Introduction:

While talking with Ellen Parker, the editor of FRiGG, during a showcase piece about her literary journal, we found ourselves discussing terms such as “standards,” and editorial policies like solicitations. As time went on, the discussion moved further away from the work published in FRiGG, and more into a debate about publishing practices. Why do some people only publish in print? Do writers want critiques of rejected manuscripts? Is it the editor’s duty to provide those critiques? Just what is the role of an editor anyway? We were way off topic and running in circles. So we reigned in the FRiGG discussion, and decided that we’d set out asking these very questions. And thus, Get Real was born.

After compiling a list of topics, we sent out and posted notices about our new project. The WRITERS’ responses to the first topic, along with the topic lead-in question, appear below. The EDITORS’ responses will follow. The responses are in alphabetical order according to the respondent’s last name. If you have comments, questions, or a response, please leave them in the comments section, addressed to the appropriate person.

The Rejection Letter: Feedback or Form?

Some literary magazine editors often critique stories they reject. Other literary magazine editors seldom or never critique stories they reject. Editors, what is your practice (or policy) here?

Some writers like to get critiques of stories that editors are rejecting. Others writers dislike getting critiques; they just want a straight rejection, with no unsolicited comments. Writers, how do you feel about having your story critiqued by an editor who is rejecting that story?

WRITERS:

A.M. Amodeo lives and writes fiction in Woodstock, NY. Her stories can be found online at Hobart, Ghoti, The Beat, and others. Her novel, “Quiet at the End of the World,” will be finished very soon, goddamnit.

I enjoy getting a critique that arises from the story, rather than from the magazine’s guidelines, say. For that, a simple “not for us” will do. But what I like about those spontaneous critiques is that they are spontaneous and optional. It wouldn’t be as meaningful if editors felt they had to say something.

Matt Baker is a writer. His favorite snack food is a hardboiled egg with Louisiana hot sauce.

I’ve received a variety of editor remarks from the encouraging to the bizarre and even illegible. I’ve been fortunate to have editors who have been gracious in offering constructive feedback and support. When the comments are specific and sincere, then it is welcomed. However, generalized remarks about a story needing to be “tightened” or “revised” or “edited” are a waste of time.

To answer the question, I don’t feel strongly one way or another. If the reader didn’t like my story, then slip a form in my SASE and move on to the next story. I’ve read slush and know the routine and understand how subjective the whole process is. Yet, if the reader felt moved or inspired by something and is compelled to write a note, then that is fine, also.

Jill Barth lives just outside of Chicago with her husband and three young children in a house built before the Civil War. She is a recent contributor to Boston Literary Magazine and Virtual Writer.

A bit of general feedback is helpful, but I don’t expect editorial ‘services’ from an editor who has not engaged my work. For example, a comment such as, “Thanks for submitting, we respect the concept of this piece, but… Please continue to send your work” is better than a simple rejection.

If an editor is rejecting for a definable reason, it is helpful and reassuring to know why. For example, “We are looking for stories based on actual experiences for our war-themed issue. Your piece is clearly based on a fictional battle” is helpful to realize that perhaps it is not the quality of the work, but the fit that necessitated the rejection.

If an editor were truly interested in the piece, and their editorial advice would help shape the work to fit in the publication, I would love to be asked by the editor if I was interested in accepting advice and making revisions. For example, if an editor were to tell me that she would like to see more dialogue added, I would likely take that advice and make the additions in hopes of a publication. Not all editors want to enter into this process, so understandably this might not be practical.

Overall, I do think writers want to feel that they are worth more than the average form rejection. Editors might benefit from a bit of courting and polite comments to make their rejection letters feel a bit cozier. Writers will likely feel respected and continue to submit to such editors.

Digby Beaumont is based in Brighton on the south coast of England. He worked as a nonfiction author for many years, with numerous publications, and his short fiction work has been widely published in magazines, journals, and anthologies.

Some editors’ critiques are useful while others are not. Even so, I’d always rather have the critique than a form rejection. At best, a critique can provide a writer with encouragement and direction.

Fleur Bradley is a crime fiction writer from Colorado. Check out her Web site.

I don’t like critiques on rejections. By the time I send out a story, I’m usually happy with it the way it is. Feedback is so subjective.

