, roxane.
No one can do it all and like I said, I absolutely understand fatigue and burn out. I just think if you’re feeling those things, it is time, perhaps to step back and let someone with energy take over for a spell.
dude last week i was reading the slush pile and got three submissions from this writer i had never heard of, and they were so fucking good and i was so fucking blown away that i went door to door telling everyone i could find how awesome these things were and calling people up and reading them. i still get out of my mind excited just thinking about the pieces.
Seriously. Well said. I have enormous problems right now because there is SO MUCH good stuff in the Emprise Review slush pile and I can’t possibly publish it all and how do I decide? And you know what? I’ve never read anybody who writes as boringly as Stephanie Meyer in my slush pile. If the piece is bad, it’s at least spectacularly, bizarrely bad in a highly entertaining way. Fuck the crabby gatekeepers. They need to go open an auto dealership or something, because they clearly don’t want to be in the industry they’re in. I feel lucky every day that I get to do this.
[…] Stories I Asked For Are Terrible” by bcs on July 20, 2010 “The slushpile fatigue being lamented here and there and everywhere tires me. It bores me. Please, let’s just shut up about it already. If you don’t want to deal with the […]
Thanks for this. I hope you don’t mind me “outing” myself here, but a submission of mine was rejected by PANK (you) and I reevaluated it. I’ve been editing it and I see it getting better. I’m eternally grateful that you rejected it.
Someone once told me that if you aren’t getting rejected, you’re not submitting high enough.
-a warm, sincere thanks from the slushpile
“Someone once told me that if you aren’t getting rejected, you’re not submitting high enough.”
amen, kristin…
Send it to Artifice Magazine.
best part of my day when i come across a name i’ve never read or even heard of before and the story or poem just crushes me. one of the fiction writers was like, my advisor at brown, joanna howard, told me to send you this story. i’d just read ‘on the winding stair.’ it was a nice nod.
i even love reading the stories that you know are f-ing beautiful but don’t necessarily work for yr magazine. shit, you just read a great story. i had to reject a piece of flash from a well known flash fiction writer whose stories i even used in my own classroom. it sucked but i still loved reading her story.
it can be daunting at times, but in the best way.
whassup!
Consider it already rejected :)
Roxane? I had cheerios with bananas for breakfast. That was half-hour ago. And for the record: I’m a slush-pile puppy.
I am a reject. Therefore, done.
You probably know how strongly I agree with this, and I’m very glad to see it said here.
We all need to acknowledge and remember that somewhere there is an editor hating us, thinking what poor, lazy writers we are, and that we do not care enough about their magazine, that we have not done our due diligence. And sometimes (often) they are right. I think we basically hate the slush the same reason we hate listening to writers go on too long at readings — it’s embarrassing how much we have in common with them.
Thanks for the link, by the way.
i just had pepsi and a handjob for dinner but we’re not talking dinner
Woof!
Ruff ruff.
I’m an editor for one lit mag and a slush pile reader for another. I love it, I respect the writers who send us their work,and I certaily appreciate it when it’s evident that they cared enough to follow the guidelines, etc. Not all writers do this, but that’s not really where my focus lies. Take the bad with the good., etc, etc, and read on, right? Thanks for this essay, Roxane, and for the excellent work you do at PANK.
“certainly”
see? we all fuck up sometimes.
At Fairy Tale Review we do not have something called a slush pile (not that we know of, if we understand what slush pile means). We have manuscripts, many thousands, amazingly fascinating manuscripts, sent to us with trust, each one different and special to read, and we appreciate all of the writers who send us their work to read. What we don’t publish means just as much to us in the whole constellation of things as what we do. As a journal staffed by writers, we understand how it all feels, sometimes, to be a poignant and breathtaking and difficult enterprise. We really don’t care at all whether a writer is so-called “known” or unknown (and we especially love an underdog). We find nearly all of our work from unsolicited submissions—and much of it from previously unpublished writers and/or writers without books. What would we do without all of these manuscripts, some which we publish, some which we can’t? We would be very lonely, and so would fairy tales. If we could publish so much more from our submissions, we absolutely would, which is why we are soon launching a special online edition in addition to our print issue each year.
It’s been hugely educational for me as well, but the thing about big magazines is they (generally) have the staff to manage that stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if I read more slush between my tiny magazine and my better-known one than most of the higher-ups at Tin House.
I don’t believe you.
Mike, I absolutely agree. These huge magazines have the infrastructure, particularly those at universities with creative writing programs. I think Tin House has like 20 readers. Now, managing readers is a job in and of itself but what it comes down to, for me, is this: editing is a choice. It should not be a burden.
Are they tiny writers or do you have really big hands?
