Few things are as intimidating to a writer, or any creative professional, as allowing others to consider your work. Although it is the core of what we do and why we do it, sharing it with strangers with the intention of dissecting it and determining its worth is a gut-wrenching experience. An experience I have long avoided, until now.
In recent weeks I have submitted a small selected portion of my work to a small selected group of publishers. Why so selective? One of my greatest fears is putting myself out there and facing immediate rejection due to my work being a poor fit. Submitting a poem about cocaine to a lit mag catered to children gives me the same success rate as if I submitted an essay about my childhood to a fantasy genre flash fiction magazine. Instead, I researched, and I read.
I immediately learned two things: there is a seemingly endless amount of lit mags out there, and none of them are making any money. The labor of love that is the literary magazine world is just astonishing. Unless you work for The New Yorker, Granta, Paris Review, etc. then I expect it to be on a full-time voluntary basis.
George Orwell wrote in Why I Write (as referenced in an earlier post on this blog): all the papers that matter live off their advertisements, and the advertisers exercise an indirect censorship over news. Hence, none — or limited — opportunities for advertisements equals a revenue stream only equal to its base of readers. As its base of readers can only grow with the quality of its content and the variety available for each reader is almost too overwhelming the results become as expected.
Here is where niche matters. A perfect example of a literary magazine that works, or at least should work if the world has any justice left in it to give, is the gem of a publication I found called Taco Bell Quarterly. It is precisely as it sounds. The art of the word only if it has a clear connection to Taco Bell. Now I’m a fan — of both. Although I’ll take a poem smothered in fire sauce over a chalupa almost any day my main objection to Taco Bell is its ownership's relationship to the orange faced man in the white house. However, as Taco Bell Quarterly is in no way associated with the fast-food chain besides its shared name, and its theme, I don’t see any issue with supporting such great creativity.
Now I have not written anything directly related to Taco Bell (I checked my writing folder thoroughly) but I admit that my discovery today will definitely make me do so. In fact, I believe I will probably spend the remainder of the afternoon thinking of stories surrounding the healthiest fast food in America. So, look out Taco Bell Quarterly! There is a story, poem, or random rambling soon to be on its way to you.
As for the other well-respected magazines I submitted to I do hope at least one will respond. However, I can only assume that by publishing these ramblings about Taco Bell Quarterly I may have reduced my chances significantly should they be read by some serious editor from the Colorado Review. If such is the case: dear editor, I am sorry. I guess I now have to start my own literary magazine. Wait… maybe this is why there are so many of them?
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