Spanking of the week
I got a thin envelope in the mail on Thursday. It had the address label I use on the envelopes I send out with story submissions. So I recognized it immediately for what it was: a rejection. I opened it to find a 2 inch by 4 inch piece of paper with the following: The Carolina Quarterly. Due to backlog of fiction submissions, we have been unable to read your manuscript in a timely fashion. We are very sorry for the inconvenience, and we encourage you to resubmit your work after September 1, 2007.
In pen someone had written the title of my story, "Lost Boy of Passadumkeag." Odd, I thought. I withdrew that story from other magazines once I got word it had been accepted by The Fourth River. And what the hell did the note mean? Did they ever read my story? It didn't indicate rejection in a plain manner. None of the 'not right for us' or 'good luck placing it elsewhere.'
So I went to the color coded submissions spreadsheet to discover just how untimely The Carolina Quarterly had been in not reading my manuscript before sending me a cryptic note. At first I couldn't find it on the sheets. I began doubting my system.
But then I found it, much further back in time than I expected to find it. I submitted to the magazine on November 9, 2005. Their note came June 28, 2007. Pardon?
If they were so backlogged, why didn't stop accepting new submissions so as to get caught up? Why not
give notice to contributers that it would be many, many, many months before they could expect to hear a response?
I understand that the running of a literary magazine is a time consuming, labor of love affair. You don't make much (if any) money and you receive very little thanks.
But that's no excuse for taking 18 and a half months to send not-quite-rejection notes to writers who are spending valuable postage money and effort on submitting to your magazine.
Had The Carolina Quarterly committed one offense I would have said no more but the combination of serious delay and cryptic note demands that I give them the spanking of the week. There! Now pull up your pants, and don't make me do this again.