February 12th & 19th, 2018 - Stanville

Dear TNY,

It’s a fuck-this-day-job kinda Monday and I just finished “Stanville” in an attempt to escape banality.  Unfortunately, this story is awash in banality, therefore you prevented me from being lost in a work of art and encouraged me to provide a quick lesson on authorial decision.

Any and every decision the author makes should be intuitively understood by the reader.  As a writer, it’s far too easy to believe that the reader understands our intention with the color of a vase or the significance of the leaves trembling on the oak tree at that particular moment when the main character gazes longingly into the sunset.  Instead, writers should understand that the reader isn’t thinking, “And this is where the author symbolizes trust by giving the character a turtle as a pet.”  These decisions should flow.  I’ll submit “Bullet to the Brain” as an example of correct choices.  Or “The Things They Carried.”  Both authors chose to add details to these stories, and those details move our emotions in a particular manner.  They could have chosen anything, but they made choices to help us gain understanding (of the indescribable immensity of existence, etc).  And like a stream playing a symphony, the natural tonality of the piece is where we find that intuitive understanding.  We don’t know why we feel a certain way, but we feel the story come alive in a sense we cannot put our fingers on.  But, we almost can; and that’s the magic of correct authorial choices.  

When you have two main characters and one is written in first-person POV and the other is in third-person POV, that magic is fucked up because for the love of Christ I cannot seem to figure out why that shit was done.  And do you know who’s job it is to answer that question, TNY?  It’s not mine.  I’m the reader.  The reader is king.  If I’m sitting here wondering why this choice was made and what the significance is, the author has alienated me from their work.  When I’m questioning the confusing ending, again the author has failed me because their ambiguity isn’t apparent.  While there are great little snippets, the overall effect of this piece is a feeling that author was reaching for something beyond their capability.  

And that’s where you, as the fucking publisher, need to step up and send that story back to the author with a big ol’ “WTF, mate?”  But you didn’t.  I believe you read this and thought, “I see what you are trying to do here; let’s put this in the magazine.”  But fuck that, dude.  You should only ever publish work after saying, unequivocally, “I feel what you did here.”  Because if the piece isn’t done, why the fuck are you wasting everyone’s time?

With a cheek to cheek hug in which I whisper, “You’re better than this,” in your ear,

Nick