Should I stop writing? Would that make things easier for everyone? I would probably make more money in selling sperm, anyway.
Both.
I do, because I read FTR and it certainly rings true from the issues I’ve read. What do you think isn’t true?
hahaha, if i had sperm i’d sell it
no don’t
I’d buy your sperm, but only after eating dinner with Drew Kalbach. Need a Pepsi to wash it down.
As someone who has been rejected four times already I enjoyed this. I just hope my work wasn’t the really bland type she mentioned. Really good article.
To commenter “L,” it is all true and we’re sorry you imagine otherwise.
I’ve read slush for several journals. I’ve never understood the common complaint that submitters often send “inappropriate” work, or work that doesn’t fit the guidelines. In my experiences, such submissions are rare (often, they’re unique enough to tack to The Wall of Shame corkboard).
I also love these literary journals who state that they’re “open to all styles and forms” and then tell writers to only send after gauging if their work “fits.” But you say in your guidelines that you’re open to “all styles and forms.” You publish literary fiction. I’m sending you literary fiction. The hell am I supposed to do to gauge your definition of “fit”?
Read an issue?
Dannon’s fruit on the bottom yogurt is delicious.
Also, this was a terrific post. Thank you.
I used to read for a larger magazine, and have done some editorial work on a smaller one. The work that came through unsolicited to the latter was, per capita, far superior to the former (the bigger magazines, of course, are getting great work that doesn’t come through the slush). My theory is that the $$ or $$$ by your name in The Writers Marketplace brings in a ton of bullshit that smaller magazines probably don’t see (I understand I can’t speak for ALL small magazines). A magazine like PANK takes a little more seeking out then a magazine like McSweeney’s, The Paris Review, or Tin House. The reality is, the more visibility your magazine has, and the more you pay, the more crappy manuscripts you’re going to see. The enthusiasm for the slush is admirable, but I can certainly see why it can be wearing as well.
This is all true. I know this as a FTR author.
Oh god it’s like coming through the cloud cover after a shakey take-off. Roxane, we’ve been waiting and you have delivered.
1000% behind this, thank you
These are good points. The slush pile at a smaller magazine is much more manageable than a slush pile at a bigger magazine, in which it becomes quite literally impossible for the editors to read more than a few sentences of each story at most.
I agree in a sense, Brandon, with what you say. I have actually read slush for a big fancy magazine (and have read slush off and on for about eleven years now) so I do know what the slush at those magazines is like; I’m not being naive. I quite enjoyed slush reading back then too and I feel that it was one of the best educational experiences I’ve ever had. I could be the weirdo, though. Thats very possible.
One of the best educational experiences I’ve ever had too. Saved me a lot of time in terms of learning what kind of mistakes people are making over and over again. On the other hand, at some point, I had to stop. After awhile, though, I found that kind of reading exhausting. I couldn’t find time and energy to write, edit the pieces I actually wanted to work on for my own small journal, and read the kind of books I wanted and needed to be reading. Props to those who CAN do it all.
Janey, you don’t have to eat it. You can put it in your freezer and let it sit there forever.
(Really hoping people still don’t think I’m Molly Gaudry. This would not represent her very well.)
Super like. Mostly because you had something good to say and said it well, but also because it’s incredibly tiring when people get to do what you so desperately want to do and all they do is bitch about it.
No one can do it all and like I said, I absolutely understand fatigue and burn out. I just think if you’re feeling those things, it is time, perhaps to step back and let someone with energy take over for a spell.
dude last week i was reading the slush pile and got three submissions from this writer i had never heard of, and they were so fucking good and i was so fucking blown away that i went door to door telling everyone i could find how awesome these things were and calling people up and reading them. i still get out of my mind excited just thinking about the pieces.
whassup!
It’s been hugely educational for me as well, but the thing about big magazines is they (generally) have the staff to manage that stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if I read more slush between my tiny magazine and my better-known one than most of the higher-ups at Tin House.
A literary “magazine” is a form of habit-induced, mass hallucination. There are tens of *thousands* of these things, in meatspace and/or online and they don’t mean or contain what they did when Scotty F. earned his marvelous Lifestyle off them. It took decades for twinkle-eyed aspirants to finally realize they were never going to pay for a meal at a five-star bistro by doodling a satyr or a tit on a napkin ( a la Pablo)… how much longer will it take us to realize that magazines are *self-published* (by their publishers), too, and that if Scotty F. were 23 today he’d be working on promoting and/or monetizing his *own blog* instead of wasting his energy clamoring for acceptance in six or seven of the tens-of-thousands self-styled “magazines” that don’t pay and no longer signify.
