Behind the Scenes
I’ll Be There For You, Just Not in the Submission Queue
In a community as small as what can be loosely termed the independent publishing community, the lines are easily blurred. With blogs and social networking and sites such as this one, it’s easy for writers and editors to become familiar and sometimes friends. There are days when it feels like every writer is an editor and every editor is a writer, and we’re all submitting work to each other in a deeply incestuous whirlwind of writing. The Internet has also made the word friend interesting. I’ve written on this subject before. I correspond with lots of people. I have many acquaintances and writers/editors with whom I get on well, but the people I consider friends have my phone number and could call me at 7 am and that’s not many. With few exceptions, we’ve spent time together, in person. We know things about each other that we wouldn’t share in 140 characters or less.
A lot of editors write about finding rejection difficult. While I don’t cackle gleefully while sending rejections, I don’t have a problem with doing it. I don’t find it troubling. Sending rejections is inevitable and necessary. It is part of the process for putting together a magazine. Whether I know you or not, whether we are friends, acquaintances, or strangers, I am looking for great writing. If you don’t send me great writing, or if for whatever reason your writing isn’t a great fit, I will reject you and sleep soundly. If we’re friends or acquaintances, I will send you a really nice note. I don’t know if friends expect that friendship translates into an automatic acceptance but I hope not.
As a writer, I am regularly rejected by friends and acquaintances and even though rejection always stings, I would rather be rejected than have my work grudgingly accepted solely on the basis of a personal connection. Nepotism exists. I have benefited from nepotism a time or two. I’ve extended nepotism to friends a few times, in some small way, as I have nothing to really offer by way of nepotism. I don’t even believe that nepotism is always a bad thing but as an editor, there is a line–the magazine goes before anything else. I don’t think reading blind is a necessity for selecting work ethically and without bias but the reality is that unless I’m looking directly at the list of submissions online, I often have no idea who has written what. The CLMP submission manager assigns each submission file a sequential number. I download and save these files in a folder on my laptop. Unless the writer has put their name on the submission, I’m reading blind. After I read the submission, I’ll go look to see who has written it. It’s quite surprising how few writers put their names on their submissions.
I get an e-mail every time we receive a submission, so if I see the name of someone I know and I have the time, I’ll certainly jump ahead in the queue because I’m excited to see what they’ve sent. In those instances, as I read, I know who the writer is. I can’t guarantee acceptance but I’m happy to provide a little near instant gratification. When I read a submission from someone I know, I want to love that submission. When I don’t love that submission, I am disappointed but I get over it. Sometimes, someone I know submits what is clearly not their best work and I find that irritating and I wonder if they simply expect that a personal connection will elevate the mediocrity. Sometimes, a big name will send their dregs and expect that name will elevate the mediocrity. It won’t. I would like to think we’re all mature enough to handle being rejected by the people we know. I am all too aware that sometimes, we’re not. It is a fine balance trying to negotiate who we know and what we do and what we feel is right and I am not graceful, but I try. I think most editors try.
I started thinking about all of this again because Tara Laskowski, a great writer and one of the new Senior Editors of Smokelong Quarterly, e-mailed me about submissions and friends and making difficult choices. She had this to say:
When I started reading submissions for SmokeLong Quarterly earlier this year, we had a submission center that made it very easy to read blind. I didn’t actually realize how much I liked this format, and relied on it, until we switched over to Submishmash a few months ago.
Don’t get me wrong—I love Submishmash. The options and features there are really great, and we’ve been able to streamline our process in many ways. But, as of now (hint, hint, Michael FitzGerald) there is no way to read submissions without also seeing the author’s name.
So now our staff is faced with this dilemma: how can we make sure to read objectively when we recognize names, and in some cases are acquaintances and even friends with people who send us stories?
This is by no means a new problem. Editors have been dealing with this issue for years. But even though it’s not a new problem, it’s probably worth revisiting every once in awhile, worth thinking about and being aware of.
With social media sites like Facebook and Twitter exploding, as well as blogs and many, many high-quality online publications out there, it seems like it’s easier now more than ever to meet people in the literary community. Good writers become good editors of good literary publications. And they all know each other, and read each other, and respect each other.
This is all great—until someone you know and respect sends you a story that you don’t think is their best, or you don’t think is quite right for your publication.
So then what? Yes, business is business, but we are all writers and neurotic and fragile, and though rejection is just an ugly, common part of the whole process—who are we kidding? It still hurts.
I’m curious how other editors deal with this issue. Detailed personal rejection letter? Form letter as to not offend with unwanted criticism? And, have you ever accepted a story from someone you know because you wanted his or her name in your pub more than you necessarily loved the story?
On the flip side, as a writer, do you submit to places where you know the editor, or do you shy away from it? And if you do submit, and they take your piece, do you ever wonder if you just got accepted because you know them, rather than the merit of your story? (See above: writers are neurotic—sometimes even an acceptance can bring worry and stress.)
I like to think I can still be fairly objective when reading, but I don’t know. I try to rely on my gut rather than a bio. When I get that feeling—that burning, tingling in my shoulders, that nagging, ‘holy-crap-we-have-to-accept-this-story-before-someone-else-gets-it-first’ feeling, then I know. But sometimes I really want to like a story more than I do because I know the writer. Sometimes when I send a rejection to an online acquaintance, I spend ten minutes hating myself and feeling guilty about it. And I wonder—does this happen to everyone?
Let us know what you think. Where are the lines for you? Do you ever cross them?
Guess it’s a good thing I’m so socially awkward and difficult to like.
But yeah, I’m a cold-hearted bastard: I’d reject work by Christ himself if it didn’t turn me on. Sometimes when it feels weird to reject someone I know (or who’s published me) I’ll forward the submission to someone else and ask them to take care of it so my name isn’t on the e-mail, but that’s as far as I’ve gone to soften the blow. People might get a nice rejection. They might not.
If i submitted something to a ‘frienditor’ I would not want them to accept it just because we are friends. I would totally understand and respect them more for rejecting it and then maybe kick them (gently) in the private parts later just to get it out of my system.
I hate rejecting personal acquaintances, and feel bad about it – however I have never accepted work from someone just because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, that would make me feel worse. That would make me feel like I was someone I have criticized before for blind nepotism or circle jerking in the online publication community.
I rejected a huge name yesterday and felt that “Man I really want this person to hype my blog because they are so prolific!” but just couldn’t accept their work because it wasn’t a good fit. More than that, it felt like it was not very good work with a prolific name attached to it. It pissed me off.
Ideally, all editors would read blind — let the work stand for itself as a piece of art and stop giving the option for well-knowns or friends to rely on their name. While we’re at it, let’s no longer allow writers to list their publications in cover letters (which in addition to potentially influencing an editor serves to reinforce a hierarchy of “the best” magazines and presses that is in many ways harmful to the growth of a healthy literary community). Don’t we want honest reactions unencumbered by politics? Is the goal to get as many publications as possible or to create something worth reading?
Clearly this is a problem many editors are facing, and I think it is the editors responsibility to come up with a solution other than trying not to be influenced by friendships and publications… Why aren’t there more magazines using a blind submission process? (Hopefully submishmash will take the hint, but also editors might ask submitters to leave their names off the actual story/poem?)
I know I might be hauled over the hot coals for this, and it might be a bit of a side issue – but this post and the couple of recent posts on Annalemma’s blog have left me wondering: why are people so obsessed with the idea of community?
I’m not saying that a sense of community – and all the support that can provide, all the new acquaintances (like Roxane, I hesitate to call them ‘friendships’) it can introduce you to – isn’t a good thing for writers. It is, unquestionably. And I can say that based on good experience, considering that there’s barely any indie-lit community to speak of over here.
