This was written about me—unprovoked, I’ll add, and out of the blue—on another blog:
she’s a literary editor?
I’ve seen better writing on the middle school bathroom wall…
What a dick, huh?
Some clarification for the dickhead:
- I’m not a literary editor. I’m the managing editor of a literary magazine. Learn the difference. My job is to see a manuscript through the publishing process—from the contract signing through copy editing (which I don’t do myself, so don’t expect my grammar to be perfect either) to the final proof. I also do all of the budgeting, marketing, and grant writing. I’m really good at my job. Our magazine’s budget has grown by 300% since I started working there five years ago. I’m not the editor. That’s my boss’s job and he’s really good at it. Were he to leave, I would not get his job. I don’t have a PhD. I don’t even have an MFA.
- This is a blog, which is not all that different from writing letters to my Aunt Mae—at least, not yet. I’m not writing a book…I’m not even writing “creative nonfiction.” I’m just writing.
- I can’t argue with the “middle school bathroom wall” standard. I’m surrounded by genius authors every day—trust me, I know where my writing stands in comparison.
- Prior to my current job, I was executive editor of a regional visual arts magazine. I didn’t go to art school. If you think my writing is bad, you should see my drawing! What I know about art and art history I learned on my own.
- What I know about literature I learned on my own. My college education consisted of journalism and magazine editing; life since then has followed an unpredictable path including such detours as auto racing, house cleaning, and mystery shopping. I don’t regret these detours (except the job at Cooker’s—it really did suck). I’m humbly aware of how little I know about the world, about the people I love, about myself.
- I didn’t want to make a declarative statement about why I started this blog, but I feel compelled to now, just to clear up any misconceptions about my motives. I’m doing this because I love to write. And writers, like all artists, love an audience, even if there are only a few people reading and even if those few are family members.
- Should I even refer to myself as a writer? Who cares? I’m 46, for god’s sake.
- I want to become a better writer and the only way that happens is by writing.
For the record, I was tempted to fill this post with invectives suitable for a middle school bathroom wall.