I mean: plz. Srsly. The diff between getting some flash fict in “Unpainted Aardvark” or “The Nipple Is A City” and *not* getting it in is down to something as random as some writer/reader/editor/boyfriend/publisher’s personal taste. I mean, ask yourself: would you blow someone to get a poem in the summer issue of “Aneurysm”? Of course you wouldn’t!
Mike, I absolutely agree. These huge magazines have the infrastructure, particularly those at universities with creative writing programs. I think Tin House has like 20 readers. Now, managing readers is a job in and of itself but what it comes down to, for me, is this: editing is a choice. It should not be a burden.
Are they tiny writers or do you have really big hands?
Both.
hahaha, if i had sperm i’d sell it
To Roxane’s point about the larger mags and university sponsored ones, I’m not sure it even requires much of an infrastructure since most readers aren’t paid. I wonder if editors who feel overwhelmed (which btw sounds like a fucking Oprah hour) are open to rethinking how they approach submissions or if it’s some kind of masochistic badge of honor and secretly (or not so) it’s fun to bitch about slush? Bitching about work isn’t anything new. I agree with RG – if you’re that burnt-out, do something else for awhile. I’m guessng none of us are punching a timeclock with our ed gigs, right?
I should clarify that I’m referring to the actual Oprah show rather than an actual hour of fucking Oprah. Not that I’m discouraging any of you from trying it — I mean, sure, it’s great at first in a “I’m fucking fucking Oprah” kind of way, but honestly, the novelty wears off pretty quickly.
The Nth time I fucked Oprah was as fresh and exciting for me as the first. She is surprisingly (winningly) self-conscious and only ever demands that I respect the hair.
I’ve read slush for several journals. I’ve never understood the common complaint that submitters often send “inappropriate” work, or work that doesn’t fit the guidelines. In my experiences, such submissions are rare (often, they’re unique enough to tack to The Wall of Shame corkboard).
I also love these literary journals who state that they’re “open to all styles and forms” and then tell writers to only send after gauging if their work “fits.” But you say in your guidelines that you’re open to “all styles and forms.” You publish literary fiction. I’m sending you literary fiction. The hell am I supposed to do to gauge your definition of “fit”?
Read an issue?
One of the few but growing number of writer/editors who understands and loves/hates both sides of publishing. I applaud you. Your article on submissions was point on, and this on the slushpile is the same. Thank you!
Hi Gayle!
… Hillary…?
Oh god it’s like coming through the cloud cover after a shakey take-off. Roxane, we’ve been waiting and you have delivered.
Excellent post!
A literary “magazine” is a form of habit-induced, mass hallucination. There are tens of *thousands* of these things, in meatspace and/or online and they don’t mean or contain what they did when Scotty F. earned his marvelous Lifestyle off them. It took decades for twinkle-eyed aspirants to finally realize they were never going to pay for a meal at a five-star bistro by doodling a satyr or a tit on a napkin ( a la Pablo)… how much longer will it take us to realize that magazines are *self-published* (by their publishers), too, and that if Scotty F. were 23 today he’d be working on promoting and/or monetizing his *own blog* instead of wasting his energy clamoring for acceptance in six or seven of the tens-of-thousands self-styled “magazines” that don’t pay and no longer signify.
I mean: plz. Srsly. The diff between getting some flash fict in “Unpainted Aardvark” or “The Nipple Is A City” and *not* getting it in is down to something as random as some writer/reader/editor/boyfriend/publisher’s personal taste. I mean, ask yourself: would you blow someone to get a poem in the summer issue of “Aneurysm”? Of course you wouldn’t!
Love it. Encouraging read to start the day.
Great post, Roxane…
To Roxane’s point about the larger mags and university sponsored ones, I’m not sure it even requires much of an infrastructure since most readers aren’t paid. I wonder if editors who feel overwhelmed (which btw sounds like a fucking Oprah hour) are open to rethinking how they approach submissions or if it’s some kind of masochistic badge of honor and secretly (or not so) it’s fun to bitch about slush? Bitching about work isn’t anything new. I agree with RG – if you’re that burnt-out, do something else for awhile. I’m guessng none of us are punching a timeclock with our ed gigs, right?
Reading what my contemporaries write is life affirming. That said, I would love to have a slushy slushpile, but all I have is a website that takes submissions.
Anyone need a reader for their journal? here’s how to reach me best herocious [at] hotmail
Here here. Nothing can replace the great democracy of getting things in over the transom. At our little lit-mag, the slush pile is our reason for being. The thought of it keeps us happy during those long production months when the advertisers are few, the printer won’t return our phone calls and InDesign is on the fritz. Its how our “contributors” section has so many occasions to use that wonderful phrase “first published work”. In an artform where there are now actually “qualifications”, it’s all the more important to provide an alternate mode of entry into the ranks of the published, to keep the artistic status quo on its toes. Thank you for writing this. You are dead on.