But social networking has, I think, led us to overstate the idea of community. Simply everything now has to be a community, it seems. If five people comment on a website, it’s a community. It isn’t. It’s just five people commenting on a website. I honestly believe that placing an emphasis on a *virtual* community (and let’s not forget that is just that – virtual) can be detrimental because it leads to the worries and concerns described in this post. Sure, if an editor actually knows a writer in a true non-virtual relationship – meets up with them regularly, shares jokes, shares worries, shares confidences, gets hammered with them – then I imagine that rejecting their work could be difficult. But in a virtual community? No. It shouldn’t be an issue. You don’t owe any favours to someone whose blog posts you comment on, whose wall you write on in Facebook, whose tweets you RT on Twitter.
Maybe a bit of perspective on this all-pervasive idea of community would help that. Maybe.
I get where you guys are coming from in terms of not pretending you like a friend’s work if you don’t, but I don’t believe in the concept of “reading objectively.” I don’t think that is possible. Do you really think you are assembling the “objective, best possible collection of art” from the submissions you’ve received, like some sort of all-knowing taste-in-art supercomputer? Seems unlikely to me. Seems more likely you’re just somewhat randomly applying your subjective taste at the time and weighing various objectives and things until some way or another there’s a table of contents. Lastly, as someone who doesn’t really dig Theory or believe in objectivity, I don’t like to separate the author from his/her work. I like to see the names.
you care more about “art” than about people?
that question might be jumping the gun. don’t mean to be overly confrontational :)
In *real* life – out there, surrounded by flesh and bone and breathing – no, of course I care more about people.
In terms of art – writing and words, in this case – yes, I care more about the art. I don’t know most of the people. They’re just names. (That sounds heartless. I’m far from a heartless person, though.)
Well, what’s the point of literary magazines and presses? To promote good art or good people?
Must I choose just one, Jessica?
Also, what is good art? Who are the good people?
gotcha, vaughan.
So someone you correspond with on a regular basis via email and twitter is less of a person than someone you go to coffee with because they live in a different part of the world?
I agree, Stephen, that there’s no such thing as reading objectively. There are all sorts of subjective things that influence how I read a submission. I don’t think what Tara and I are discussing here is about objectivity as much as it is about some of the tensions and dilemmas that arise when you read work from people you know.
Shannon, i’d probably split hairs here. Depends on the person. Most of the people I correspond with by email, even if I’d never met them – well, they’re often close to confidants with whom I have conversations. Proper conversations. People I comment to on Facebook and Twitter and nothing else – including other writers – um, no, not so much. It’s social networking.
yeah, i get that. i mentioned the reading objectively because Tara uses those words in her email. but yeah… i don’t know, i think the concept of Objective Excellence in Art is at the root of the tension of which you speak. sure, you might feel bad about rejecting your friend. but some of the anxiety and certainly any of the entitlement or sort of pride/self-importance one might feel in rejecting someone else’s work comes from, i would say, a misguided belief that he/she the editor knows what “good” or “bad” art is.
then again, every occupation or activity requires that one pretend, assume, and adhere to certain things that are largely or entirely imaginary, so…. haha…. seems i’m approaching a rabbit hole of introspection… nevermind…
“But what is the is-ness of is, man??” —Some Pothead
Okay, that’s fair. I do however disagree that a ‘virtual community’ is any less important than a ‘real one’ because I’m of a mindset that the internet is the single greatest thing that could have happened to sharing literally anything in the history of the world. I don’t think that virtual relationships should be discounted.
I’m not sure I totally agree with you, Vaughan. Sure, I think if three people comment on a post I’ve made, I’m not inviting them to my wedding, but I do believe that there are strong communities formed online, and whether they are virtual or not, I think they are still very valuable. Many writers aren’t fortunate enough to be surrounded physically by other writers, and so they find people online to talk to, to workshop with, to read–and I believe that community can be just as strong as the people I have beers with. I have gotten to “know” many people online over the past year or two that I’ve never met in person, but I value their work, value their opinion and respect them as if I do know them in person–and therefore having to say to them, “You know what, thanks for that story, but I just don’t think it’s good enough,” is still pretty hard for me to say, virtually or not.
I love reading cover letters. I don’t mind the list of publications. It is interesting to see where a writer has been but it doesn’t influence anything.
1. Some of my virtual friends are very real friends, though I’ve spent little face to face time with them. The relative anonymity of the internet *can* make people more honest and forthcoming.
2. The people I’ve befriended virtually are people I respect as writers. Not FB friends, people I correspond with regularly. I’ve befriended them because I respect them as writers.
3. If a friend, virtual or not, writes something good and submits it to me, I see no problem with publishing it. Even blind submissions are useless if a writer has a recognizable voice.
4. Good post, thanks, Roxane.
I also love reading cover letters. Sometimes, I like them more than the actual submissions.
G-G-G-G-G-Gotta love a bunch of p-p-p-p-p-p-p-people who sit alone all day at their computers talking about c-c-c-c-c-c-community.
I say the work is the most important thing and I honestly think most of the people circling about in the indie lit scene feel the same way. If the story doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But it is a point worthy of discussion, as I’ve sent rejections and been rejected under these circumstances. It’s a strange, strange thing. Great post on this topic.
Hegemonic systems reproduce themselves without us knowing they are being reproduced.
I read for a lit magazine at a University and one of the editors once told me that he read cover letters second… He always read the letter, no matter how much he hated the piece. If he hated a piece and the author went to “Iowa” for their MFA, then he assumed the fault for the failure of the piece rested with him, and not the writer. Therefore, he would re-read the piece with new eyes.
I like the idea of reading the letter second, but, clearly, he twisted the value of this move. This is obviously an extreme example and one which does not shy away from the hegemonic reproduction going on, but I think it illustrates the point that Jessica is getting at — Writing should be all that matters. We may say that writing is all that matters because we can be objective, but objectivity is an illusion… Maybe the solution rests with the idea that the cover letter should be read after the piece, after the decision has been made.
I read the cover letters after I read the piece. It’s one of the most pleasurable and sometimes amusing parts of the job.
Re: #3. absolutely. There are some writers I can recognize anywhere.
Re: #1. I totally agree. A couple of people I consider very close friends are virtual.
just like the best part of BASS is the contributor’s notes
I have no problems issuing rejections to people I like, admire, or consider friends. It’s the people I don’t know that are the hardest to reject, because I feel like “You don’t know what a nice person I am! Really! I’m so nice you wouldn’t even believe it, but now you’ll never know because I’ve gone and rejected your work! Damn it.”
Conversely, I also don’t mind being rejected by friends, because I know they respect my writing so if they’re saying no, it’s probably not as good as it could be. If I don’t know the editor, I have no idea what they think of me after this piece. Especially if the rejection is a form letter.
I totally agree, Amber! Good point. When I send a form letter, I want to be like, “really, we did read this! Really, we’re not totally mean robot people! I promise!”
while not wholly applicable, i think this is relevant–here is one of my favorite angry diatribe responses to something like this i have encountered via the internet:
TL,DR
sounds like you are mad at the web though. Its only the internet dude, get over it.
Guess it’s a good thing I’m so socially awkward and difficult to like.
But yeah, I’m a cold-hearted bastard: I’d reject work by Christ himself if it didn’t turn me on. Sometimes when it feels weird to reject someone I know (or who’s published me) I’ll forward the submission to someone else and ask them to take care of it so my name isn’t on the e-mail, but that’s as far as I’ve gone to soften the blow. People might get a nice rejection. They might not.
