Spencer Gordon, a student in U of Toronto’s Masters in creative writing program, and editor of a micropress called Ferno House, has another rejection story to share. For the first three rejection letter stories, click here, here, and here. If you have a rejection letter story to share, email me at circulation[at]tnq.ca
Spencer has published fiction, poetry, and interviews in a variety of print and online lit journals, but he was also the editor and publisher of The Puritan, and his story is based on his experience on the inside, if you will.
Editors Can Make Mistakes Too:
While editing submissions for a small, independent magazine, I received a story from a certain writer who was the author of several books, who was celebrated and awarded and endowed. Let’s call him Writer X. Working for a new publication, we were understandably excited to receive work from a well-known, lauded author. But here we encountered a problem: his story was bad. His sentences were syntactically clumsy. His metaphors were burnt-out and saggy; his descriptions were maudlin. Most detrimentally, his story was incredibly boring. Not wanting to sully the already questionable content of our journal, we regretfully rejected Writer X’s piece. After expressing his shock, he then re-submitted with another story. This piece (more like a fragment) was no better. And so we again respectfully and regretfully rejected Writer X’s work, encouraging him to send us something else.
Next month, we were surprised to find Writer X’s rejected story in one of Canada’s most prestigious, government-funded, widely distributed and most gorgeously designed literary journals. I was happy for Writer X, but I was also deeply confused by his success.
This scenario suggests one of only three possibilities.
1. Even though we were thrilled to receive Writer X’s work, and were desperately eager to publish him, and read and re-read his work to find something meriting publication, we ultimately lacked good judgment. The major Canadian literary journal, having a more experienced and refined critical acumen, saved Writer X’s submission from obscurity.
2. Somehow, the major journal’s editorial board lacked good judgment, despite the grants, circulation, advertisers, and prestige.
3. The major journal published Writer X’s story because Writer X is a well-known, celebrated writer.Without choosing one option over another, here’s something that’s certain. Surely, the major journal had to reject other submissions in order to make room for Writer X’s piece. Perhaps one of those rejected stories or poems was yours. Perhaps it was the best thing you’ve ever written. Now, were you rejected because of a lack of quality in your work, or were you rejected due to some other condition – a condition that might be totally out of your control?
You may never know. I’m not suggesting that factors of prestige, or connections, for example, are the sole reasons you’re being rejected, nor am I trying to anger or enflame you. In fact, I’m saying this to cheer you up. We all know that sometimes stories and poems are selected based on a whole host of factors, and not merely quality alone (despite what some mags tell us). I’ve worked for one, waded through thousands of stories during my short tenure as fiction editor, and made countless and irreversible mistakes. More aspiring writers should recognize that publishing, like any other industry, is sometimes a game of chance. A rejection from one publication does not mean a rejection outright – it means that particular magazine, at that particular point in time, for a very particular reason, would like to pass on it. Remember: a literary magazine is only as relevant or profound as its editors or special selection committees: tribunals composed of people of various ages and experience, all limited by their own peculiar hang-ups, grudges, allegiances, and fetishes.
If there’s anything encouraging I can say – and I am both regularly and gleefully rejected – it’s to take heart and keep on trying. Sometimes it is them, and not you.
Well, mostly it’s you. But sometimes, sometimes …
Check out Spenser’s blog for more about what he and Ferno House are up to: http://dangerousliterature.blogspot.com.
For the record, The New Quarterly, when faced with two stories of equal merit, will always choose to publish a new writer over a big name. We pride ouselves in discovering writers who go on to do even greater things.










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I quite agree. We do the best we can in this job, and we select the stories we believe will appeal to our readers, regardless of the author’s credentials. Rejection letters are difficult to write because we don’t just use a form letter. Some authors take rejection personally (one wrote back and called us a bunch of “morons”) while others thank us for our honest appraisal of their work. Some sell the same story to another magazine. We do the best we can.
The fact is, a lot of great work gets turned down, because there’s only so much we can accept.
I have to wonder about the people who write those “morons” letters. We had one of those, in which the fellow referred to TNQ as a “rag.” So why did he bother sending a submission? It shouldn’t need saying, but writing insulting letters should be #1 on the “things not to do while trying to get published” list. Sometimes when our editors (at least on the poetry side) don’t feel that something is a good fit for TNQ, they can suggest a mag that they think will be a better fit. Writing childish, unprofessional letters every time you get a rejection isn’t going to do anything but get you blacklisted all over the place.
I love the idea of TNQ being a “rag”. Can you imagine how wonderful magazines in general would have to be for this to be the case?
Yes! I love this post! I’ve had this conversation so, so many times with writers who also submit short stories to (mostly Canadian) journals. I think it’s important also to point out the financial/business side of this: a journal will publish a writer who will give them “name recognition” (a term I acquired while working at a book festival, haha) in hopes of greater sales and/or recognition. I’ve had several stories published after rejections, revisions, etc, and I don’t want to throw down a macho platitude like “roll with the punches,” but it can be worthwhile to embrace the arbitrary nature of things. Then again, I do understand why people write those “moron” letters — anything done in isolation for a long enough period will drive anyone crazy; I’ve spoken to a lot of people who *hate* journals and *hate* the selection process and now think it’s just an expression of frustration, disillusionment and the self-isolation that writing can easily bring.