I should clarify that I’m referring to the actual Oprah show rather than an actual hour of fucking Oprah. Not that I’m discouraging any of you from trying it — I mean, sure, it’s great at first in a “I’m fucking fucking Oprah” kind of way, but honestly, the novelty wears off pretty quickly.
The Nth time I fucked Oprah was as fresh and exciting for me as the first. She is surprisingly (winningly) self-conscious and only ever demands that I respect the hair.
[…] July 21, 2010 sengesong Leave a comment Go to comments Roxane Gay at HTMLGIANT on editors complaining about the slushpile – [Writers] will do whatever you ask them to so they can reach, in some small way, for some […]
Thanks for posting this.
I never understood this hatred of the slush pile. I’m the nonfiction editor at a university literary journal, and ever since I took on the job I’ve had the opposite problem: our slush pile always feels too small. I wish we had the problem of turning down quality work, or even the problem of unprofessional submissions. Although I was proud with the quality of our last issue (and we managed to double our submissions from the year before), the fact that I had to solicit so much of the work made it feel like a bit of a failure.
One of the few but growing number of writer/editors who understands and loves/hates both sides of publishing. I applaud you. Your article on submissions was point on, and this on the slushpile is the same. Thank you!
Hi Gayle!
… Hillary…?
your life is better than mine
lol
don’t sell your sperm, deposit it gently on the loving faces of a thousand blonde literature professors to prove your undying worship of the craft
“Read an issue that was probably put out by a staff no longer with the journal.”
FTFY.
Also, why would I want to write stories that are similar to other stories? Perhaps I’m too ambitious.
A lot of writers are happy with writing competent stories that are like other competent stories, and this crosses aesthetic lines. However, some writers actually value originality.
I agree. Unless a piece is obviously not what a given magazine gets off on (for instance, if you commit the GRAVE SIN of sending sci-fi to a litfic magazine), I think it’s the editors job to determine whether a piece “fits.” (I mean, good lord, editors want us to send only good work (the submission fees thing) and work that “fits”. . . isn’t the task of finding good work that fits their magazine kind of, um, their job?)
Maybe we should start attaching a note to our every submission that reads, “I have been reading X Magazine devotedly since well before 1976 and, after years and years of deep meditation, I have become utterly convinced that the following poem/story/photographed-turd is an exact fit for your incalculably extraordinary publication.”
you’re funny!
Thank you, Roxane for writing this. You rescued me from the slushpile and I’m forever grateful.
Excellent post!
Do you read PANK’s submissions online, though, Roxane? I get sick of reading stories online. I don’t have a laptop and I get sick of sitting in a chair and reading stuff on the screen. So sometimes I print stuff out and I take the pages to bed and I read them there, which I like to do. But this uses a lot of paper, which makes me feel guilty. Plus, my printer runs out of ink. So I get sick of sitting in a chair and reading stuff on the screen but I feel guilty (and cheap) about printing all of it out, which takes forever anyway. I wish I had a secretary who would print out all the submissions and hand the pages to me in bed and this secretary would take back the pages after I’ve read them and then he or she would turn the pages over and print new submissions on the other side so we wouldn’t use as much paper. In any case, sometimes I’m reading submissions online and then I get sick of sitting in the chair but I also don’t want to print all of them out, so I get paralyzed. I’m just sitting in the chair, staring at the screen for a long time, not reading but thinking, I wonder what’s in the fridge? At the magazine I read for, we don’t brag about our fast turnaround time.
Ellen, I do read them online but I’m one of the few people I think who doesn’t mind reading online. Sometimes, I make them into PDFs and read them on my iPad. I drink e-book Kool-Aid all day long. I couldn’t handle printing out submissions.
I’m glad you feel this way. Stand by for all my stories with writer protagonists.
Awesome. You know exactly how that will end so there won’t be any disappointment.
Who are aging white male professors at prestigious expensive universities. Who enjoy HIGHLY ILLICIT coitus with one of their more nubile students. Who expect the reader’s deep sympathy during all this.
YAY
Love it. Encouraging read to start the day.
Just read that story.
:)
Great post, Roxane…
Reading what my contemporaries write is life affirming. That said, I would love to have a slushy slushpile, but all I have is a website that takes submissions.