If i submitted something to a ‘frienditor’ I would not want them to accept it just because we are friends. I would totally understand and respect them more for rejecting it and then maybe kick them (gently) in the private parts later just to get it out of my system.
I hate rejecting personal acquaintances, and feel bad about it – however I have never accepted work from someone just because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, that would make me feel worse. That would make me feel like I was someone I have criticized before for blind nepotism or circle jerking in the online publication community.
I rejected a huge name yesterday and felt that “Man I really want this person to hype my blog because they are so prolific!” but just couldn’t accept their work because it wasn’t a good fit. More than that, it felt like it was not very good work with a prolific name attached to it. It pissed me off.
Ideally, all editors would read blind — let the work stand for itself as a piece of art and stop giving the option for well-knowns or friends to rely on their name. While we’re at it, let’s no longer allow writers to list their publications in cover letters (which in addition to potentially influencing an editor serves to reinforce a hierarchy of “the best” magazines and presses that is in many ways harmful to the growth of a healthy literary community). Don’t we want honest reactions unencumbered by politics? Is the goal to get as many publications as possible or to create something worth reading?
Clearly this is a problem many editors are facing, and I think it is the editors responsibility to come up with a solution other than trying not to be influenced by friendships and publications… Why aren’t there more magazines using a blind submission process? (Hopefully submishmash will take the hint, but also editors might ask submitters to leave their names off the actual story/poem?)
I know I might be hauled over the hot coals for this, and it might be a bit of a side issue – but this post and the couple of recent posts on Annalemma’s blog have left me wondering: why are people so obsessed with the idea of community?
I’m not saying that a sense of community – and all the support that can provide, all the new acquaintances (like Roxane, I hesitate to call them ‘friendships’) it can introduce you to – isn’t a good thing for writers. It is, unquestionably. And I can say that based on good experience, considering that there’s barely any indie-lit community to speak of over here.
But social networking has, I think, led us to overstate the idea of community. Simply everything now has to be a community, it seems. If five people comment on a website, it’s a community. It isn’t. It’s just five people commenting on a website. I honestly believe that placing an emphasis on a *virtual* community (and let’s not forget that is just that – virtual) can be detrimental because it leads to the worries and concerns described in this post. Sure, if an editor actually knows a writer in a true non-virtual relationship – meets up with them regularly, shares jokes, shares worries, shares confidences, gets hammered with them – then I imagine that rejecting their work could be difficult. But in a virtual community? No. It shouldn’t be an issue. You don’t owe any favours to someone whose blog posts you comment on, whose wall you write on in Facebook, whose tweets you RT on Twitter.
Maybe a bit of perspective on this all-pervasive idea of community would help that. Maybe.
I get where you guys are coming from in terms of not pretending you like a friend’s work if you don’t, but I don’t believe in the concept of “reading objectively.” I don’t think that is possible. Do you really think you are assembling the “objective, best possible collection of art” from the submissions you’ve received, like some sort of all-knowing taste-in-art supercomputer? Seems unlikely to me. Seems more likely you’re just somewhat randomly applying your subjective taste at the time and weighing various objectives and things until some way or another there’s a table of contents. Lastly, as someone who doesn’t really dig Theory or believe in objectivity, I don’t like to separate the author from his/her work. I like to see the names.
you care more about “art” than about people?
that question might be jumping the gun. don’t mean to be overly confrontational :)
In *real* life – out there, surrounded by flesh and bone and breathing – no, of course I care more about people.
In terms of art – writing and words, in this case – yes, I care more about the art. I don’t know most of the people. They’re just names. (That sounds heartless. I’m far from a heartless person, though.)
Well, what’s the point of literary magazines and presses? To promote good art or good people?
Must I choose just one, Jessica?
Also, what is good art? Who are the good people?
gotcha, vaughan.
So someone you correspond with on a regular basis via email and twitter is less of a person than someone you go to coffee with because they live in a different part of the world?
I agree, Stephen, that there’s no such thing as reading objectively. There are all sorts of subjective things that influence how I read a submission. I don’t think what Tara and I are discussing here is about objectivity as much as it is about some of the tensions and dilemmas that arise when you read work from people you know.
I d-d-d-d-d-d-on’t have any friends so this isn’t a p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-roblem for me.
Shannon, i’d probably split hairs here. Depends on the person. Most of the people I correspond with by email, even if I’d never met them – well, they’re often close to confidants with whom I have conversations. Proper conversations. People I comment to on Facebook and Twitter and nothing else – including other writers – um, no, not so much. It’s social networking.
yeah, i get that. i mentioned the reading objectively because Tara uses those words in her email. but yeah… i don’t know, i think the concept of Objective Excellence in Art is at the root of the tension of which you speak. sure, you might feel bad about rejecting your friend. but some of the anxiety and certainly any of the entitlement or sort of pride/self-importance one might feel in rejecting someone else’s work comes from, i would say, a misguided belief that he/she the editor knows what “good” or “bad” art is.
then again, every occupation or activity requires that one pretend, assume, and adhere to certain things that are largely or entirely imaginary, so…. haha…. seems i’m approaching a rabbit hole of introspection… nevermind…
“But what is the is-ness of is, man??” —Some Pothead
rejections rock. rejections from friends rock even harder. seriously. Paul Pierce is handsome and you love him.
Okay, that’s fair. I do however disagree that a ‘virtual community’ is any less important than a ‘real one’ because I’m of a mindset that the internet is the single greatest thing that could have happened to sharing literally anything in the history of the world. I don’t think that virtual relationships should be discounted.
I’m not sure I totally agree with you, Vaughan. Sure, I think if three people comment on a post I’ve made, I’m not inviting them to my wedding, but I do believe that there are strong communities formed online, and whether they are virtual or not, I think they are still very valuable. Many writers aren’t fortunate enough to be surrounded physically by other writers, and so they find people online to talk to, to workshop with, to read–and I believe that community can be just as strong as the people I have beers with. I have gotten to “know” many people online over the past year or two that I’ve never met in person, but I value their work, value their opinion and respect them as if I do know them in person–and therefore having to say to them, “You know what, thanks for that story, but I just don’t think it’s good enough,” is still pretty hard for me to say, virtually or not.
I love reading cover letters. I don’t mind the list of publications. It is interesting to see where a writer has been but it doesn’t influence anything.
The point of a magazine should be to promote good art. Most of the best writers are bastards anyhow. I think some people actually do think too much about the “personality” and not about the writing.
1. Some of my virtual friends are very real friends, though I’ve spent little face to face time with them. The relative anonymity of the internet *can* make people more honest and forthcoming.
2. The people I’ve befriended virtually are people I respect as writers. Not FB friends, people I correspond with regularly. I’ve befriended them because I respect them as writers.
3. If a friend, virtual or not, writes something good and submits it to me, I see no problem with publishing it. Even blind submissions are useless if a writer has a recognizable voice.
4. Good post, thanks, Roxane.
I also love reading cover letters. Sometimes, I like them more than the actual submissions.
G-G-G-G-G-Gotta love a bunch of p-p-p-p-p-p-p-people who sit alone all day at their computers talking about c-c-c-c-c-c-community.
I say the work is the most important thing and I honestly think most of the people circling about in the indie lit scene feel the same way. If the story doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But it is a point worthy of discussion, as I’ve sent rejections and been rejected under these circumstances. It’s a strange, strange thing. Great post on this topic.
Hegemonic systems reproduce themselves without us knowing they are being reproduced.
I read for a lit magazine at a University and one of the editors once told me that he read cover letters second… He always read the letter, no matter how much he hated the piece. If he hated a piece and the author went to “Iowa” for their MFA, then he assumed the fault for the failure of the piece rested with him, and not the writer. Therefore, he would re-read the piece with new eyes.
