On Becoming an Editor: An Act of Betrayal?
by Michael Bryson
Writers and their productions are amazingly
diverse. There is one topic, however, on which most writers agree.
Editors don't know what they're doing.
Not surprisingly, the animosity is often shared by
editors. This was made clear to me when I signed up for two night
classes a couple of years ago. One was called "Writing for
Magazines", the other "Magazine Editing." Each class
began with the instructor informing his students the largest obstacle to
their happiness would be a member of a different class of human beings:
writers for editors, editors for writers.
I have never subscribed to this polarized view of the
world. To participate in the literary community requires wearing
different hats at different times. One can write and publish fiction and
poetry. One can wear the hat of the critic or book reviewer. One can be
an editor or publisher and help shepherd writers and their writing to
the marketplace of ideas. I am convinced these are complimentary, though
not uncomplicated roles.
One of the complications is the shifting balance of
power. For the novice writer, the editor is something akin to a vengeful
God who inflicts plague after plague (rejection after rejection) on the
house of "Art." Judging from the state of much popular
writing, it seems fair to conclude that the balance of power shifts in
favour of the writer as the dollars pile up. If it's selling, why edit
the garbage out of it.
Having written fiction and poetry and having now
edited two editions of The Danforth Review, I can offer a
perspective from both sides of the street. More than once I have sent
the same story to two or more publications and received vastly different
responses in return. I have found this frustrating and of little use to
my development as a writer. Instead, I nurtured an opinion about the
ignorance of some editors and readers.
I have tried not to be that kind of editor in my role
of selecting work for The Danforth Review. As of the date of this
writing (September 24, 1999), I have rejected fiction from five writers
and poetry from 13. In return I have received a half-dozen notes of
thanks for my comments and one stinging note informing me I had two
choices: a) I could provide the writer a better explanation of why I
turned down his work, or b) I had a moral obligation to remove my
publication from the internet. (I did neither.)
One of the notes of thanks was from a poet who told me
he had made a decision last year to send his work "everywhere"
and had since received "every comment imaginable," including
my own comment that I couldn't accept his poems but I wished him well.
What else is there to say? I firmly believe it is not an act of betrayal
to reject a writers work, simply stating "this work is not suitable
for us at this time."
Acts of betrayal do happen, however. When a story or
poem is lost. When a publication takes over a year to respond to a
submission. (Both of these things have happened to me and many others.)
Editors are neither vengeful Gods or the ultimate champions of good
writing, decorum or dare we call it literature. In the end, writers are
on their own, alone with the page, making decisions about which word
goes after which word.
That's exactly the way it should be. |