Anyone need a reader for their journal? here’s how to reach me best herocious [at] hotmail
Here here. Nothing can replace the great democracy of getting things in over the transom. At our little lit-mag, the slush pile is our reason for being. The thought of it keeps us happy during those long production months when the advertisers are few, the printer won’t return our phone calls and InDesign is on the fritz. Its how our “contributors” section has so many occasions to use that wonderful phrase “first published work”. In an artform where there are now actually “qualifications”, it’s all the more important to provide an alternate mode of entry into the ranks of the published, to keep the artistic status quo on its toes. Thank you for writing this. You are dead on.
Thanks for posting this.
I never understood this hatred of the slush pile. I’m the nonfiction editor at a university literary journal, and ever since I took on the job I’ve had the opposite problem: our slush pile always feels too small. I wish we had the problem of turning down quality work, or even the problem of unprofessional submissions. Although I was proud with the quality of our last issue (and we managed to double our submissions from the year before), the fact that I had to solicit so much of the work made it feel like a bit of a failure.
your life is better than mine
lol
don’t sell your sperm, deposit it gently on the loving faces of a thousand blonde literature professors to prove your undying worship of the craft
“Read an issue that was probably put out by a staff no longer with the journal.”
FTFY.
Also, why would I want to write stories that are similar to other stories? Perhaps I’m too ambitious.
A lot of writers are happy with writing competent stories that are like other competent stories, and this crosses aesthetic lines. However, some writers actually value originality.
[…] discovered Laura’s article in a post at HTML Giant, a relatively recent addition to our blog feeds, but yet another example of the kind of […]
I agree. Unless a piece is obviously not what a given magazine gets off on (for instance, if you commit the GRAVE SIN of sending sci-fi to a litfic magazine), I think it’s the editors job to determine whether a piece “fits.” (I mean, good lord, editors want us to send only good work (the submission fees thing) and work that “fits”. . . isn’t the task of finding good work that fits their magazine kind of, um, their job?)
Maybe we should start attaching a note to our every submission that reads, “I have been reading X Magazine devotedly since well before 1976 and, after years and years of deep meditation, I have become utterly convinced that the following poem/story/photographed-turd is an exact fit for your incalculably extraordinary publication.”
you’re funny!
I wonder if there’s a sort of resentment that can occur when a writer/editor reads slush. I used to read mass market slush for Penguin in my old life and what I figured out, after I became all jaded and crotchety, was that it wasn’t the writing or the authors that made me angry, but the fact that all this slush reading was taking away from my own writing time. So I quit and took a different life path to focus on my writing instead of the writing of others. And now I’m in the slush pile and I read the slush pile for a lit mag and I love it because I have time for both–they’re no longer mutually exclusive. I guess my point is that if there’s no longer any joy to slush reading, or if there’s anger and resentment, maybe it’s time to quit and reconfigure.
Thank you, Roxane for writing this. You rescued me from the slushpile and I’m forever grateful.
Do you read PANK’s submissions online, though, Roxane? I get sick of reading stories online. I don’t have a laptop and I get sick of sitting in a chair and reading stuff on the screen. So sometimes I print stuff out and I take the pages to bed and I read them there, which I like to do. But this uses a lot of paper, which makes me feel guilty. Plus, my printer runs out of ink. So I get sick of sitting in a chair and reading stuff on the screen but I feel guilty (and cheap) about printing all of it out, which takes forever anyway. I wish I had a secretary who would print out all the submissions and hand the pages to me in bed and this secretary would take back the pages after I’ve read them and then he or she would turn the pages over and print new submissions on the other side so we wouldn’t use as much paper. In any case, sometimes I’m reading submissions online and then I get sick of sitting in the chair but I also don’t want to print all of them out, so I get paralyzed. I’m just sitting in the chair, staring at the screen for a long time, not reading but thinking, I wonder what’s in the fridge? At the magazine I read for, we don’t brag about our fast turnaround time.
I very much appreciate this post because it reestablishes an important point: editors and submittors are not adversaries. A few months ago, I had a cordial exchange with an editor about some very pointed gate-keeping language in his journal guidelines. I still came away feeling as if those of us who slosh around in the slush pile are viewed in a sometimes adversarial if not condescending way. I said that while I respected the fact that he had a strong vision for the magazine, I wondered why he chose to lower the level of overall civility in an already uncivil environment. There are lots of folks out there who 1) don’t do their homework and 2) can’t follow instructions. Did he really expect his target would read all the way down the guideline page to the part where he told them to FUCK OFF? The hostility sounded like burn-out. He responded that it might come off as burnout but it was more railing against type of individual, one that he’d come across quite frequently in the small press lit world, that was more or less a pariah, not concerned with the art of storytelling or connecting to readers, but who just wanted to be published and didn’t care where. Thank you Roxanne for your sane, civil, humble, and humbling contribution to the discussion.