I like the idea of reading the letter second, but, clearly, he twisted the value of this move. This is obviously an extreme example and one which does not shy away from the hegemonic reproduction going on, but I think it illustrates the point that Jessica is getting at — Writing should be all that matters. We may say that writing is all that matters because we can be objective, but objectivity is an illusion… Maybe the solution rests with the idea that the cover letter should be read after the piece, after the decision has been made.
I read the cover letters after I read the piece. It’s one of the most pleasurable and sometimes amusing parts of the job.
Re: #3. absolutely. There are some writers I can recognize anywhere.
Re: #1. I totally agree. A couple of people I consider very close friends are virtual.
Rejections from people I know are fine. Since there is some sort of shared history, each knows more than the norm about what has been disclosed, and that the rejection is not arbitrary but is based on something real. I know that rejecting a story written by a friend or acquaintance is more difficult than rejecting works by total strangers. Each party becomes hyper-aware and careful, and each knows that the works have been respected.
So I like it a lot. Keeps me on my toes, as a writer and a reader..
just like the best part of BASS is the contributor’s notes
I have no problems issuing rejections to people I like, admire, or consider friends. It’s the people I don’t know that are the hardest to reject, because I feel like “You don’t know what a nice person I am! Really! I’m so nice you wouldn’t even believe it, but now you’ll never know because I’ve gone and rejected your work! Damn it.”
Conversely, I also don’t mind being rejected by friends, because I know they respect my writing so if they’re saying no, it’s probably not as good as it could be. If I don’t know the editor, I have no idea what they think of me after this piece. Especially if the rejection is a form letter.
I totally agree, Amber! Good point. When I send a form letter, I want to be like, “really, we did read this! Really, we’re not totally mean robot people! I promise!”
But then what *is* ‘social networking’? How is it ‘social’ if it’s not about ‘community’ or nurturing — or endeavoring to nurture — close(r/ish) *authentic* connections and communication?
“The internet is an imagined community only insofar as all communities are imaginary.” There’s the rub.
while not wholly applicable, i think this is relevant–here is one of my favorite angry diatribe responses to something like this i have encountered via the internet:
TL,DR
sounds like you are mad at the web though. Its only the internet dude, get over it.
notacommunity.txt
I wonder if female editors think about this harder than male eds do…I have a feeling. Be brutal, females. Seriously. I’ve been rejected by very close friends and I don’t mind. If someone doesn’t want the story, they don’t want the story, and I don’t want them to want it, then.
Of course, a personal rejection is nice–practically required?
mary, how do you feel about rejecting requests that you submit to journals? you seem to do that quite well too.
I d-d-d-d-d-d-on’t have any friends so this isn’t a p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-roblem for me.
tl;dr
semicolon is crucial.
rejections rock. rejections from friends rock even harder. seriously. Paul Pierce is handsome and you love him.
hey, there are places that want ppl like u:
4chan.com
why are you posting on here. fail troll is fail.
feel like everything is tl;dr
The point of a magazine should be to promote good art. Most of the best writers are bastards anyhow. I think some people actually do think too much about the “personality” and not about the writing.
Rejections from people I know are fine. Since there is some sort of shared history, each knows more than the norm about what has been disclosed, and that the rejection is not arbitrary but is based on something real. I know that rejecting a story written by a friend or acquaintance is more difficult than rejecting works by total strangers. Each party becomes hyper-aware and careful, and each knows that the works have been respected.
So I like it a lot. Keeps me on my toes, as a writer and a reader..
But then what *is* ‘social networking’? How is it ‘social’ if it’s not about ‘community’ or nurturing — or endeavoring to nurture — close(r/ish) *authentic* connections and communication?
“The internet is an imagined community only insofar as all communities are imaginary.” There’s the rub.
notacommunity.txt
I wonder if female editors think about this harder than male eds do…I have a feeling. Be brutal, females. Seriously. I’ve been rejected by very close friends and I don’t mind. If someone doesn’t want the story, they don’t want the story, and I don’t want them to want it, then.
Of course, a personal rejection is nice–practically required?
Shanna Compton is a female editor. Visit her blog if you ever need a hundred examples of ‘community’-based careers.
Just sayin’.
mary, how do you feel about rejecting requests that you submit to journals? you seem to do that quite well too.
tl;dr
semicolon is crucial.
hey, there are places that want ppl like u:
4chan.com
why are you posting on here. fail troll is fail.
feel like everything is tl;dr
Shanna Compton is a female editor. Visit her blog if you ever need a hundred examples of ‘community’-based careers.
Just sayin’.
This discussion would be more resonant if the majority of the *accepted and published* material out there weren’t so predictable/ constricted in style and subject / mediocre as a school lunch. The metastasizing killer in Lit Fict (hinted at in the blogpost) is the one which has already destroyed Poetry: the very dull feedback-hum of a community of producers which is the only natural audience for its product. This is in part because of a damaging shift in the focus and meaning of the early stages of the writer’s development, which used to hinge on inspiration and humble goals set in the face of overwhelming mastery… whereas it’s now just a matter of the simple expedience of learning to piece-together, from standard components, the model that “works”.
The free-product model of Online Lit has, alas, allowed me to read hundreds of stories in dozens of Zines in the past decade and the summing up is easy: three or four basic subjects in two or three standard voices at the same (workshopped) level of competency… meh. What’s at stake if the difference between what gets “published” and what doesn’t is the difference between “MEH” and “sub-MEH”? Edmund Wilson, Kathy Acker, Italo Calvino, Harold Brodkey, Paul Bowles, Flannery O’Connor, DFW and WSB, et al, are meh-ing in their graves.
Look: face it, you’re not going to earn any real money doing this any way… so take some risks. Walk away from the faux-confirmations of the consensus-driven “community”. Start from scratch. Forget how to “market yourself” and learn to write. You’ll feel great. A few of you may turn out to be geniuses and I will be deeply grateful to read the results. I’ll even be happy to pay for the privilege.
Bingo. This is what I was talking about. The systems in place make writers migrate toward norms. When migrating toward a universal standard of what is “good” then originality is thrown aside.
My point earlier was that we may need to trick ourselves as readers in order to break out of this cycle… It’s a little naive, because as some have pointed out, the readers may still know who is behind the work even without names… It also assumes that those in the system can change the system which, I find to be faulty in its logic. However, it’s the best we chance we have and actually some editor and writers are doing this (changing the system, not reading blind). Of course, their zines are not part of the literati’s elite, but who cares… (I look at Tin House and how it started off sooooo strong and has plummeted back to the norm, to safe fiction (with some exceptions – the woman issue comes to mind) – it epitomizes the power of this system we are a part of.)
Again, this goes back to quantity over quality and the need to build a list of pubs. A list of one pub that is mind-blowing is better than a list of a million pubs that are safe (Of course, the million pub author has a better chance getting a job, but that’s the point, isn’t it…)
Why feel bad? There’s nothing wrong with a quick honest “Hey, this doesn’t quite work.” If you feel obligated to go further than that as a friend (and I probably would), schedule a time to grab some coffee and go over it, and you can offer some helpful feedback. Simple as that, isn’t it?
Well said Steven.
Brendan,
“Red-Haired Man in a Sweater” (the only text of yours I have access to as yet) looks *great*.
Richard:
“It also assumes that those in the system can change the system which, I find to be faulty in its logic.”
A far-reaching Truth.
Steven. Thanks very much.
