Lost in the Forest

As someone who frequently submits to poetry journals, I’ve read a lot of submission guidelines: some sensible, some outrageous. Now I’d like to turn it around and give editors some guidelines of my own.

Before I do, though, let me make one thing clear. Believe it or not, this is not about me thinking I’m God’s gift to the world. I’m well aware of my own shortcomings as a writer (and otherwise). This is about principles. If you have trouble wrapping your head around that; if you can’t imagine anyone caring about this stuff for any reason other than pure ego; if you are perfectly content with the state of poetry today; then you shouldn’t be editing a poetry journal. You don’t care enough. Hang it up. Which brings me to #1…

1. Feel free to quit any time.

That’s right, you heard me. I know it’s hard work, but editing a poetry journal doesn’t make you Mother Teresa. You must be getting something out of it, or you wouldn’t do it. I won’t insult you by suggesting it has anything to do with po-biz prestige; I know there are other incentives. Creative satisfaction; the chance to have your say. You probably see your journal as a necessary corrective to all the crap that’s out there. Well, guess what: so do all the other editors. Have you looked at Duotrope lately? Every day some new shmuck hangs out his shingle and sets up as a poetry editor. It’s getting ridiculous. Some of these people can’t even write a decent prose sentence. What the world needs is not more editors, but better ones.

2. Don’t do me any favors.

If you feel you’re doing me a favor by publishing my poem, you shouldn’t be publishing it. The last thing the world needs is another mediocre poem in another so-so journal. Publish the poems you’re excited about, the ones you feel lucky to have snagged. And by the same token, when you do publish a piece, be grateful for it. Remember, you’re asking poets to hand their work over to you, free of charge in most cases, so that you can include it in your own creative work (the issue).

Yes, if your journal is at all successful, the poet gets something out of it too: a chance to be read. Just try to keep in mind that it’s a mutual thing.

3. It’s my poem.

As an editor, you may suggest changes to my poem, but you absolutely may not make any changes without my permission. That should go without saying. Can you imagine a gallery owner saying to a painter, “I’d be happy to exhibit your painting, but it still needs work – hand me that paintbrush so I can finish it for you”?

Poetry is an art like any other. And poets – not just the great ones, but all those who give a damn – pay close attention to every single word, every single punctuation mark:

“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” –Oscar Wilde

If something looks odd to you, bear in mind that the author may have some reason for doing it that hasn’t occurred to you. On the other hand, if the poets you’re publishing are simply careless or illiterate, why are you publishing them?

3a. Revisions happen.

Even a poet of modest gifts is entitled to take her work seriously. It’s important to me to make my piddly little poem as good as it can possibly be. If an idea for improvement occurs to me after you’ve accepted a poem, I’m going to discuss it with you. You may not like the idea, and it may or may not be a deal-breaker, but the discussion is going to take place. If you find that puzzling or “disconcerting,” to use one editor’s word for it, then you don’t care enough about what you’re printing. Maybe you should print fewer poems, or find some other hobby that doesn’t require so much attention to detail.

4. Email is unreliable.

The US postal service is pretty reliable; if I send you a postal submission, I can be pretty sure you’ll receive it. The same cannot be said for email. Emails get lost all the time. They get bounced by servers, filed in spam folders, and accidentally deleted. Don’t tell me to assume you’ve received my submission, and not to inquire after it, as if I were petitioning for an audience with the pope. Editing, I’m sorry to say, involves a certain amount of boring clerical work. Get over yourself and do it.

Consider setting up your account so that submitters are automatically notified when their emails are received. It’s not that hard; millions of people do it when they go on vacation each year. Most email software has a feature for this which you can find under Options, Settings, or Preferences.

5. IRCs are expensive and a pain in the ass.

Instead of insisting on International Reply Coupons, why not just be honest and admit you’re not interested in international submissions? My local post office doesn’t even keep IRCs in stock.

6. Life is short.

It’s normal and natural and right for even the most minor poet to want her poems to be read and appreciated. I am not going to wait ten months while you, and only you, sit on my poems, as if being published in your journal were my one and only goal in life. I’m going to submit my poems to several journals simultaneously, and publish them with whichever journal says yes first.

This makes perfect sense in another way, too, when you think about it. A poem either excites you or it doesn’t. You’re either eager to accept it, or you’re not. If you find yourself agonizing over the decision, that in itself is your answer. “If in doubt, leave it out.”

7. Rejecting submissions is your job.

I know it’s no fun, but it comes with the territory. Man up, or woman up, as the case may be, and do your job.

If you can’t be bothered to send me a rejection notice, I can’t be bothered to submit to your journal. You’re asking poets to send you their work for free; the least you can do in return is give them the courtesy of a reply. Refusing to do so is a symbolic gesture of disrespect, and not just for the poets themselves; you devalue the art of poetry when you treat it like that.

The two excuses I’ve heard for this practice are “We’re busy” and “It’s unpleasant having to say no.” That last one is no excuse at all: if you don’t have the spine to say no, you don’t have the qualities necessary to be a good editor in the first place. The former is somewhat more understandable, but still not good enough. After all, you claim to be reading all the submissions that come in. Surely reading an individual submission, and making a decision about it, takes a good deal more time than the few seconds it takes to hit Reply, paste a standard rejection message into the box, and hit Send.

8. I’m submitting to your journal, not auditioning to be your BFF.

Are you looking for good poetry, or more pals to spam on Facebook? You either like my poems or you don’t. Let them speak for themselves. Don’t ask me to cozy up to you in a cutesy-personal cover letter.

I trust these guidelines are clear. If you have any questions, you may contact me by snail-mail with a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Response times vary, but I’ll try to get back to you within 6 months. Unless I forget. But don’t remind me, or I’ll get angry and toss your letter in the trash.