Ellen, I do read them online but I’m one of the few people I think who doesn’t mind reading online. Sometimes, I make them into PDFs and read them on my iPad. I drink e-book Kool-Aid all day long. I couldn’t handle printing out submissions.
Thank you for this. As someone who’s read through an immense number of slush submissions and who has also had many a story sitting in a slush pile, I have some very cynical moments when I think I know the answer to your question, “Why all the hate for the slush pile?” Might just be a simple function of power. When faced with an endless supply of submittors coming to you on bended knee asking you to publish their work, there’s a creepy temptation for the powerful (you, the editor) to scorn the powerless. Not humanity at its best. But, as you say, where would these mags be without the slush pile? Some of them, wouldn’t be very different, as they almost never pull anything out of that pile. I wish they’d just own that and not have open submissions. But as an editor of a small literary magazine, every submission that really shone made me feel like an ass for all the snark I’d heap on the bad submissions. I think it’s not a coincidence that that time coincided with a period when I was writing very little of my own.
I’m glad you feel this way. Stand by for all my stories with writer protagonists.
Awesome. You know exactly how that will end so there won’t be any disappointment.
Who are aging white male professors at prestigious expensive universities. Who enjoy HIGHLY ILLICIT coitus with one of their more nubile students. Who expect the reader’s deep sympathy during all this.
Ryan–exactly.
“The fit” stuff drives me insane. It makes no sense whatsoever. It’s not my job to figure out how my story will fit with a bunch of stories that YOU’RE going to select, stories that I haven’t even read.
And, again, this is totally different from some prisoner sending a hand scrawled sci-fi story to The Iowa Review.
YAY
Just read that story.
:)
I wonder if there’s a sort of resentment that can occur when a writer/editor reads slush. I used to read mass market slush for Penguin in my old life and what I figured out, after I became all jaded and crotchety, was that it wasn’t the writing or the authors that made me angry, but the fact that all this slush reading was taking away from my own writing time. So I quit and took a different life path to focus on my writing instead of the writing of others. And now I’m in the slush pile and I read the slush pile for a lit mag and I love it because I have time for both–they’re no longer mutually exclusive. I guess my point is that if there’s no longer any joy to slush reading, or if there’s anger and resentment, maybe it’s time to quit and reconfigure.
I very much appreciate this post because it reestablishes an important point: editors and submittors are not adversaries. A few months ago, I had a cordial exchange with an editor about some very pointed gate-keeping language in his journal guidelines. I still came away feeling as if those of us who slosh around in the slush pile are viewed in a sometimes adversarial if not condescending way. I said that while I respected the fact that he had a strong vision for the magazine, I wondered why he chose to lower the level of overall civility in an already uncivil environment. There are lots of folks out there who 1) don’t do their homework and 2) can’t follow instructions. Did he really expect his target would read all the way down the guideline page to the part where he told them to FUCK OFF? The hostility sounded like burn-out. He responded that it might come off as burnout but it was more railing against type of individual, one that he’d come across quite frequently in the small press lit world, that was more or less a pariah, not concerned with the art of storytelling or connecting to readers, but who just wanted to be published and didn’t care where. Thank you Roxanne for your sane, civil, humble, and humbling contribution to the discussion.
Thank you for this. As someone who’s read through an immense number of slush submissions and who has also had many a story sitting in a slush pile, I have some very cynical moments when I think I know the answer to your question, “Why all the hate for the slush pile?” Might just be a simple function of power. When faced with an endless supply of submittors coming to you on bended knee asking you to publish their work, there’s a creepy temptation for the powerful (you, the editor) to scorn the powerless. Not humanity at its best. But, as you say, where would these mags be without the slush pile? Some of them, wouldn’t be very different, as they almost never pull anything out of that pile. I wish they’d just own that and not have open submissions. But as an editor of a small literary magazine, every submission that really shone made me feel like an ass for all the snark I’d heap on the bad submissions. I think it’s not a coincidence that that time coincided with a period when I was writing very little of my own.
Ryan–exactly.
“The fit” stuff drives me insane. It makes no sense whatsoever. It’s not my job to figure out how my story will fit with a bunch of stories that YOU’RE going to select, stories that I haven’t even read.
And, again, this is totally different from some prisoner sending a hand scrawled sci-fi story to The Iowa Review.
Slush-pile puppy here too!
If you don’t think the slushpile is awesome, you need a sabbatical. You need to walk away. If you cannot handle the slushpile, if you are burnt out, if your complaints outweigh the pleasures of reading unpublished work, you need to have a come to Jesus moment with yourself and come up with a better solution. The slushpile is what it is. This is what it will always be.
