THE DOCTOR IS IN

SUBMISSION

Once, when I was in my twenties, I screwed up my courage and sent a batch of poems to a literary magazine I admired. A few weeks later, the expected thick envelope (in those pre-PC days, editors returned rejected manuscripts to be sent out again) arrived in my mailbox. What I had not expected was the handwritten note scrawled across the form rejection slip: "Susan, there are poems amid all of these words. Your job is to find them."

Rereading that early work, I have to agree with the editor's assessment. My poems were flabby and poorly organized. Yet I still flush with resentment when I remember that comment--and I do remember it, word for word, even though I dropped it into the cat's litter box over thirty years ago.

A few years ago, a poet friend submitted her (much more accomplished) work to an anthology of poetry by women living in a particular geographic region. She received a patronizing response from the (male) editor, which she asked me not to quote because she now works closely with this person. We joked about how she should initiate an anthology of male poets of the region and had fun composing his personal rejection letter--but, like me, she was stung.

These incidents were brought to mind by the news of Joe the Plumber's book contract. I am not as outraged by this development as Timothy Egan apparently is. I'm grateful to Mr. Wurzelbacher for having applied his unlicensed soldering tool so firmly to the coffin of the Republican presidential campaign, and I look forward to any additional damage he plans to inflict. But such deals do serve to take some air out of the idea that publication, or the size of one's advance, is primarily merit-based.

Which is why high-handed rejections smart so much. They imply a hierarchy of wisdom and expertise, with the omniscient editor handing down pearls to the grateful lackey writer. And the writer must suffer condescension in addition to feeling that her brilliant work has once again been misunderstood and unseen.

I am used to being on the power side of unequal professional relationships, as a therapist and a supervisor. I take seriously my role as "expert"--if I did not bring the advantages of expertise and experience to sessions, my contribution to these interactions would be worthless. But I'm aware that my arena is narrow--I am no more equipped to judge moral questions, or to give fashion or financial advice, for example, than the next person--and that the dangers of generalizing this assumption of superiority are real and grave. I have also made enough clumsy mistakes to be painfully aware of my fallibility. I am good at my job because I am highly educated in my field, intelligent, interested, and empathetic--not because I am smarter and better than my clients, or know them better than they know themselves.

Over many years of literary rejections, I have learned a great deal from those handwritten notes. I am grateful to every editor who has taken the time to point out weaknesses and inconsistencies in my work. I am aware that by virtue of dedicating their careers to recognizing and promoting literature, editors, like therapists, often develop the ability to pinpoint and articulate problems the presenting individual is blind to. But, like therapists, editors are vulnerable to overstepping their area of expertise and assuming a global wisdom that is hard to swallow. Thus, the comments I am best able to take in are those that are prefaced by the tacit statement, "I could be wrong."

A while back, Twisty, the proprietor of I Blame the Patriarchy, retooled the "submit" button in her comments section to read "blame," to break the association with the patriarchal dominance/submission model. I have been thinking lately that I need to retool my own inner vocabulary regarding the process of sending work out. I am going to train myself to call these efforts "offering," rather than "submitting."  Because the recipient could offer me, in return, valuable publication or insight--or he or she could be the editorial equivalent of an unlicensed pseudo-plumber/political pundit. And I'm not submitting to that.

Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. Her book,  Getting Unstuck Without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007) is now available in bookstores. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Comments

[TadMack]

Word. We're well overdue for a name change. I'm all for offering rather than submitting anything.

[Susanne Dunlap]

Great essay, Dr. Sue. Perhaps the word "submit" ought to be stricken from everyone's vocabulary!

[Peter L. Winkler]

Wurzelbacher's book is self-published, co-written with a writer with one self-pubbed novel to his credit. Neither writer received an advance.

[Susan M]

Oh, I have often shuddered and wondered at the word "submit" as I am about to do it, but I never took it as far as you did, Dr. Sue. Thanks for this, for looking more deeply.

[Susan O'Doherty]

Thanks, all--and, Susan, heh, I obviously should have looked more deeply into the specifics of JTP's book deal!