May 14th, 2018 - Without Inspection
Dear TNY,
I’m at a Marriott bar on a Monday afternoon on the East Coast for work travel, wishing you could save me from this garbage existence, and I just finished “Without Inspection” and have confirmed that you suck.
Why? Because you’re bullshit at editing. There are three major issues with this story, and you addressed none of them.
Sentimentality: Anytime the writer is trying to intentionally leverage the emotional response of the reader (whether innately as a human or from the reader's previous experience), the writer walks a very fine line. I, as the reader, don’t want to feel manipulated. Sentimentality is exploitation, and this story is definitely exploitative. In order to avoid the sentimental nature of a man’s death and his longing for his woman and child, there has to be some kind of internal conflict (in the man, the woman, etc). The person we are supposed to pine over needs to be fully three dimensional, meaning all the good and bad. But this guy, his only sin is not helping the other people that swam ashore with him. And that’s not good enough, TNY. Because that information was so obviously introduced to create dimension such that the reader wouldn’t feel waist-deep in a Nicholas Sparks novel (full disclosure: I have never read nor will I read Nicholas Sparks). That intentional usage of discord is even more manipulating. Because the author didn’t respect me enough to believe I could sort out their shortcut. What to do with this, TNY? Take off those beer goggles (which apparently only make your opinion of yourself more attractive) and reject.
Cement mixer: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. Are you aware how fucking white collar and pretentious you appear when you don’t have the fucking understanding of construction equipment to kick the author's ass over shit like a cement mixer that doesn’t exist? I’m disgusted by your lack of fact checking. I’m disgusted by how much you have disrespected the people that built your apartment. Hell, THAT BUILT THE FUCKING BUILDING YOUR GODDAMN WORTHLESS MAGAZINE RESIDES IN. Here’s how construction works on a building of the size that is in this story: The concrete comes premixed in trucks. Those trucks usually offload it into a concrete pump. That pump pushes many trucks’ worth of concrete into forms that have been pre-filled with rebar framework. The concrete truck has an orifice at the back, near the top, facing outward. NOT UPWARD. And it’s barely man-sized. So our protagonist would never be able to fall in it. No fucking way. Additionally, there is no center shaft. There are fins that twist like the blade on a drill bit (another reference that is lost on you). That’s why the mixer spins. The fins auger the wet concrete back onto itself, continually mixing it. Also, the fins are used to push the material out of the orifice and down the chute into the pump. Let’s talk about that pump. Does it have an upward facing funnel big enough to fit a man? Absolutely. Is that funnel covered with thick piping to prevent any chunky material larger than the gears could pump from entering the pump? You bet your blue-blooded ass it is. So, our protagonist could not have fallen in the pump either (also, no center shaft). Let’s explore the final mythical possibility, that being they are mixing on site. A building that large would not be able to mix enough onsite to fill the forms for the required reinforced stairwell/elevator shaft. That’s, at a minimum, the only concrete structure in the building (besides footers, which were already poured at the time of the story because he was 500' up). The industry doesn’t make equipment large enough or mobile enough to mix the quantity of concrete needed to do that work (onsite). Now, was it an onsite mixer for grout, as was mentioned in the story? Which, as you know, is confusing to no one, calling it a concrete mixer and then filling it with grout. Even if it was for grout, the mixer would be a much smaller version of what was on the truck, which is a horizontal drum with fins. And if you had ever been near one, you’d see they 1) don’t point up and 2) aren’t big enough to fit a man. So, it wasn’t an onsite mixer.
What I’m hearing in your acceptance of this story is a very loud and spittle-fringed “Fuck You” to all us “lesser class” folks that happen to read your magazine for reasons unknown because the content is so confusing for us, TNY. You are so intelligent and cultured. We all read your words, we do not know what they mean, but for a brief minute we want to bask in how perfectly cultured you are. God, are you beautiful. You’re worldliness shines like a beacon in this drab world of our dull intelligence. Oh, lift me up with thine light and thine glory, TNY! Hold thee to thine bosom, thine cornucopia of perfect wonder! Amen!
The Third Thing: None of this is believable. I will say that something happened in this story. Yay! But, the two issues above push the reader out. So, while I read the whole story, I didn’t give two shits about what happened because the author didn’t care enough about me to stitch the holes up in this waste. Why did Darline fall in love with dude-bro right off? Why use a fictional, bullshit “cement mixer” instead of just the ground? Why did they all turn to skin and bones after four days on a boat? Why did his harness really fall off (because that doesn’t happen; people fall from being unclipped, not faulty harnesses)? And what of this sentimental manipulation of my emotions? All of this questioning just buffalos the reader right out of an emotional response. This renders the work a plot-only story. So, what’s the difference between this an airport literature? The difference is that airport literature doesn’t purport to be The Best.
In conclusion, be a fucking editor you fucking piece of shit.
Yours in the only worthwhile human endeavor of producing, curating, and upholding great art. Oh, yeah. That’s just me. You guys are too busy jerking each other off and talking about how great you are to see what an obnoxious caricature you’ve become.
Nick