Amen.
Slush-pile puppy here too!
If you don’t think the slushpile is awesome, you need a sabbatical. You need to walk away. If you cannot handle the slushpile, if you are burnt out, if your complaints outweigh the pleasures of reading unpublished work, you need to have a come to Jesus moment with yourself and come up with a better solution. The slushpile is what it is. This is what it will always be.
Amen.
That’s fantastic, Roxane!
I’ve been working with slush piles for eight years and, quite frankly, what this all boils down to is that some element of taste finalizes the decision to publish something. There is an alarming amount of bad writing out there, just like bad lawyers, priests, etc. There is also great writing going unacknowledged. Yet, and many people are to blame for this, I’ve received many antagonistic responses to rejecting people’s work and the truth was that they had NO IDEA what previous issues were like because they had not read them. The desire to and disappointment in not publishing is so prevalent that writers are often skipping over their own craft, if they even have it that is. Sure, one cannot read all the journals they want to submit to yet they should also be able to garner some element of an aesthetic to know if their attempt fits. More energy from editors is a must and more patience and readership from writers is a huge must.
“The desire to and disappointment in not publishing is so prevalent that writers are often skipping over their own craft, if they even have it that is.”
It’s not just the writers, apparently. Shouldn’t an “editor” be incapable of a sentence like that?
This is my one word poem I call it ‘Ode to Roxane Gay’
Rad.
(true story)
That’s fantastic, Roxane!
“Some of them, wouldn’t be very different, as they almost never pull anything out of that pile. I wish they’d just own that and not have open submissions.”
Ahem, Zoetrope…
I think for newer writers the bombardment thing is forgivable in a way. You don’t know much yet about how things work and you just want someone to publish you work. For my first six months of submitting, I was guilty of this, but then I started to catch on. I’d read the Best American Short Stories collections, O. Henry and when I liked a particular story, I’d go to that magazine and subscribe. Also discovering New Pages’ and The Review Review’s reviews of journals helps. If you can’t get your hands on a copy, you can at least read descriptions of what the stories in the journals are like. When I started to do this, I not only had more luck with acceptances, but didn’t feel quite as embarrassed at rejection time when I realized I was crazy for thinking Story A fit magazine X in the first place. Still, I’m sure there are some times when I think, hey this would work there, and the editor is probably thinking, Why the hell did you send this to us? But at least I feel like I know what I’m doing now. If you’re not a new writer and you’re still using the bombardment technique, you should kind of be ashamed of yourself.
I’ve been working with slush piles for eight years and, quite frankly, what this all boils down to is that some element of taste finalizes the decision to publish something. There is an alarming amount of bad writing out there, just like bad lawyers, priests, etc. There is also great writing going unacknowledged. Yet, and many people are to blame for this, I’ve received many antagonistic responses to rejecting people’s work and the truth was that they had NO IDEA what previous issues were like because they had not read them. The desire to and disappointment in not publishing is so prevalent that writers are often skipping over their own craft, if they even have it that is. Sure, one cannot read all the journals they want to submit to yet they should also be able to garner some element of an aesthetic to know if their attempt fits. More energy from editors is a must and more patience and readership from writers is a huge must.
“The desire to and disappointment in not publishing is so prevalent that writers are often skipping over their own craft, if they even have it that is.”
It’s not just the writers, apparently. Shouldn’t an “editor” be incapable of a sentence like that?
This is my one word poem I call it ‘Ode to Roxane Gay’
Rad.
(true story)
“Some of them, wouldn’t be very different, as they almost never pull anything out of that pile. I wish they’d just own that and not have open submissions.”
Ahem, Zoetrope…
I think for newer writers the bombardment thing is forgivable in a way. You don’t know much yet about how things work and you just want someone to publish you work. For my first six months of submitting, I was guilty of this, but then I started to catch on. I’d read the Best American Short Stories collections, O. Henry and when I liked a particular story, I’d go to that magazine and subscribe. Also discovering New Pages’ and The Review Review’s reviews of journals helps. If you can’t get your hands on a copy, you can at least read descriptions of what the stories in the journals are like. When I started to do this, I not only had more luck with acceptances, but didn’t feel quite as embarrassed at rejection time when I realized I was crazy for thinking Story A fit magazine X in the first place. Still, I’m sure there are some times when I think, hey this would work there, and the editor is probably thinking, Why the hell did you send this to us? But at least I feel like I know what I’m doing now. If you’re not a new writer and you’re still using the bombardment technique, you should kind of be ashamed of yourself.
I’m so glad to hear from an editor who does not see an inherent adversarial relationship here.