Now, if a story is accepted but the editor wants a few rewrites, I have no issues. But why edit to suit an editor who has already passed on your story?

Robert Bradley is writing a novel, a collection of short stories, and a play. He teaches an obscure method of mind/body awareness.

Feedback tells me who I’m talking to. I get a sense of the personality and sensibility of the reader by what and how THEY write, which informs my next submission.

I was getting some positive rejections from a new zine, but realized after three rejections that I don’t and won’t write the type of story they’re looking for.

Getting a detailed rejection from A Public Space is encouraging … feels like I’m one fluke story away.

Getting no feedback is fine and quickly forgotten.

Martin Cloutier has published stories in The Portland Review, Harrington Gay Men’s Literary Quarterly, and Bombay Gin. He holds an MFA from Brandeis University and lives in Brooklyn, New York.

I always appreciate when an editor gives feedback. Especially if it’s feedback on ways to improve the story, and not just a comment on how much they liked it but unfortunately couldn’t find a place.

Editors read hundreds of stories from all levels of writers. The opinion of anyone with that kind of experience is valuable and illuminating. That doesn’t mean you have to take their advice, or that editors are always right; but it’s important to know how industry professionals interpret your work.

As a side note: I revised a story based on an editor’s comments and resubmitted that story to the same journal. The editor didn’t ask for a revision; I took it upon myself. And the journal ended up publishing the story. But whether they publish your resubmission or not, I always find an editor’s comments helpful.

Myfanwy Collins lives and writes in New England. Please visit her website.

I prefer simple rejections, though I don’t mind hearing “this came close” with a few simply stated reasons why it didn’t make the cut, but I don’t need a long explanation for why not unless the editor is requesting a rewrite.

Other than that, I try not to read too much into any one rejection—rather I look at the clump of rejections a piece receives and try to decide how to move forward.

Ultimately, rejection is opportunity.

Kathy Fish’s stories are published or forthcoming in Quick Fiction, The Denver Quarterly, Storyglossia, New South, and elsewhere. A collection of her short shorts will appear in a book published by Rose Metal Press sometime in 2008.

I only want critique if the story was truly very close to acceptance. Otherwise, I would prefer a straight form rejection. If my story was not even close, I feel it’s because the editors or readers just didn’t like it, period. They maybe only have gotten past the first paragraph. It seems an awful lot to ask of overworked editors to have them give specific critique on every submission, too. So, yes, critique only on the “almosts.”

Clifford Garstang is a fiction writer and student of the art of rejection-slip reading who also ruminates at Perpetual Folly.

I am ecstatic when I get a critique from an editor (or, more often, the second deputy associate junior editor’s assistant). I can’t imagine disliking feedback. I sit at my desk all day and I write these stories and sometimes have a friend read them; then I polish them up and send them off to magazines thirty, forty, a hundred, or several thousands of miles away. I’m not exactly twiddling my thumbs waiting for my SASE to come back—there are always more stories to write, an infinite number of stories—but I do have a solid database of where I’ve sent my work. I know they’re out there somewhere, but what I don’t know is whether anyone is reading them.

When I get a form response back (often a badly photocopied, badly cut out, tiny slip of paper), I still don’t know if the story has been read. It doesn’t matter what the slip of paper says; no printed form can convince me that my story was read by an editor or even an intern. They are all completely without credibility. A form rejection with minimal ink—“Thanks” scrawled at the bottom, or initials, or an actual name—is an improvement over the naked form rejection because it is solid evidence that someone other than a monkey or a robot opened the envelope containing my submission. My impression that my story might have been read, or partly read, by a human being, is strengthened. And thus I begin to feel a real connection with the world, a connection I don’t much feel when I get a plain, no-ink rejection.

Because, after all, it’s that connection that I crave. Sure, I want to write the very best stories I can, and readership is secondary (really? Yes, I think so), but absolutely, of course I do want to know that someone, anyone is reading my stuff. Call it validation if you want. Call it proof of life on other planets.

