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Decembris 12., 2011
 | 10:34
Par spīti derdzīgām pohām, dzīve ir okei
vakar vienā brīdī pēkšņi atvērās, atnāca tās pirmās 3 rindkopas tekstam, nu, tās, kas iedod toņkārtu un zamaškas, un pēc kurām ir forši strādāt (sliktā ziņa: atnāca PL āfterpārtijā, un vismaz pieci cilvēki man jautāja, vai es rakstu stāstu, ar tik neviltotu pārsteigumu, ka es aš samulsu)
šorīt saņēmu rejection letter no Journal of Universal Rejections (paša respektablākā un ievērojamākā akadēmiskā un literārā žurnāla pasaulē, based on rejection rates)
Incredibly sweet, un joki ir par tēmu (tb redaktore ir izlasījusi stāstu, sapratusi, un reaģē atbilstoši).
Dear Ms. or Mr. or Indeterminate or My-Gender-is-None-of-Your-Business [uzvārds]:
(We are nothing if not sensitive to matters of gender, whether chosen,
naturally apportioned or divinely imposed -- long and baroque have
been our editorial board meetings wherein we have argued at length and
breadth the merits and pitfalls of altering the English language to
better serve our readership in this regard; do not for a moment
believe we are anything but utterly respectful of your situation,
whatever it may be, and that in no way do we even begin to suspect we
can understand your feelings on the matter, or indeed lack of
feelings; we make no assumptions whatsoever.)
Thank you for your insightful and passionate story, "The Final Turn."
As the Journal's short story editor, I see (and reject) many stories
and I have to admit that it is a rare (pleasure) to come across one
that includes pigs, apples, death, sex, gender- and species- identity
questions and also pink nail polish. Rare indeed.
Alas, rare is not enough.
No, indeed--many are the rare stories that lay across our desks,
begging to be given a starring role (or indeed any role at all) and as
you may suspect precious few are actually cast. Rare, odd and even
frightening stories have no more advantage with us than the most
predictable, dull, and tedious stories. (Indeed, a recent submission
frightened our editorial staff so much that we ended up in a heated
discussion about who was going to reject it under what pseudonym and
what favors would be owed said person. Five triple-shot caramel
lattes, as I recall.)
But back to your story.
A story such as yours is destined for many trips around the globe,
collecting many diverse rejections. It is, in many ways, a sort of
Rorschach test, allowing each reader to project onto it and see in it
what is foremost in their consciousness.
And what do I see? Bluntly put, I see a story that would disturb our
delicate readership in their notions of identity and gender. Such
disturbance might result in them hesitating, pens poised over their
Journal subscription renewal forms. I'm sure you understand that in
hard economic times like these a journal such as ours -- exclusive and
award-winning though it may be -- can scarce afford such risks.
Perhaps you should view your story as an ambassador to the world, and
re-title it "reject me if you're uncomfortable with your gender
choices" to see if you get better results. Just a thought. Best wishes
on your story's upcoming travels.
Do think think of us next time you write a short story that includes
pink nail polish.
Sincerely,
[redaktores vārds]
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Comments:
Ak jel, šī atbilde ir pagalam sweet. Tagad gribētos pašu stāstu arī.
akvaivai cik mīļi - A story such as yours is destined for many trips around the globe, collecting many diverse rejections. |
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