Diary of a Mad Editor

Although I was vaguely aware that there was such an invention as the Internet, I had no experience with it until December 25, 1998. I didn’t have a computer of my own then. I had just put out the second issue of my literary magazine, Devil Blossoms, published using a sharp electronic word process typewriter, and was looking ahead to doing a third issue. I knew that if I was to continue as a small press publisher, I would need a computer. I also thought it would be a good idea to have some kind of website. So, that Christmas, while visiting my sister, I took the opportunity to explore the Internet literary scene on her new PC. What I discovered was something of a revelation. At that time, the online literary scene was coming to the end of what I call the first wave. This era was dominated by a lot of badly done literary magazines with some pretty bad writing by amateurs and posers who were all but unknown to us in the print world. Oh, there were exceptions, of course, but webpage after webpage bore out the truth — so much crap, but what potential! Any writer with even a little bit of a pedigree could set up shop online and rock the house. The publications which were exceptional were hungry for decent writing. And before the bubble burst, Internet companies were handing out electronic real estate like candy to children on Halloween.

I came to the Internet at the end of this era. I threw myself into the process of shopping for and buying a PC. Realizing I had a limited budget and that PCs weren’t quite as cheap as they are today, I settled on a PC put out by the now-defunct CyberMax I’d seen in a ad in Computer Shopper. The first thing I did was teach myself some basic HTML (hypertext markup language). My first two efforts were a personal webpage and a poetry ezine called New World Poetry . I started to submit poetry to online zines and accepting poetry for NWP. By this time the first wave was winding-down. More and more small press writers were getting online to join their brethren in Cyberspace. I certainly did my share of strongarming and persuading to get some writers I knew to get their asses over here. A lot of the lesser publications started to disappear. Only a handful of the betters ezines survived.

First Wave: (1994-1999 R.I.P.)

A second wave had already begun to emerge prior to this however. Ezines like Pif, Gravity, and The Alsop Review were already established by the time the first wave had ended. The second wave publications were hellbent on being taken seriously. It was also a time when ezines started to get publicity in the mainstream press and prestige publications like the Pushcart Anthology started to allow nominations from electronic publications. Things seemed to be on a roll. Still, there was much happening that detracted from the steady evolution of the Internet lit scene. Too many publications relied on visual eye candy, gimmicks and just plain bad web design. There were still too many amateur writers existing on the fringes, hanging out in chatroom, Usenet, and on other forums, making noise. There was also the problem of Internet publishers simply not knowing how to integrate the print world with the electronic as most of the electronic publishers had zero experience with print publishing.

Second wave (1997-2000 R.I.P.)

Welcome to the third wave!

Everyone was riding high and resting on their laurels, convinced that everything was everything Then the Internet bubble burst followed on its heels by 9/11. The landscape changed and the old electronic ocean began to dry-up. Anyone still publishing ezines on free webspace found that more and more webspace was no longer free. So too, many other “free” services started to dry up. Those publications which couldn’t adapt simply vanished. Just before the bubble burst, I was publishing five ezines: New World Poetry, The Doomed City, Gnome, The 13th Warrior Review, and The Labyrinth. By the time the third wave was winding-down, I had just three. At the beginning of the present fourth wave, I had two ezines which had survived.

Third wave: (2000-2003 R.I.P.) The end of a Golden Digital Age.

The fourth wave has been influenced by a dramatic leap in technology — everything from Cascading Style Sheets to Blogs and Google Adsense. Newer and more efficient means of delivering and presenting information has trickled down to the Internet lit scene.

Fourth Wave: (2003-???)

What’s next? Who knows? But I do predict that all of us who publish online will have to bring our game up, that what once seemed like a vast electronic land of milk and honey is now a dwindling frontier surrounded by a vast and dangerous new ocean.

So you want to start a literary ezine. Good for you! Have you given any thought to how you will go about it? Sure, there are advantages to publishing online — it’s cheaper than print, web design is easier to learn than Quark Xpress, etc. But it’s also no cakewalk to publish a successful literary ezine. Most of them have a shorter lifespan than their offline counterparts.

About a year ago, this young, wet-behind-the ears editor contacted me to pick my brains and hit me up for free publicity for his forthcoming ezine. While he was earnest enough and was very idealistic, it was clear that he didn’t have a clear vision for his new publication. His web design was off. It was attractive enough, but not very functional or usable. Then there was matter of his editing style — he had an “editorial board” and gave them too much voice in the decision making process. Thirdly, his bulletin board system was a problem. He couldn’t decide whether his publication was a literary ezine with a discussion board or a discussion board with an ezine attached. I gave this editor as much advice as I could without charging him a consulting fee. What happened was that he didn’t accept any of the advice I gave him and failed to correct any of the problems before the first issue. And the first issue was wretched. The issue barely had any content at all — something like six pieces if memory serves. Of the six only one of the stories was any good. The remainder of the issue consisted of the bland, mediocre and just awful. There was one piece that was nothing but several pages of gibberish — just a bunch of random words and phrases run together that a child could have written. Needless to say, hardly anyone read that first issue and those who did, didn’t seem likely to return. The deadline for the second issue came and went and I doubt anyone will ever see it.

So what went wrong?

1. Don’t show your desperation.
This young editor was a little too desperate in his approach, begging anyone who would listen for help, submissions, etc. Trying too hard to “make friends.” Everyone is needy when seeking to publish a first issue, but the trick is not to act like it. Whether it comes to submissions or publicity, always act like you’ve scoped the scene and have it wired, locked and loaded.

2. Have a clear editorial vision
Know what you want your publication to look like. Know precisely what kind of material you want to publish. Stick to that vision. Shape your ideals to your vision, not the other way around.