Critiques from editors do two other things for me in addition to proving that I have at least one reader. First, the critique may actually teach me something about my writing. Usually not, but sometimes. I recently had a note from an editor that complimented me on my story but pointed out one stylistic tic he’d noticed. He may have seen a hundred tics for all I know but he pointed out this one. I looked at the story I’d sent him and I saw that he was right. It wasn’t a huge problem, and other editors might overlook it, but it was noticeable and I’ve since revised that story. I try to keep that editor’s advice in mind when looking at my other work. Second, the critique may teach me something about the preferences of the magazine. I had a note from a prominent journal a couple of years ago that suggested a story of mine was too “plotty,” which I took to mean that there didn’t appear to be enough emphasis on character. This was an important discovery, I thought, and it will influence what I send that magazine in the future. I had a note from a different journal that liked a story of mine but the editor thought that the ending of the story felt like the beginning of something rather than the end. I was quite pleased with that comment because (a) that’s what I’d been aiming for, and (b) I now know that this editor prefers more resolved story endings rather than endings that open the story to new possibilities. I think about that when I send new work to that journal now.

The final reason why I am happy to have a critique from an editor is that it is the beginning of a relationship (which is one reason why I suspect editors rarely offer critiques—relationships with writers are probably more trouble than they’re worth). If I get a comment or a critique from an editor, at least one that offers something positive about the work, I view that as an invitation to try again. And if there then is a dialogue with that editor, that’s all the proof I need that I’m not in this world all by myself.

Vanessa Gebbie is a writer, editor and creative writing teacher.

Oh how I would LOVE a non-form reject!!!

I know I “can write” to a good standard. And yet I receive multiple form rejects from the Zoetrope “most popular” zines and magazines. Apart from one (Night Train) I have not had a single comment on my submissions rejects for three years. I submit regularly to all the usual suspects, picking pieces I know are strong, that I know have strong voices, themes, originality, and so on. I read the zines and wonder why in all those submissions (250 plus) I have not had ONE hit.

Now, I know they are inundated with submissions, because it is trumpeted, and not just by the zines themselves. Duotrope gives the statistics. And this serves to up the cult status of the zines. They become a “get in here and you must be good” challenge.

BUT. The same contributors names crop up again and again. And my suspicion has to be that these are solicited, and the majority of the thousands of other unsolicited subs are glanced at, if that …

Without any feedback at all, not even once in all that time, I am in the air, as are all the other writers who submit. We have no idea at all what is wrong, as it could be one of many, many things.

The piece might have been OK, but not right for this issue. It might have been great, but there was already another piece accepted which dealt with a similar subject, or which had a similar voice. It might have been absolutely dreadful, and considered rubbish by the editor who de-selected it.

Or, it was not read in the first place.

Without any feedback at all, over the timescales referred to above, I assume the worst.

So please, eds, if you are reading this … just a one-liner reject now and again to writers who support you, read you, enjoy you, and encourage others to send you work. It would tell this writer an awful lot!

Steve Hansen has had limited success as a writer, having published stories over the past 10 years at FRiGG, The Danforth Review, The Paumanok Review, and a few other online “reviews.” He currently spends his time and energy trying to meld the worlds of high finance, literature, and comic books at www.tqrstories.com.

I don’t submit a lot anymore, concentrating my spare time and energy on my editor’s hat these day, but when I did submit I was thrilled to get a scrawled word or two on a rejection form from one of the publication’s editors encouraging me to keep submitting. I never ever received a real critique or anything. So I guess I am saying a terse rejection form is just fine by me, with the caveat that a simple handwritten word of encouragement could really lessen the sting of the rejection. Which leads to another interesting fact, which is that over time that “sting of rejection” almost completely went away. I don’t know if this was because I had super thick skin by that time or if I just didn’t care anymore.

Tania Hershman’s short stories have been published in various publications including Cafe Irreal, Front&Centre, Transmission, Riptide, and Brand magazines, and broadcast on BBC Radio 4. Her first short story collection, The White Road and Other Stories, will be published by Salt Publishing in June 2008. Visit her Web site.

I appreciate personal rejections but have never actually received any with any proper critique. I would welcome some; I would welcome knowing why it wasn’t deemed a proper fit for the magazine at that point, or if the editor thought it had serious flaws. I can, as with all critique, take it or leave it, but it does show that someone has engaged with my story.

Debbie Ice lives in Connecticut with her husband, two boys, and English bulldog.

If the editor sees potential in the writer and wants to see more work, then a longer rejection would be nice. It can be a quick summary of why the story didn’t work—“Ending fell flat.” “I didn’t relate to this character…blah blah.” or “It just wasn’t the kind of story that appealed to me.”

