Diary of a Mad Editor

There was a time, back when I first started Asterius Press, that I was a stickler for deadlines. I mean, I busted my ass to publish things on time. I’d pull all-nighters — whatever I had to do to accomplish the task at hand. The past few years, however, my health and financial difficulties have thrown a wrench in the works and for my own piece of mind, I’ve pulled back a bit and have been taking things slow. In truth, I’ve become fairly lackadaisical about deadlines. My priorities have simply changed.

Devil Blossoms, the little literary magazine that was once my flagship publication and the thing I was most known for, hasn’t been published since 2007. For the past few years, it’s been on indefinite hiatus. Nonetheless, I had tentatively planned to publish a new issue sometime later in 2010 provided I had enough suitable material and financial resources to make it happen. As such, I started reading submissions for this publication late last August in the hopes of making it happen sooner or later.  One story I’d accepted was from this young writer who, although initially seemed cool with the fact that he’d have to wait a spell before seeing his story in print, quickly fired off a query within a few weeks of acceptance demanding to know when the issue would be published. I replied to him expressing even more clearly that the issue would not soon be published because I simply had other priorities and didn’t have enough material to fill an issue anyway — nor did I know for certain what format the new issue would take. In short, there was a lot of details to work through before I could even think about publishing the issue.  Although it was clear he was not really happy with the situation, he accepted my answer and didn’t withdraw his story. Flash forward a couple of months and I receive yet another query from this guy asking the same question, “When will DB be published?”  Not much has changed since I last communicated with this fellow. I still don’t have quite enough material to fill an entire issue. I still don’t know how or when I’m going to be able to publish it. I have secured the artwork for the cover. The issue is coming together at its own pace and I’m still hoping that when it is ready to be published I will be able to publish it. But I am in no hurry.  I simply don’t feel the same urgency that the author of the story feels.

On one hand, I sympathize with the guy because I’ve been there in that place where you’ve had something you’ve written accepted by a literary publication and you don’t know if or when it will be published for real. It can be agony to wait when you are young and just starting out. It can be like bleeding out slowly onto the floor tiles. I get that. On the other hand, being as I was upfront about the situation from the very beginning, I’m annoyed with him.  After all, when I initially accepted his piece, I told him that he’d have to wait a long, long time and left it up to him whether he wanted to allow me to hold onto his story or take it elsewhere given the situation. He opted to let me hold onto it. He chose to wait it out.  If he queries me a month from now, my reply would be the same, most likely. I can’t give him a firm time table for the issue’s publication and his impatience doesn’t help the situation. As such, I’ve decided to do what I should have done to begin with: release the story back to him.  I mean, I really hate to go all William Packard on his ass, but it does seem to be the best solution for both of us.  This way, he can maybe find a new home for his story and maybe see it published in the near future if he’s lucky. Or maybe not. But that’s the chance you take when you submit work to a publisher.

During the NanoWriMo, there was an almost unending stream of solicitations for donations to support that organization’s young writing program. You’d think that funding this program was mission critical as if was the most important achievement in the world.

You know what I just realized? There are literally thousands of these programs out there directed at teen writers. Thousands.

And they all act like the writers of the future won’t become the writers of the future if they don’t start out in one of these programs. What a fucking racket!

If you’re going to be a writing guru scam artist, the aspiring teen writer is really where the money’s at. All you’ve got to be a some random shitbird with a few dubious publication credits to your name. You go buy some rundown farmhouse or cabin at a sheriff’s sale, slap a coat of paint on the barn and call it a youth writing retreat or something. Personally, I think your average teen writer is better off taking a seminar in how to get rid of blackheads than waste a dime on one of these programs. Thing is, I don’t remember there being any of this garbage when I was in high school. When I started writing, it was just me, a notebook, a Smith-Corona manual typewriter and a library card.  Oh, there were creative writing contests here and there that were for teens, but I don’t ever remember all these retreats, workshops and the like. When did this sort of thing become so popular? And Seeing as how, there is more arts funding at the state level for projects centered around teens and less for individual writers of genuine merit, I have to ask:what have these programs really accomplished? Are we really churning-out future Hemingways? Are these programs even turning out more teens who can pass the writing part of their statewide high school assessment tests?

I know you must’ve been frustrated, but to me it would seem the more classless thing to do is to eviscerate the young guy on your blog, John!!! — John Boughn

Recently, on this blog, a somewhat controversial post elicited a comment that suggested that I have no class. Not the first-time, and I suppose I should feel insulted by this but, in truth, I’m strangely flattered. I’m certainly not the type of guy who feels comfortable in a tuxedo vest, if you know what I mean, but I’ll leave it to people who actually know me to decide whether I’m fit for polite society.

Part of the appeal of this blog — especially among that special group of readers who are themselves editors of literary magazines, is that I often say things about about my experiences as an editor that some of my readers would like to say themselves if they cared a little less about what others thought of them. I know lots of editors who will say things privately about writers that they’d never have the guts to say in public. If my willingness to do so makes me seem like a black hat to some readers, so be it.

It’s not as if the public perception of editors is inherently positive to begin with. Look at how editors are depicted in popular culture! In novels, films and even in comic books, editors are portrayed badly. They’re self-absorbed, petty, crass, bombastic, overly-critical, megalomaniacal and, usually, irredeemably classless. They’re never the heroes of the story. They’re usually portrayed as foils or buffoons. Most writers think editors are, at best, a necessary evil and at worst, the devil incarnate, plotting sinister schemes to thwart their creative pursuits.

The way I see it, it’s not my job to be a poster boy for the profession, um-kay. This blog’s main function is less about promoting that negative stereotype of editors than it is about demystifying what literary editors and publishers do from a certain point-of-view. If in accomplishing that task, I sometimes reinforce the negative stereotype . . . well . . . as I said, so be it. You’ll get no apologies from me.

As I’ve stated on a number of occasions over the years, if a writer doesn’t like my ways, they don’t have to submit their writing to me. If they choose to do so, they have to accept the consequences, which may well include a metaphorical roasting on a spit.

So far, after many years of doing this, the submissions keep coming, things get published and certainly people keep reading this blog despite the fact that I’ve never gone too far out of my way to encourage them to do so. All things considered,I figure I must be doing something right.