Eat, Drink, Slush

I try not to read the cover letter of a short story I’ve read until after I think I’ve made a decision about the story. I think it’s easy to be swayed by those who aren’t afraid to express how fiercely they admire Avery, or by those with 50 publications or a couple of Pushcarts under their belt. As a newcomer and lowly reader, little attention is paid to me by our followers so I’ve come to learn that what’s even harder to resist is a personal appeal. On one or two of such aforementioned cover letters, I was a bit delighted, in a self-satisfied sort of way, to see my own name, that is John, more specifically John McCormack, cited in the salutation. Not Dear Nicolette, Adam, or Steph, or Dear reader, or Dear editors, or Dear douchebag, but Dear John McCormack. Naturally upon encountering such a salutation in the cover letter, I disregarded any prior thoughts I may have had about the story and immediately enlisted the help of the “love” button. I then feared that maybe someone had just plucked out my name after scrolling a little too hastily through our “Meet the Staff” page.

In all seriousness, however, it dawned on me that perhaps there are those who are interested in the mind of the “lowly reader.” That there are those who would like to know what kind of writing makes me tick. Why I’m here. Why I’m voluntarily reading through tons of stories.

For anyone wondering what I might be hoping for from the slush pile submissions, I have but one suggestion: Read Bukowski’s intro to Ask the Dust.

Why? Follow me on this one. I’m not suggesting our submitters try writing like Bukowski or Fante for that matter (let’s be real here), I’m simply suggesting writers consider what Fante did to Bukowski.

Consider how Bukowski swept the shelves of the L.A. Public Library with a listlessness in his eyes that was probably more pronounced than his acne. He was bored. Sick and tired. Reading “books on Surgery” for godssakes until Fante bit him in the ass.

Fante gave him Bandini, and a voice so far up its own ass, he wasn’t sure if he should marvel or laugh. In a world dominated by Greco-Roman characters, Fante gave him Bandini, a hero who masturbated with smut. In a world of impeccably modern men and equally impeccable achievements, here was Bandini, a “writer” who clung unrelentingly to the glory generated by a solitary publication, a short story called “The Little Dog Laughed.” Here was something outrageous. Here was something unseen before. Here was something that breathed. Here was something real. Fante gave Bukowski something with feel. It fed his soul.

I think the work of a literary magazine reader is a daily search for what Bukowski found in Fante. At its best I am in a place of worship. I am letting something infiltrate my own soul. At its worst, I am reading about how to operate on the mesocolon.

My final suggestion to you is brief. It’s not enlightened. This is not technical or profound advice; I’ve read your stuff and know the last thing most of you need are pointers from a college student.  I believe in you. Consider this more of a call to arms—A plea for passion.

Pretend I’m Bukowski.

Bite me on the ass.

Be my god.

Of course, that’s a matter of coincidence in our case: I am simply the only male editor.  How did I get so lucky?  What’s it like being surrounded by lovely and amazing literary women?  Is it always gendered this and misogyny that?

Sometimes.

But mostly it means I just try to keep up.

Maybe it’s because we’re assembling Avery 7 across – count ‘em – four different states, maybe it’s because we’re still working on how this third iteration of the Avery evolution will shake out, or maybe it’s because coordination of the literary kind requires an eye capable of seeing more than just a deadline, but mostly I feel simply that when 99% of our communication is over email and skype things could fall apart fast.  But they don’t.  In fact, most of the time our communication is lucid, fluid, and never without humor.

That is what it’s like working with women.

But wait.  I should admit something: I’m married to one of them.  So in the interest of full disclosure, I will allow myself to briefly describe/explain that.

She’s better at this than I am.

See?  Brief.

Working with her and Nicolette as a fellow editor has meant trying to figure out what part of this whole process I’m actually good at.  They are each self-described neurotic women who micromanage and worry about every wrinkle that will inevitable iron out as we move forward with each issue or event.  They are self-made women in that they have either founded a literary magazine or learned how to keep one afloat in the face of impossible odds (in fact, they have both done the latter).  They are both brilliant readers and exceptional writers.  And I have driven both to the airport (on separate occasions) and both of them gripped the dashboard as I drove, regretful to have relinquished the driver’s seat.  And what have I learned?

That editing is not synonymous with control.  That control is not synonymous with power.  That the best sort of collaborations are not only conversations, but cooperation on several levels.  As a team, the three editors of Avery thrive at this – when one of us slacks (that’s me), the others pick up (that’s them).  When one of us freaks out (that’s one of them, take your pick), the others try to find solutions.  In the collaboration that has become the Avery editorial staff, one thing has become clear to me: Avery is itself support.

That’s what we hope to bring to every author and artist and graphic designer and printer – and especially reader – we work with.

A long time ago, Nicolette posted her wish list.  I agree with each of her points, so it’s really hard for me to be original here when trying to articulate those kinds of stories I want for Avery.

I’ll start by telling ya’ll what we see a lot of:

–     stories written from the POV of a 20-something.  I’m guessing the reason we see so many of them is that we’ve been quite vocal about seeking out young writers.  And, well, young writers tend to write about themselves, so.  There you have it.

–     stories written in the first-person.  I’m guessing, because these tend to be easier to write.  Or, should I say, they tend to feel more natural while you’re writing them and so lots of writers just stick with what seems to come most naturally and hence, more easily.

–     stories that begin with a character who’s stagnant.  Think:  coffee shop, train station, bedroom.  The character isn’t really doing anything, and you’re just kinda stuck there, watching them think.

–     stories that center around someone thinking about something and thinking about it again and then thinking about someone related to the something, etc. etc.  Fact:  voice can only carry a story so far, so if nothing is happening – if there’s no action, so to speak – you’d better be writing a very finely tuned piece of prose or had better be writing from the POV of a really interesting and surprising person.

I feel like I’m sounding like a bitch here, so I’ll move on.  But not before I point out this:  we receive many stories that do all four of the above things simultaneously.  Which means that these stories are competing not only against all our other submissions but are also competing against each other.  Because, as Nic pointed out in her wish-list, we strive for diversity with each issue.  So, we can only publish so many stories written in the first-person about a 20-something who’s chilling in a coffee shop lamenting a recent break-up.

Anyway, here’s my wish list:

–     a celebratory story.  I’m not quite sure what I mean by this, but for the past three months we’ve been reading too many dark, sad stories.  I want something that makes me smile but that isn’t cheesy.  Something that has some life to it – I’m thinking of Dave Eggers here for some reason.

–     a story that takes place in the Midwest.  I’m from Cleveland and lived in Wisconsin for four years.  Help a girl out, here.

–     a plural narrator.  Think, “A Rose for Emily,” minus the necrophilia.

–     a story that centers around a father figure.  We get a lot of stories about mothers and daughters but very few about fathers and sons or fathers and daughters.  I want a redeeming male character – I suppose he doesn’t have to even be a father, just someone who would be a very good one.

–     a story that uses magic realism in cool ways.

–     a story with a specific sense of time and place.  Indian summer in Cleveland.  Dead of winter in Ames, Iowa.  Halloween in Boston.  (Perhaps this is why we launched our 25 Cities Project.)

–     a story that’s just trying to tell a story.  Honestly, whole-heartedly.  Think, William Trevor.  Think, Alice (I’m the finest short-story writer in the whole damn world) Munro.

–     a story written by Alice Munro.

Because this is a humble wish list, after all.