Time is limited and I think all writers understand the editors do the best they can. But comments, any, are very helpful.

Beverly Jackson is a poet, writer, and artist (and former publisher/editor) living in North Carolina.

I really like getting a note from a reader or editor IF it’s genuine. If they have nothing constructive or truthful to say, then a form letter would be preferable. I really don’t like seeing all the negative (but unconstructive) remarks made by editors (as one e-zine provides). I find that crass and hurtful. Writers need encouragement whenever possible.

Steven J. McDermott is the editor of Storyglossia. His short fiction has appeared in numerous literary journals and in his collection of stories, Winter of Different Directions.

I’m always interested to see feedback on a rejection. For one thing form rejections are the norm, so it’s nice to know someone actually read the story closely enough to be able to make a comment. Whether I pay much attention to whatever comments I receive depends a lot on who it’s coming from. If the comment comes from an editor whose taste and opinion I respect, then I’ll pay close attention. If it’s coming from an unknown “reader” then I’ll consider the comments only if they resonate. Taste is always a factor and comments on a rejection are only one opinion and thus subject to the two cents worth rule of criticism. I’d still rather get them than a form letter, though.

Mitzi McMahon lives in Wisconsin, near Lake Michigan. Her stories have appeared or are forthcoming in The Rockford Review, Right Hand Pointing, Temenos, and elsewhere.

As a writer, I love to get feedback on why my story was rejected. Form rejections feel cold and impersonal. Plus they always make me wonder if my story was even read. I know editors are very busy, but even a first impression jotted down while reading the story and then communicated to me via the rejection would be helpful.

Stefani Nellen is a writer of literary fiction and science fiction. She co-edits the Steel City Review, an online quarterly that also publishes as annual print edition.

I don’t like critiques, especially of they’re definitely not going to take the story anyway. I think it would freak me out to receive a longwinded rambling rejection. The editors should spend that time on work they publish. A personal comment à la, “I liked A, but ‘I’m passing on the story because of B” is welcome. I got some good suggestions that way that helped me improve my stories.

Overall, I value a timely response before all else. Hit me with a form reject, as long as you stay within a three-month feedback window. If I go on Duotrope and see “181 day form rejection from Lazy-Ass Review” I roll my eyes.

New Yorker Carol Novack is a former criminal defense/constitutional lawyer, the publisher of the multi-media collaborative e-journal Mad Hatters’ Review, a former grant recipient, and the author of a chapbook of poetry, a play, and several collaborative projects. Recent writings in print may or will be found in journals including American Letters & Commentary, First Intensity, Gargoyle, Fiction International, Journal of Experimental Fiction, Knock, LIT, Notre Dame Review, Salt Flats Annual, and in the anthology Online Writings: The Best of the First Years; links to online publications are accessible via Carol’s blog.

As a writer, I certainly don’t want to hear critiques when I haven’t asked for them, for I’ve honed the pieces before submitting. If the submission isn’t grabbing one particular publisher/editor, it will ultimately grab another; if it isn’t sufficiently attractive to one particular journal, it will be so to another. As a writer, I have colleagues I respect, with aesthetic sensibilities attuned to mine, colleagues who respect and understand what I’m doing, and I rely on them for vigorous and constructive critiques.

Ellen Parker writes fiction and edits the online literary journal FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry.

I do not like to receive any comments on a story that I have submitted to a magazine. If the editor does not want the story, I would like a form rejection letter. If the editor liked the story but not enough, it would be OK to have an editor tell me, simply, that the story was close and to submit again. However, I want an editor to tell me to submit again ONLY if the editor means it. I don’t want an editor telling me to submit again just to be “nice.”

I also do not want any comments on a story the editor is rejecting out of hand, a story that isn’t even close, a story that the editor perhaps despised. I have gotten hostile comments from editors. Once an editor at a well-known online magazine told me that a story I submitted was disgusting to her; she called it “fence porn.” Comments like these are unmerited, and unhelpful. Perhaps they make the editor feel cleverer, but they do not help the writer at all. In fact, that blade the writer is holding over her wrist? It gets lowered a little nearer to the vein.

