We’re not sure how other editors operate, so much. From anecdotal evidence, it seems that most editors are less curious than they are controlling. They will pass up a great story idea because the writer is not quite right. An editor put in the position of explaining why he is not interested in a piece will frequently say, “This is not quite right for us.” Pressed on the issue, he will say, “Well, there is a certain ineffable quality to our magazine, and this doesn’t have that.”
This is a dodge, of course. A wise editor separates subject from writer. Is the subject of interest to my readers? (Corollary—the reader doesn’t much care who the writer is, as long as it’s a good and interesting story. Sure, we all have our favorite writers, but it’s not like we won’t read a good piece if we don’t recognize the byline.) Secondarily, editors have to be honest about whether they like the style and skill of the writer. This is where editors turn into despicable and evasive people who will not be honest with the writer, and will probably go to hell when they die. (Hell, by the way, will be an Ikea on an eternal Saturday morning.)
Writing is, on a microscopic level, a mathematical thing—it is either correct or it is not. But taken as a whole, a piece of writing is a highly subjective thing, open to worlds of interpretation and impression. There are world-class writers that we respect and admire, but whom we simply cannot read because of a weird style-aversion. At our own modest little bush-league level, we’re sure we have the same effect on other people (indeed, we have a bloated rejection file to prove it), and so we like to believe that there is always more to learn, more to do, to become better at the craft of writing (and editing).
So anyway, a good editor with intentions of going to heaven at the end of his career, will tell a writer precisely why a suggested or submitted piece “is not quite right for us.” This, of course, takes a little bit of time and effort, but that is the job of the editor. Often, editors revert to an automatic position of “thanks but no thanks” for the simple reason that they have far too many great stories and far too few pages. They should say that. Or they may have run a similar story recently, or seen it in one of their competitor’s publications. They should say that. Or perhaps the editors have a strong sense that the story will not be of interest to their readers. They should say that. We don’t have a lot of patience for editors who cannot be more specific about their rejections. It is the job of the editor to instill that “ineffable quality” she seeks in everything she publishes—and believe us, she does this, quite often with an iron fist and none of the niceties. (The way they talk in their rejections makes you think that they expect to receive copy that is ready to publish without any tampering at all, and this is a cutting lie.) So an editor is ultimately trying to be nice when she says “not quite right for us.” A writer frequently wants to know: Is it me? Or is it the subject? This may seem needy on the writer’s part, but if the writer is a serious professional, it is useful to know. If it is the writer’s style or voice or lack of experience, then he can devote his valuable time to other magazines that might be a better fit. A writer does not like to hear the excuse from the editor that “I have 600 emails from other writers, it’s nothing personal.” Writing IS personal, if you take it seriously. Each writer must find a way to deal with rejection (there is a lot more of that than the other), but when we happen to go freelancing, we prefer no reply at all to a disingenuous one.
(We have to say right now that we are far from blameless in any of this. We hope we are judged by our good intentions and our general professional sunniness. We honestly try, at all times, to use our powers for good. Two areas where we need improvement: Snappier replies and yet more sympathy for the bitter freelancer. If you get a form-letter rejection from The Rake, it is likely that you have done something to make us angry. Otherwise, we are late in replying because we are carefully composing a thoughtful response to your idea or submission, or it somehow slipped through the cracks. We don’t mind gentle reminders—but be warned that this is not normal.)
It is certainly true that everyone today fancies himself or herself a writer, and if you work at a publication with any broad appeal at all, you will be inundated with hundreds of queries, pitches, and stories. We—and here, I am referring to me—have been singled out for public shaming here at the office because our email inbox accounts for almost a quarter of all available server memory. By far the vast majority of these unsolicited submissions are personal essays, stories, and anecdotes—precisely the kind of thing that doesn’t get published so much anymore by anyone. We tell people that, just about as diplomatically, honestly, and quickly as we can.
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