This discussion would be more resonant if the majority of the *accepted and published* material out there weren’t so predictable/ constricted in style and subject / mediocre as a school lunch. The metastasizing killer in Lit Fict (hinted at in the blogpost) is the one which has already destroyed Poetry: the very dull feedback-hum of a community of producers which is the only natural audience for its product. This is in part because of a damaging shift in the focus and meaning of the early stages of the writer’s development, which used to hinge on inspiration and humble goals set in the face of overwhelming mastery… whereas it’s now just a matter of the simple expedience of learning to piece-together, from standard components, the model that “works”.
The free-product model of Online Lit has, alas, allowed me to read hundreds of stories in dozens of Zines in the past decade and the summing up is easy: three or four basic subjects in two or three standard voices at the same (workshopped) level of competency… meh. What’s at stake if the difference between what gets “published” and what doesn’t is the difference between “MEH” and “sub-MEH”? Edmund Wilson, Kathy Acker, Italo Calvino, Harold Brodkey, Paul Bowles, Flannery O’Connor, DFW and WSB, et al, are meh-ing in their graves.
Look: face it, you’re not going to earn any real money doing this any way… so take some risks. Walk away from the faux-confirmations of the consensus-driven “community”. Start from scratch. Forget how to “market yourself” and learn to write. You’ll feel great. A few of you may turn out to be geniuses and I will be deeply grateful to read the results. I’ll even be happy to pay for the privilege.
Carl Williams,
Who are you and when/how did I reject your request to submit to your journal? Also, what is your journal? I don’t ever remember not responding to anyone, though I may not have anything to send…I’m confused.
editors should just publish the best work amiright
Bingo. This is what I was talking about. The systems in place make writers migrate toward norms. When migrating toward a universal standard of what is “good” then originality is thrown aside.
My point earlier was that we may need to trick ourselves as readers in order to break out of this cycle… It’s a little naive, because as some have pointed out, the readers may still know who is behind the work even without names… It also assumes that those in the system can change the system which, I find to be faulty in its logic. However, it’s the best we chance we have and actually some editor and writers are doing this (changing the system, not reading blind). Of course, their zines are not part of the literati’s elite, but who cares… (I look at Tin House and how it started off sooooo strong and has plummeted back to the norm, to safe fiction (with some exceptions – the woman issue comes to mind) – it epitomizes the power of this system we are a part of.)
Again, this goes back to quantity over quality and the need to build a list of pubs. A list of one pub that is mind-blowing is better than a list of a million pubs that are safe (Of course, the million pub author has a better chance getting a job, but that’s the point, isn’t it…)
But never in your life do you have to say this to anyone (in person or online): “You know what, thanks for that story, but I just don’t think it’s good enough.”
Because saying this implies that you are the arbiter of “what’s good enough” and what is not. (See the smart comments from “stephen” below on “the concept of Objective Excellence in Art.”)
I am NOT the arbiter of what’s good and what’s “not good enough.” But I am the arbiter of what I like and don’t like. And when I’m picking stories for a magazine, I go with what I like, dammit! (I don’t really like the word “like” here–actually, right now, I hate the word “like.” But this is just my deal. Other people, right now, might like the word “like.”)
So I tell people, Other editors and readers may like this story. I, on the other hand, am passing on it. If I know the writer, I might tell him or her the ways he or she might tweak the story so I would like it better! But I tell them that this tweaking may only make the story more palatable–to me. Someone else might go, What the hell’d you mess up that good story?? I liked it the way it was!
Any selection process is subjective. A panel of selectors “hides” behind some sort of imprimatur (like Best of the Web, Best American Short Stories, National Book Award, etc.)–but the stuff they choose isn’t the “best” of anything, really, but only what those few people liked the most at that particular time. Nothing’s really “the best.” It’s “What These Few People Liked in the Summer of 2010.” So these lists get put out–like, “20 Under 40”–and the rest of us, the ones who were not among the selectors, go, What?!?! Really?!?!
Why feel bad? There’s nothing wrong with a quick honest “Hey, this doesn’t quite work.” If you feel obligated to go further than that as a friend (and I probably would), schedule a time to grab some coffee and go over it, and you can offer some helpful feedback. Simple as that, isn’t it?
That is damn near perfectly stated.
Well said Steven.
Brendan,
“Red-Haired Man in a Sweater” (the only text of yours I have access to as yet) looks *great*.
Richard:
“It also assumes that those in the system can change the system which, I find to be faulty in its logic.”
A far-reaching Truth.
Steven. Thanks very much.
Objective excellence would only imply that there exists a sort of excellence (in art, literature, whatever) such that it can be observed or recognized—i.e., it means that the idea of artistic excellence is not a pure 100% figment of our own subjective thinking; it’s something that can be accessed by many people. Too often I think people confuse objective excellence with unanimous excellence, or undeniable excellence—which, if you’re arguing against Objective Excellence in Art, effectively amounts to a strawman.
If there were no such thing as objective excellence in art, it would seem as if I were speaking in an unintelligible language whenever I expressed to you how excellent I found Book X to be.
As far as I can see, issues of subjectivity-objectivity generally work on a continuum, and sliding too far toward one end or the other (i.e. “Aesthetics is wholly subjective” or “There is One Undeniable Standard for Art, and Here It Is”) makes it pretty much impossible to actually converse about lit: the Wholly Subjective position is routinely undone whenever its proponents communicate something about their experience with a work, and the One Undeniable Standard folks lie skewered by the wildly variable and multiform nature of our literature. Though in a certain sense the two camps are the same, as they both absolve themselves from a frank confrontation w/ the highly fecund and nuanced objective principles that inform our judgements of art. (One camp’s only interested in evaluating an artwork so long as they can deploy the evaluative equivalent of a sledgehammer, crushing any problematic originalities under their dictums’ convenient unthinking force; the other camp, reacting to the raving vapidity of Undeniable Standard-types’ judgements, refuse to offer ANY judgement of art beyond the realm of “I like this; this worked for me.”)
Evaluating a work of art is an act as creative and imaginative as any other, which probably explains why so many are so poor at it.
Carl Williams,
Who are you and when/how did I reject your request to submit to your journal? Also, what is your journal? I don’t ever remember not responding to anyone, though I may not have anything to send…I’m confused.
Agreed. “Objective” and “subjective” are two of the most misunderstood philosophical terms.
Thanks, Ellen. You’re totally right. It is about preference. And I definitely have loved stories that others have said ‘meh’ to, and not enjoyed stories that everyone else seems to think are genius.
:(
I’m not sure what the “intermediate” position you describe here would look like. What are the “highly fecund and nuanced objective principles that inform our judgements of art” that these two camps refuse to “confront”?
I agree with Lincoln that the terms “objective” and “subjective” can be kind of confusing in these discussions. There are more-or-less “technical” philosophical definitions and then there are looser “colloquial” definitions. Both seem kind of vague. Maybe part of the problem is that people don’t understand what people are saying.
It seems to me that when people argue there exists “Objective Excellence in Art” they are saying that there is some “measure” of the “quality” of art that is “external” to the brains of humans. On a metaphysical level, I have a hard time believing that something as particular to the human species as “art” could have a measure that “exists” outside of the brains of humans. Even if it did, however, I’m not sure how we could “access” this measure and use it to evaluate art.
I’m not sure if this is what you’re saying.
Evaluating a work of art is a creative and imaginative act, I agree. But I think that’s some of the proof of it being wholly subjective. Widespread consensus as to the excellence of some work of art only proves that influence exists, and social politics, and that coincidence and shared emotions/experiences exist. It doesn’t prove objective excellence. Nothing proves objective excellence in art. In large part because there are no rules in art. There is no fixed context or goal for art. Anyone who suggests there is is attempting to force their will on artists. Artists have always resisted these people. In the 400-meter dash, everyone leaves the blocks at the same time and whoever crosses the finish line first is the winner. This can be measured and easily understood. Art has no such guidelines, no set beginnings and endings, and no stable method of being understood or evaluated.