Even if editors give comments they imagine are being helpful, well, I’m like, Save it. Years ago, the lead editor at the Missouri Review told me he liked my story (yeah, whatever) but he thought it sounded “like a case study.” What the fuck? Years later, I still do not know what he meant. I look at well-known short stories and I ask myself, Is this “like a case study”? Why, yes, it is! I could make a case for this story being “like a case study”! The question is: How have I learned anything from this comment? How has my fiction improved?

But at least I got a comment from the lead editor. Writers tell me they get comments from some editor at some prestigious little pissant print magazine put out by some little nowheresville college and I’m like, Ooo, celebrate! Some little nineteen-year-old creative writing student (that’s who reads the slush for these little university print mags, don’tcha know) deigned to scrawl you a comment about your pathetic story on some little slip of torn-up paper! Woohoo. Come on. Are we not past getting our panties all wet because some little nineteen-year-old writing student throws us a fucking bone?

In the four years she has been writing, Kay Sexton’s fiction has been chosen for over twenty anthologies ranging from Mexico, a Love Story to Tales of the Decongested and recent magazine publications include Ambit, Frogmore Papers, Lichen (Canada), and Mindprints (USA).

At this point in my career I don’t much care one way or the other. Not because I don’t want feedback, but because I’ve already had it, by workshopping my stories with a couple of writers whom I admire and trust and who are brutally honest with me; by putting stories on Zoetrope to get a “general audience” reaction; and/or by a process of constant revision of work which can mean a story might be a year old before I start sending it out to editors. When I started writing, things were different. Even the vaguest hint of something that was wrong or right about my work would have me scrambling to change that piece, and every other piece, to fall in line.

These days I’m more relaxed. I recently sent something to a genre magazine and got comments back in pencil from a very young person who didn’t recognise that the phrase “British spelling” in my cover letter meant my story wasn’t “riddled with amazing spelling mistakes.” At that point a writer has to shrug, smile, and move on. Sometimes you know more than the editor, but so what? They hold the power and you can only hold the grudge, which will make you old before your time. There are editors I listen to, of course: Sven Birkerts’ ink is like heart’s blood to me and getting a personal note from Granta’s editor a couple of months ago made me almost as pleased as if he’d said, Yes! But most of the time I can live with laconic rejections, and anyway, the longer you spend writing, the more you get rejected by people who know you, so you learn to cope with personal rejection, which is another story and a very different psychological process.

Gerard C. (Jerry) Smith is a southerner. He’s a writer. He writes novels, short stories, flash fiction, poems. His work can be found in a bunch of different print and cyber zines.

I don’t really care one way or another. Editors are busy folks and should not be expected to critique or comment. But, an editor’s critique of a rejected story is, IMO, a compliment to the writer. It says the story/poem/novel, or whatever, is worthy of comment. So, if an editor makes the effort it should please the writer.

I’m going to include agents because they accept/reject and thusly act as initial editors. A polite “no, thank you” is enough for me, though I have had agents who wrote saying they liked my novels but couldn’t take them on for one or another reason. The agent’s comments were good to receive in that they held out hope that the books might be taken on by someone else, which to date has not happened.

In sum there is good to editors’ critiques but they are not something that a writer should expect.

Kelly Spitzer is a writer and an editor with SmokeLong Quarterly.

Unless they are generic (“Didn’t work for me” or “Almost but not quite,” etc.) I don’t want comments on rejections. I don’t want comments on acceptances, either. Here are a few reasons why:

1. I submit a story to a well-respected international publication. It’s rejected with a note citing specific reasons why. The reasons have to do with two or three sentences that the editor found gravely erroneous. She puts said sentences in quotes. I read them and freak out. I wrote those! Holy crap! I suck ass! I go back to the story and read it. I find the sentences. They are NOT written the way the editor quoted them. Not even very close, really. But she’s the editor of a well-respected international literary publication. She must be right. So I read the story again, stopping at the sentences she pointed out. Still, they are not written the way she says they were. I run a search for specific words within those sentences. I still don’t find what she pointed out. I look at previous drafts. Nothing. Months go by. I worry about this story and wonder if I should withdraw it from other publications until I can figure out what went so terribly wrong. I wonder if the sentences she quoted are not the way I wrote them, but the way they should be written. But no. That can’t be it. The sentences she wrote are gravely erroneous. Aren’t they?? And then something strange happens. The story gets accepted by another print mag, and they have no issue with it. Lesson? I don’t need that kind of stress.

