Diary of a Mad Editor

Archive for September 16th, 2006

Some Motherfuckers Just Don’t Know When to Shut the Hell Up

The other day, while browsing on the web, I came across a review of the last issue of The 13th Warrior Review. It was a negative review to say the least. On a ten point scale, I was rated 4 out of 10. I was in good company, as they gave The Barcelona Review the same poor rating. If you are familiar with TBR, you know it is one of the finest literary magazines publishing online. In any event I was somewhat puzzled by the review of my ezine — not so much because the review was negative, but because it seemed so incomplete. For instance, the reviewer glossed over most of the issue, focusing his comments on just two short stories. I suspect that the reviewer is a writing student in a grad-level program, as his comments sounded suspiciously like something one would hear in a writing workshop:

“Mae West and Her Clichés by Peter Leiber is a plain spoken, realistic story in a domestic setting. The subjective narrator, Wesley gives an overview of his life, growing up in a small town in Maine and playing second fiddle to the local jock and high school womanizer, Froggie. Froggie dominates the affections of the local teen siren, Jessica Walters. Years later, Wesley and Froggie attend game seven of the Red Sox/Yankees playoffs and run into Jessica.
Jessica and Froggie (who’s married) reignite their spark and meet again later, dragging Wesley along. The title and the resolve come from the author’s recitation of a Mae West quote concerning the general promiscuity of men and how it relates to Froggie and his lust for Jessica.
The author nicely condenses a huge period of time in a succinct run of description. There is a nice use of the narrator’s frustration at always playing second fiddle that sets up the dynamic of the social interaction between the characters. But the story wanders along without really telling us anything new or exciting about these people or about life in general. In fact these characters are in and of themselves a cliché. Not a waste of time, but not a must
read either.

Consenting Adults Attempt Record by D.E. Fredd is a plain spoken, slightly surrealist piece in a domestic setting. The 1st person narrator, Raymond, and his new girlfriend find themselves in bed one night and spontaneously set out to set a world record for sexual contact. They screw each other for nearly two weeks (with the requisite breaks, of course) until real life considerations force them to resume their jobs and leave their much used
bed. Raymond calls The Guinness Book of Records to see if their feat qualifies for placement and, when he discovers that Guinness doesn’t recognize this category, decides to create The Louise and Raymond Book of Records, which will specialize in tasteful reporting on acts of sexual endurance, unusual appendages and/or proclivities. Raymond
also decides he’s in love, and when he professes this, along with his idea, at an inappropriate moment, Louise is out of his life.

It’s a novel idea for a short story (Ha Ha). And the author tells it in a style that makes the subject relatively believable. But, again, we don’t really end up going anywhere special and the end hits so fast that the reader is left with an abrupt and unsatisfying resolution, as if the author simply grew tired of their work and wanted it to be over.”

However, the reviewer largely bases his negative review on me:

“Eraianne is the king of this small castle, and the decisions are his and his alone. That arbitrary approach to selection, coupled with the paucity and uncertainty of a publication schedule, makes this more a place to toss your unwanted work than a site to consider for serious submission.”

I’m willing to forgive the fact that he mispelled my name. I can even forgive his negative albeit unbalanced review of this one particular issue. What absolutely doesn’t sit well with me is that this asshole would question my taste and my integrity and state outright that my publications aren’t worthy of first-rate submissions. Listen. I’ve been involved in the small press for more than twenty years. I’ve made my share of friends and enemies. But even my enemies don’t question my taste or integrity. In fact, they are my enemies precisely because I have taste and integrity. I will be the first to admit that my publication schedule is not precise. I am, afterall, a one-man marching band and do all of the work myself. Add that to the fact that I am usually fairly generous in extending contributors courtesy when they want to do a last minute revision and you can understand that I can’t always publish on a precise date. For the record, 13thWR is published twice a year, not once. And those two issues are usually packed with plenty to read. Also, there is nothing arbitrary about my selection process. It’s not like I randomly pick stuff out of the slush pile. I read everything I’m sent, and unless it truly obviously sucks, I read a piece several times before I make a decision. And another thing: Of the 20+ years I’ve been involved in the small press, I’ve been a publisher for half that time and 13thWR is in its sixth year of publication. When one considers that most small press endeavors don’t last past their first anniversary, I’m a fucking dinosaur. The suggestion that I’m some fly-by-night-layover-in-a-strange-city-to-troll-for -hookers-kind-of-guy is idiotic to say the least.