The fear you express, Ryan, of it not meaning anything or it being unintelligible to other people when you say “Book X is excellent,” is understandable. We all want our opinions to be understood, respected, and for them to maybe even be influential. But language is not what it seems. For instance, what did that last sentence “mean”? It is up for debate and interpretation. It is an open question. “An open question”…
I’m not being facetious, gents. Like life, like love, art is not under anyone’s control, its existence is fragile or uncertain, and it ends as it begins, in mystery.
thanks, ellen.
editors should just publish the best work amiright
Well, there are different senses of the word, of course. In literary contexts I generally take subjective to mean something like “anything occurring w/in the realm of one individual mind.” The objective, then, would be anything not limited to one mind. When people claim aesthetics to be subjective, I presume that they mean that their entire process of evaluating a work occurs 100% within their own mind, and that this evaluation thus holds no currency outside of their own mind. To me this seems obviously false, as even the most thoroughly personal articulation of one’s reaction to a book remains intelligible to another. Doubtlessly there is an immense subjective element to reading, but as soon as we start to make sense of that subjective experience—essentially as soon as we begin to reflect upon our more primal experience with a book, even if it’s only at the level of “Was that the best ever feeling/emotion/etc any single book has given me?”—we slowly begin to tiptoe out of the realm of the subjective. The burst of raw identification I feel whenever I read the Emerson paragraph that begins with “Life only avails, not the having lived. . .” is perhaps particular to my own mind, but it becomes generally intelligible whenever I place it into context.
After all, what do we typically do whenever a friend raves about such-and-such book? Do we discard it entirely, thinking to ourselves, “Well, since aesthetics is entirely subjective, I have no way of knowing—outside of pure chance—that my personal experience of the book will be anything like his, and therefore I need not even bother checking it out”? Or do we run and eagerly pick it up at the library/bookstore?
What you’re suggesting, marshall, sounds like a sort of platonicism. Something need not exist outside of the brains of humans to be objective. (Our entire taxonomy of the animal kingdom would not exist w/o humans, yet there remains something objective about the taxonomy itself, no? The fundamental laws of mathematics are more likely to be platonic in the way you suggest.)
And as to your first Q: I don’t really know. I’m still trying to figure it out in my reading, journaling, and writing. I think they’re generally characterized by an aversion to sentiment and an insistence on originality, but, I mean, I’m basically a literary infant. This is the realm of critics way more experienced than I.
I think you’re setting this discussion off on the wrong tack, stephen, by returning to the “widespread consensus” argument. The question of whether objective excellence exists has nothing to do with widespread consensus, at least not in the way I understand it.
What you take to be a fear is more like a precondition. If aesthetic evaluation were truly 100% subjective, anytime I tried to express a judgement concerning a book I would look to you like Year of Glad Hal Incandenza, utterly unintelligible, writhing on the floor.
this in regards to your second comment, ryan:
Subjectivity
noun: judgment based on individual personal impressions and feelings and opinions rather than external facts
Objectivity
noun: judgment based on observable phenomena and uninfluenced by emotions or personal prejudices
These definitions are different in significant ways from your definitions, ryan.
:(
“Something need not exist outside of the brains of humans to be objective.” I understand this within the context of your taxonomy example. I agree.
I thought maybe you were talking about Platonism. I’m not interested in talking about “Platonic ideals” or anything. I’m going to reject those “a priori.”
I’m going to talk about “good art” now. I’m not really sure what you think about “good art.” I’m not sure what we are talking about.
It seems like if we were going to devise a set of criteria for “good art” that is similarly “objective” as animal taxonomy, it would be something quite different than the common idea of “good art.” Like, it seems difficult to even make the first step towards doing this. What does “good” mean? It seems like we would end up defining “good art” as something like “art that causes Bio-Chemical Event X in a human brain.”
It seems like if Book A meets this criterion with regard to a person, it is more than “incidentally likely” that this criterion will be met in people with brains that are similar in whatever way governs “aesthetic reactions.” (Of course, it seems unfair to call them “aesthetic reactions.” The choice of Bio-Chemical Event X rather than Bio-Chemical Event Y is arbitrary. Bio-Chemical Event X isn’t really the same thing as “Beauty” or whatever.)
It seems like any set of criteria for “good art” that is “objective” in the sense of animal taxonomy also deprives “good art” of all of the “specialness” that makes it valuable in the reckoning of… people that like art or whoever. The category “good art,” if sufficiently defined to be “rigorous,” seems arbitrary. There are many possible Bio-Chemical Events, and there is variety in human brains. Are some Bio-Chemical Events more desirable than others? I guess so. Are some brains more important than others? I dunno.
But never in your life do you have to say this to anyone (in person or online): “You know what, thanks for that story, but I just don’t think it’s good enough.”
Because saying this implies that you are the arbiter of “what’s good enough” and what is not. (See the smart comments from “stephen” below on “the concept of Objective Excellence in Art.”)
I am NOT the arbiter of what’s good and what’s “not good enough.” But I am the arbiter of what I like and don’t like. And when I’m picking stories for a magazine, I go with what I like, dammit! (I don’t really like the word “like” here–actually, right now, I hate the word “like.” But this is just my deal. Other people, right now, might like the word “like.”)
So I tell people, Other editors and readers may like this story. I, on the other hand, am passing on it. If I know the writer, I might tell him or her the ways he or she might tweak the story so I would like it better! But I tell them that this tweaking may only make the story more palatable–to me. Someone else might go, What the hell’d you mess up that good story?? I liked it the way it was!
Any selection process is subjective. A panel of selectors “hides” behind some sort of imprimatur (like Best of the Web, Best American Short Stories, National Book Award, etc.)–but the stuff they choose isn’t the “best” of anything, really, but only what those few people liked the most at that particular time. Nothing’s really “the best.” It’s “What These Few People Liked in the Summer of 2010.” So these lists get put out–like, “20 Under 40”–and the rest of us, the ones who were not among the selectors, go, What?!?! Really?!?!
TL;DR VERSION
[“Vulgar materialism.”]
Something about how “we’re all just brains.”
Uses “God as supercomputer” metaphor.
“What do words mean.”
That is damn near perfectly stated.
Objective excellence would only imply that there exists a sort of excellence (in art, literature, whatever) such that it can be observed or recognized—i.e., it means that the idea of artistic excellence is not a pure 100% figment of our own subjective thinking; it’s something that can be accessed by many people. Too often I think people confuse objective excellence with unanimous excellence, or undeniable excellence—which, if you’re arguing against Objective Excellence in Art, effectively amounts to a strawman.
If there were no such thing as objective excellence in art, it would seem as if I were speaking in an unintelligible language whenever I expressed to you how excellent I found Book X to be.
As far as I can see, issues of subjectivity-objectivity generally work on a continuum, and sliding too far toward one end or the other (i.e. “Aesthetics is wholly subjective” or “There is One Undeniable Standard for Art, and Here It Is”) makes it pretty much impossible to actually converse about lit: the Wholly Subjective position is routinely undone whenever its proponents communicate something about their experience with a work, and the One Undeniable Standard folks lie skewered by the wildly variable and multiform nature of our literature. Though in a certain sense the two camps are the same, as they both absolve themselves from a frank confrontation w/ the highly fecund and nuanced objective principles that inform our judgements of art. (One camp’s only interested in evaluating an artwork so long as they can deploy the evaluative equivalent of a sledgehammer, crushing any problematic originalities under their dictums’ convenient unthinking force; the other camp, reacting to the raving vapidity of Undeniable Standard-types’ judgements, refuse to offer ANY judgement of art beyond the realm of “I like this; this worked for me.”)