3. Be wary of editing by committee
It’s one thing to have people helping you out with the editorial grunt work. It’s a whole other animal to give the grunts equal voice in the decision making process. Say you have a grunt who happens to like gibberish and you respond by saying, “Sure, whatever you want.” Another grunt likes dull, unenergetic academic bullshit. And that’s fine with you too? No one wants to book passage on a sinking ship. No one wants to read crap or submit to crappy publications. Good writing isn’t done by committee and good editing isn’t done by committee either. Grow some balls, man!

4. Web design should be clean and functional
Stay away from gaudy graphical links, flash intros and all that other bullshit. Your web design should be simple, but elegant. Page markup should look as close to the printed page as possible. Don’t use fancy fonts or font sizes that are either too big or too small. Menu navigation should be at the top just under the logo or at the bottom where everyone can see it.

5. Give yourself enough time to gather and read a suitable amount of unsolicited material before publishing a first issue
One cannot realistically expect to have a lot of submissions for a first issue. It takes time to get the word out . . . and money if you have any to spend of an advertisement. However, if you can only get six submissions for your first issue, they’d better be six fucking great submissions, because you will be judged on your first issue and that judgement will impact on whether or not there will be a second issue. In the best of worlds, a typical issue should contain as many pages as its print counterpart.

That’s just the basics. It also doesn’t hurt to have a catchy, memorable title for your ezine. Also, don’t get discouraged if you are not successful right out of the gate. It can take a while to attract a regular readership to an ezine, but if you are mindful of the basics, it will happen.

Let’s face it, no one likes to receive a rejection slip. Certainly, the rejection slips I’ve sent have gotten me into trouble with disgruntled recipients from time to time. So, I thought I would translate my rejection slips for you guys. Whether for future reference you find my translation more offensive than the actual rejection slip is for the gods to decide, I suppose.

My rejections basically come in four varieties:

1. The personal, long-winded, point-by-point critique.
Writers who receive one of these rare gems should not feel insulted no matter how blunt or hurtful the language. Basically, if I take the time to give you a real critique with constructive criticism, what I’m telling you is that I take you seriously as a writer, but think your technique needs some work. I almost never hand out these personal rejections anymore,however, as I get too many submissions and no longer have the time.

2. The “Sorry, No” rejection
To my way of thinking, the “Sorry, No” rejection is just a shorthand version of the form rejection letter. Like a form rejection (which I will get to shortly) it doesn’t necessarily mean that I think you are a bad writer. Most of the time, it just means you caught me on a day when I’ve run out of form rejection letters and don’t have the time to write out upteen thousand form rejections in longhand.

3. The Barb
The one-line barb gets me into the most trouble. Contrary to popular belief, I do not stoop to this level as a means to boost my own ego although, I do sometimes throw out stingers as a means to amuse myself. I can guarantee, that I will receive one or more nasty letters, threats, etc. If I reject a writer with an obvious insult, it usually means that I deem that writer to be rank stinking amateur who has, through ignorance or indifference, irritated me in some way. The theory behind the barb — and I cannot lie — is that it will sting the writer so badly that some soul-searching is inescapable. That writer will either be so shattered by the experience that giving up is a real option (thus sparing us of more of their dreck) or the writer will dig down deep and discover some hidden talent that hasn’t yet manifested, but also realize that there is a fair amount of hard work and discipline necessary to make their writerly dream come true. So far, the barb has accomplished absolutely nothing except pissing such writers off. Because of this I almost never resort to the barb anymore unless I am in a REALLY foul mood.

4. The Form Rejection Letter
We’ve all gotten these, haven’t we? The impersonal “Thank you for your interest, but we can’t use your submission” rejection. Ever diplomatic in tone with no indication as to why you were rejected. Such a mystery. Like the cheerleader who wasn’t asked to the prom by the boy she likes, crying out, “Why, why, why did he reject me?” And you never do find out. Did they sit around the conference table poking fun at your submission before tossing it back? Did they seriously want to use it, but Phil Roth was available and alas, they no longer had space for you? Was your story even read, or did some fat, lazy intern simply stuff a form letter in there so he could get back to stuffing his face with twinkies? The truth is, it could be for any of those reasons. The form rejection is a time-saver. Sometimes, the writing is so obviously awful that rejection is inevitable, but the writer didn’t irritate me and I still have form rejection letter laying around I’ll show a little mercy and take the path of least resistance. And sometimes, I DO like their writing but just don’t have space for it. My better angels are telling me that this person or that won’t be happy if I accept submission X and hold on to it for an indefinite period of time before I can use it so I toss it back with an inoffensive form letter, hoping that the writer will choose to submit again when our mutual timing isn’t so off. Most of the time, though, it simply means that the submission was somehow off the mark or inappropriate. That writer didn’t follow guidelines, proofread, or that the submission was just plain mediocre and/or boring. For example, I recall a guy once sent me a 10 page poem about his trip to Wal-Mart. The whole poem was like “I went down the aisle and bought a toothbrush. There was a black woman buying yarn.” What am supposed to do with that, much less 10 pages of that? The answer: a form rejection letter.

I do believe most writers know the drill when it comes to rejection and accept it as a fact of life. But some do not. Some are simply too arrogant or delusional to get that rejection isn’t really personal. It’s not about publishing certain writers while deliberately excluding others. On any given day, any writer has an equal opportunity to be either accepted or rejected. There is no science to it. It is just that editors have a finite amount of space to fill per issue and they have to reject most of what they receive. If you believe I reject you because I have a personal axe to grind and want to conspire to deprive you of your chance to be a published writer you must also believe that I torture animals and small children too.