I appreciate it when an editor takes time to provide feedback when rejecting my work. I hold those editors and their journals in high regard as it indicates to me an appreciation for their submitters and for the editorial process.
Just as easily as an editor can spot a writer solely in search of a publication credit, most sincere writers have a sense for journals/editors who value their effort whether they publish their work or not. Most writers I know love to have their work showcased in journals that feature talented writers and attract a reader that will enjoy and appreciate their work.
I can blog and self publish my work until the cows come home but there is something about validation and being surrounded by strong work selected by others that is intoxicating for me.
Great article. Hats off to the fiction editors, who do a lot of work for the love of it.
As a writer, I’m nosey. I want to see the really bad stories. Who wrote them? I’d love to spend a day in a slush pile, I bet it would be a real education.
I’m so glad to hear from an editor who does not see an inherent adversarial relationship here.
I appreciate it when an editor takes time to provide feedback when rejecting my work. I hold those editors and their journals in high regard as it indicates to me an appreciation for their submitters and for the editorial process.
Just as easily as an editor can spot a writer solely in search of a publication credit, most sincere writers have a sense for journals/editors who value their effort whether they publish their work or not. Most writers I know love to have their work showcased in journals that feature talented writers and attract a reader that will enjoy and appreciate their work.
I can blog and self publish my work until the cows come home but there is something about validation and being surrounded by strong work selected by others that is intoxicating for me.
Great article. Hats off to the fiction editors, who do a lot of work for the love of it.
As a writer, I’m nosey. I want to see the really bad stories. Who wrote them? I’d love to spend a day in a slush pile, I bet it would be a real education.
I have to say that every word of this is simple Truth.
Everyone gets burnt out – get more staff, take a break. But if you come to the point where you never feel honored, and maybe even a little frightened, that these people are trusting you with the contents of their heads and their hearts, sculpted with their life’s experiences and highest hopes, then get the hell out of the business.
May I interest you in a back copy of “The Nipple Is A City”?
I have to say that every word of this is simple Truth.
Everyone gets burnt out – get more staff, take a break. But if you come to the point where you never feel honored, and maybe even a little frightened, that these people are trusting you with the contents of their heads and their hearts, sculpted with their life’s experiences and highest hopes, then get the hell out of the business.
May I interest you in a back copy of “The Nipple Is A City”?
[…] near-miss category at SmokeLong not so very long ago, and it’s acceptance is a testament to editors who don’t hate the slush pile and editors who take the time to correspond with writers when it feels right. Tara Laskowski […]
Great article! It’s nice to hear some enthusiasm for the slush pile.
When will lit mags make the connection between these slush pile contributors (even the awful ones) and their subscribers? I have never walked into the home of a non-writer friend and seen a copy of Tin House or the Paris Review. Writers, emerging writers, aspiring writers are the ones who help these magazines stay a float.
So it’s frustrating to receive a small slice of paper that’s been xeroxed for generations saying that your piece as been rejected. Then, the following week you receive a glossy fold-out brochure to subscribe to said mag. Would it be so hard to do a mail merge and send something on letterhead?
One of the few lit mags I subscribe to is The Sun. Twenty years ago, Sy sent me a handwritten rejection that I still have. Lovely.
Great article! It’s nice to hear some enthusiasm for the slush pile.
When will lit mags make the connection between these slush pile contributors (even the awful ones) and their subscribers? I have never walked into the home of a non-writer friend and seen a copy of Tin House or the Paris Review. Writers, emerging writers, aspiring writers are the ones who help these magazines stay a float.
So it’s frustrating to receive a small slice of paper that’s been xeroxed for generations saying that your piece as been rejected. Then, the following week you receive a glossy fold-out brochure to subscribe to said mag. Would it be so hard to do a mail merge and send something on letterhead?
One of the few lit mags I subscribe to is The Sun. Twenty years ago, Sy sent me a handwritten rejection that I still have. Lovely.
Roxane, I love this post, and its replies. Very funny image at the top, too.
Roxane, I love this post, and its replies. Very funny image at the top, too.
I enjoyed this, Roxane. People who are only passionate about flawless, mass-approved writing should stick with becoming avid readers, not editors. I’m an editor because I’m addicted to submissions, both the gems and their less-lustrous cousins. Thanks for your reminders and thoughts!
Side note: your post has made me extra glad that A cappella Zoo’s reading periods are only two months out of the year. I know some submitters get frustrated with us playing so hard to get, but to their advantage, clearing the submission queue dry every six months puts us through such severe slush-withdrawals right about the time we’re preparing to reopen for a new reading period that we subsequently devour each submission as thoroughly as possible. I’m feeling it now. November 1 approaches and I’m ready for the plunge.
Cheers,
Colin