Evaluating a work of art is an act as creative and imaginative as any other, which probably explains why so many are so poor at it.
Agreed. “Objective” and “subjective” are two of the most misunderstood philosophical terms.
They’re different, but not significantly so.
Thanks, Ellen. You’re totally right. It is about preference. And I definitely have loved stories that others have said ‘meh’ to, and not enjoyed stories that everyone else seems to think are genius.
:(
I’m not sure what the “intermediate” position you describe here would look like. What are the “highly fecund and nuanced objective principles that inform our judgements of art” that these two camps refuse to “confront”?
I agree with Lincoln that the terms “objective” and “subjective” can be kind of confusing in these discussions. There are more-or-less “technical” philosophical definitions and then there are looser “colloquial” definitions. Both seem kind of vague. Maybe part of the problem is that people don’t understand what people are saying.
It seems to me that when people argue there exists “Objective Excellence in Art” they are saying that there is some “measure” of the “quality” of art that is “external” to the brains of humans. On a metaphysical level, I have a hard time believing that something as particular to the human species as “art” could have a measure that “exists” outside of the brains of humans. Even if it did, however, I’m not sure how we could “access” this measure and use it to evaluate art.
I’m not sure if this is what you’re saying.
Evaluating a work of art is a creative and imaginative act, I agree. But I think that’s some of the proof of it being wholly subjective. Widespread consensus as to the excellence of some work of art only proves that influence exists, and social politics, and that coincidence and shared emotions/experiences exist. It doesn’t prove objective excellence. Nothing proves objective excellence in art. In large part because there are no rules in art. There is no fixed context or goal for art. Anyone who suggests there is is attempting to force their will on artists. Artists have always resisted these people. In the 400-meter dash, everyone leaves the blocks at the same time and whoever crosses the finish line first is the winner. This can be measured and easily understood. Art has no such guidelines, no set beginnings and endings, and no stable method of being understood or evaluated.
The fear you express, Ryan, of it not meaning anything or it being unintelligible to other people when you say “Book X is excellent,” is understandable. We all want our opinions to be understood, respected, and for them to maybe even be influential. But language is not what it seems. For instance, what did that last sentence “mean”? It is up for debate and interpretation. It is an open question. “An open question”…
I’m not being facetious, gents. Like life, like love, art is not under anyone’s control, its existence is fragile or uncertain, and it ends as it begins, in mystery.
thanks, ellen.
Well, there are different senses of the word, of course. In literary contexts I generally take subjective to mean something like “anything occurring w/in the realm of one individual mind.” The objective, then, would be anything not limited to one mind. When people claim aesthetics to be subjective, I presume that they mean that their entire process of evaluating a work occurs 100% within their own mind, and that this evaluation thus holds no currency outside of their own mind. To me this seems obviously false, as even the most thoroughly personal articulation of one’s reaction to a book remains intelligible to another. Doubtlessly there is an immense subjective element to reading, but as soon as we start to make sense of that subjective experience—essentially as soon as we begin to reflect upon our more primal experience with a book, even if it’s only at the level of “Was that the best ever feeling/emotion/etc any single book has given me?”—we slowly begin to tiptoe out of the realm of the subjective. The burst of raw identification I feel whenever I read the Emerson paragraph that begins with “Life only avails, not the having lived. . .” is perhaps particular to my own mind, but it becomes generally intelligible whenever I place it into context.
After all, what do we typically do whenever a friend raves about such-and-such book? Do we discard it entirely, thinking to ourselves, “Well, since aesthetics is entirely subjective, I have no way of knowing—outside of pure chance—that my personal experience of the book will be anything like his, and therefore I need not even bother checking it out”? Or do we run and eagerly pick it up at the library/bookstore?
What you’re suggesting, marshall, sounds like a sort of platonicism. Something need not exist outside of the brains of humans to be objective. (Our entire taxonomy of the animal kingdom would not exist w/o humans, yet there remains something objective about the taxonomy itself, no? The fundamental laws of mathematics are more likely to be platonic in the way you suggest.)
And as to your first Q: I don’t really know. I’m still trying to figure it out in my reading, journaling, and writing. I think they’re generally characterized by an aversion to sentiment and an insistence on originality, but, I mean, I’m basically a literary infant. This is the realm of critics way more experienced than I.
I think you’re setting this discussion off on the wrong tack, stephen, by returning to the “widespread consensus” argument. The question of whether objective excellence exists has nothing to do with widespread consensus, at least not in the way I understand it.
What you take to be a fear is more like a precondition. If aesthetic evaluation were truly 100% subjective, anytime I tried to express a judgement concerning a book I would look to you like Year of Glad Hal Incandenza, utterly unintelligible, writhing on the floor.
this in regards to your second comment, ryan:
Subjectivity
noun: judgment based on individual personal impressions and feelings and opinions rather than external facts
Objectivity
noun: judgment based on observable phenomena and uninfluenced by emotions or personal prejudices
These definitions are different in significant ways from your definitions, ryan.
:(
“Something need not exist outside of the brains of humans to be objective.” I understand this within the context of your taxonomy example. I agree.
I thought maybe you were talking about Platonism. I’m not interested in talking about “Platonic ideals” or anything. I’m going to reject those “a priori.”
I’m going to talk about “good art” now. I’m not really sure what you think about “good art.” I’m not sure what we are talking about.
It seems like if we were going to devise a set of criteria for “good art” that is similarly “objective” as animal taxonomy, it would be something quite different than the common idea of “good art.” Like, it seems difficult to even make the first step towards doing this. What does “good” mean? It seems like we would end up defining “good art” as something like “art that causes Bio-Chemical Event X in a human brain.”
It seems like if Book A meets this criterion with regard to a person, it is more than “incidentally likely” that this criterion will be met in people with brains that are similar in whatever way governs “aesthetic reactions.” (Of course, it seems unfair to call them “aesthetic reactions.” The choice of Bio-Chemical Event X rather than Bio-Chemical Event Y is arbitrary. Bio-Chemical Event X isn’t really the same thing as “Beauty” or whatever.)
It seems like any set of criteria for “good art” that is “objective” in the sense of animal taxonomy also deprives “good art” of all of the “specialness” that makes it valuable in the reckoning of… people that like art or whoever. The category “good art,” if sufficiently defined to be “rigorous,” seems arbitrary. There are many possible Bio-Chemical Events, and there is variety in human brains. Are some Bio-Chemical Events more desirable than others? I guess so. Are some brains more important than others? I dunno.
TL;DR VERSION
[“Vulgar materialism.”]
Something about how “we’re all just brains.”
Uses “God as supercomputer” metaphor.
“What do words mean.”
They’re different, but not significantly so.
I think that one model of some degree of objectivity in appreciating and understanding art would be the way we can observe the extent to which a work is most fully “itself.” This is something that’s hard to define without reference to a specific object but while I can’t objectively say if something is good or bad I can say how much it is itself, in a sense, which is usually a more interesting question.
Or, another way of looking at this is that goodness and badness are largely subjective while works still have many objective qualities that can be used as a proxy for goodness or badness within certain contexts. The HTMLGiant crowd often expresses a preference for work that melts the brain, scorches, crushes, etc. Those are probably more objective descriptions than they sound like at first glance, and within this community they often stand in for claims of relative goodness or badness.
“Look: face it, you’re not going to earn any real money doing this any way… so take some risks. Walk away from the faux-confirmations of the consensus-driven “community”. Start from scratch. Forget how to “market yourself” and learn to write. You’ll feel great. A few of you may turn out to be geniuses and I will be deeply grateful to read the results. I’ll even be happy to pay for the privilege.”
_____
Good God damn post and one reason why I always scratch my head at the “this isn’t the right ‘fit’ line.”
Well, I don’t fucking want to “fit in” anywhere. Who really wants to write a story that “fits,” and why are some editors so hellbent on this idea of “fit”? One of the best rejections I ever received was something like, “this is highly original, but not a good fit,”
Um…isn’t that what writers should strive for–to write something original that doesn’t “fit in” easily with a bunch of other stories?
If I ever start a journal, I’m going to find a way to work a snarky point about “fit” into the guidelines: “we are interested in stories that don’t fit our journal.”
i think though that most journals presume that what fits them doesn’t fit others, so they believe in the ‘doesn’t fit’ angle in that sense, or that they are the sole fit for the doesnt fits. maybe they should say, sorry, we think your poem would fit too well somewhere else. which may not be uncommon actually.
This “fit” nonsense just proves that the only thing that matters in a rejection letter is “no.”
There’s another thing I’ll start if I ever launch a journal. All rejections will contain one word: “no.”
i said the same thing 3 years ago when i dreamed of starting a journal and how i (me! finally!) would do it. I said, i would but either YES or NO in the subject line and nothing else. what ends up happening though is you realize that people are human beings.
I was about to blast this comment but then I actually read it and don’t find it too offensive.
Although, ultimately, it is still wrong. Let’s get ‘real’, say what you want about subjectivity and the relative worth of stuff, opinions, and shit, but in a hundred years there will be a dozen names for this 40 year period (more as fodder for scholars but I digress) and that isn’t exactly subjective it is something else.
In other words: was there other poets besides Homer and Hesiod (yeah a few for scholars) but to 99% of people reading this and nearly for everyone that ever exist NO, no no no no, it is Homer, it is Hesiod. the others, they do not/did not/(likey)will not exist.
good luck with existing.
and so the bar is set. in a hundred, be one of the dozen of this 40.
im up for the challenge. i’ll take you all on!
I think that one model of some degree of objectivity in appreciating and understanding art would be the way we can observe the extent to which a work is most fully “itself.” This is something that’s hard to define without reference to a specific object but while I can’t objectively say if something is good or bad I can say how much it is itself, in a sense, which is usually a more interesting question.
Or, another way of looking at this is that goodness and badness are largely subjective while works still have many objective qualities that can be used as a proxy for goodness or badness within certain contexts. The HTMLGiant crowd often expresses a preference for work that melts the brain, scorches, crushes, etc. Those are probably more objective descriptions than they sound like at first glance, and within this community they often stand in for claims of relative goodness or badness.
“Look: face it, you’re not going to earn any real money doing this any way… so take some risks. Walk away from the faux-confirmations of the consensus-driven “community”. Start from scratch. Forget how to “market yourself” and learn to write. You’ll feel great. A few of you may turn out to be geniuses and I will be deeply grateful to read the results. I’ll even be happy to pay for the privilege.”
_____
Good God damn post and one reason why I always scratch my head at the “this isn’t the right ‘fit’ line.”
Well, I don’t fucking want to “fit in” anywhere. Who really wants to write a story that “fits,” and why are some editors so hellbent on this idea of “fit”? One of the best rejections I ever received was something like, “this is highly original, but not a good fit,”
Um…isn’t that what writers should strive for–to write something original that doesn’t “fit in” easily with a bunch of other stories?
If I ever start a journal, I’m going to find a way to work a snarky point about “fit” into the guidelines: “we are interested in stories that don’t fit our journal.”
i think though that most journals presume that what fits them doesn’t fit others, so they believe in the ‘doesn’t fit’ angle in that sense, or that they are the sole fit for the doesnt fits. maybe they should say, sorry, we think your poem would fit too well somewhere else. which may not be uncommon actually.
This “fit” nonsense just proves that the only thing that matters in a rejection letter is “no.”
There’s another thing I’ll start if I ever launch a journal. All rejections will contain one word: “no.”
i said the same thing 3 years ago when i dreamed of starting a journal and how i (me! finally!) would do it. I said, i would but either YES or NO in the subject line and nothing else. what ends up happening though is you realize that people are human beings.
I was about to blast this comment but then I actually read it and don’t find it too offensive.
Although, ultimately, it is still wrong. Let’s get ‘real’, say what you want about subjectivity and the relative worth of stuff, opinions, and shit, but in a hundred years there will be a dozen names for this 40 year period (more as fodder for scholars but I digress) and that isn’t exactly subjective it is something else.
In other words: was there other poets besides Homer and Hesiod (yeah a few for scholars) but to 99% of people reading this and nearly for everyone that ever exist NO, no no no no, it is Homer, it is Hesiod. the others, they do not/did not/(likey)will not exist.
good luck with existing.
and so the bar is set. in a hundred, be one of the dozen of this 40.
im up for the challenge. i’ll take you all on!
HEX IS PART OF ZZZZIPP’S COMMUNITY
I got a rejection letter like that once and the only thing I thought was that the editor was a prick.
I’ve never yet submitted, but I’d have to think the ‘fit’ line basically means “you seem like a skilled writer, and while we appreciate all submissions from competent folks, but this piece ain’t doing it, buddy.”
Unless, of course, you submitted sci-fi, and sci-fi makes their skin melt.
Ryan,
Yeah, I know what’s intended by “fit,” but it seems like one of things that can’t help meaning something other than its original intention.
HEX IS PART OF ZZZZIPP’S COMMUNITY
I got a rejection letter like that once and the only thing I thought was that the editor was a prick.
I’ve never yet submitted, but I’d have to think the ‘fit’ line basically means “you seem like a skilled writer, and while we appreciate all submissions from competent folks, but this piece ain’t doing it, buddy.”
Unless, of course, you submitted sci-fi, and sci-fi makes their skin melt.
Ryan,
Yeah, I know what’s intended by “fit,” but it seems like one of things that can’t help meaning something other than its original intention.
I didn’t receive a nice note. I received form rejection 101. I probably deserved it though.
Certainly
I didn’t receive a nice note. I received form rejection 101. I probably deserved it though.
Certainly
I think you are missing what most editors mean by saying a piece ‘doesn’t fit.’ It means that while the story may be technically good, it doesn’t flow with what they publish. Regardless of whether you believe that means they are looking for niche pieces that run well with each other, the editors have to take into account what their audience is looking to read, and what they are not.
I think you are missing what most editors mean by saying a piece ‘doesn’t fit.’ It means that while the story may be technically good, it doesn’t flow with what they publish. Regardless of whether you believe that means they are looking for niche pieces that run well with each other, the editors have to take into account what their audience is looking to read, and what they are not.
[…] Roxane Gay Talks about friends and submissions. […]
Thanks for this, Roxane. I was actually thinking about writing about the same thing at WWAATD. But I think I was somehow afraid to get too touchy.
After becoming an editor of La Petite Zine, I suddenly had friends I never knew I had before. It’s a hell of a line to walk, you know?
I thought it was just their way of using a clichéd expression to avoid having to say a story sucks. Kind of like “it’s not you, it’s me” or “I love you, but I’m not *in* love with you.”
Thanks for this, Roxane. I was actually thinking about writing about the same thing at WWAATD. But I think I was somehow afraid to get too touchy.
After becoming an editor of La Petite Zine, I suddenly had friends I never knew I had before. It’s a hell of a line to walk, you know?
I thought it was just their way of using a clichéd expression to avoid having to say a story sucks. Kind of like “it’s not you, it’s me” or “I love you, but I’m not *in* love with you.”