2. I receive an acceptance. It’s accompanied by the editors’ comments. Some of the comments are less than kind. They make me feel like shit, actually. Why did you take this piece? I want to ask. Are you sure you want it? But an acceptance is an acceptance, right? I used to think so. Now I’m not convinced.

3. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone’s opinion is different. Say I submit a story to three journals and all three come back with rejections. The first one comes back three weeks before the second. It says the ending is off and makes a suggestion. So I change the ending and send the revised version out to a few more places. The second rejection comes back and says the characters aren’t believable for reasons X and Y. So I go about changing X and Y to make the characters believable. I then send this version out to a few more places. Rejection three comes in. The editor says the ending is great, but the opening was too slow. Maybe the story should start with paragraph four instead? I think this editor is right, actually, but now what? I’ve already changed the damn ending and mucked up the damn characters and the story looks nothing like it did originally and I’ve got five submissions out of this fucked up story that I no longer like. Now I can only hope that 1. I saved the original version. 2. The mucked up story doesn’t get accepted. 3. I’ve learned my lesson, which is: Don’t make every change suggested to you unless it truly makes sense, and don’t be so damn hasty with submissions.

Want to know something else? There are exceptions to this rule. Comments on rejections from Mike Young, the editor of NOÖ Journal, for example, are always welcome.

Lesley C. Weston lives and writes in New York City. Her stories have appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly, Ars Medica, Per Contra, Gud Magazine, The Duck & Herring Field Guide, Night Train, and The Pisgah Review.

I don’t really want a response or critique for a submission that held no interest at all for an editor. In fairness, a personal response in that case is a misuse of an editor’s time. In that situation, I think the form response tells it all. Not our kind of stuff, just didn’t grab us at all, is what I always imagine when reading a form response.

However, if my submission got a second or third glance, then didn’t make the cut, I’d be interested in knowing it was close, and if the editor could put a finger on the reason, the where or how the story let them down. I’d be grateful for the input.

Marilynn Wilkins hails from San Antonio, Texas. Her most notable recent accomplishment was being named to Laura Hird’s Best of 2006.

In regard to feedback, I seldom have had any editor be too specific about the problems with my piece when rejecting it. The most typical is: “It didn’t come together for me” or “The ending was not satisfying.” I am open to more lengthy comments but I feel editors don’t have the time. Keep in mind that I am primarily published online in non-paying markets. A real plus would be some specific comments by the editor with an invitation to resubmit at a later time.

Bonnie ZoBell has received an NEA and a PEN Syndicated Fiction Award. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in such print magazines as American Fiction, The Bellingham Review, and The Greensboro Review, and online at FRiGG, juked, and Word Riot. She received an MFA from Columbia and teaches at San Diego Mesa College.

I would prefer to get the critique and know why the story wasn’t taken. But “critique” isn’t quite the right word in my mind because what editor has time for that? Just knowing the “reason” the editor doesn’t take a story can be tremendously helpful. Even a sentence is good. This isn’t just to assuage my ego that the editor is all wrong and doesn’t understand me or my work (though there’s that, too!), but it helps me continue to think about the story. Especially if the reason given confirms something I was already worried about or if I’ve gotten several similar reactions from other editors or readers, I know this is probably something I’m going to need to work out in the story.

From a writer’s viewpoint, I can guess at the reasons more editors don’t do this. It takes time. It might encourage some writers to try to argue with the editor. Some writers might feel like this is an opening for some long conversation. I’m aware of the fact that many of the editors at the magazines I most admire aren’t even paid. And some editors might point out that their reason for not taking the story is only one reaction and someone else might feel differently. Still, even if I don’t agree with the editor, I find it helpful to know the reason, and appreciate it.

There have been very rare occasions during my twenty or so years of writing and submitting that I have been offended by critical comments from an editor. But really, it’s never been about the comments themselves, but about the disrespectful tone of the editor. The kind of did-you-learn-to-write-from-some-damn-manual-found-in–a-Cracker-Jacks-box? tone one editor of a contest took in her notes to me made me feel like crawling into a hole and taking up accounting instead. Especially if you’re feeling somewhat fragile about your writing at the time, this can actually be damaging. Fortunately, in my case I talked to other writers who’d received this same type of tone in the responses they got. People can’t “hear” criticism given in that tone anyway, so the editor who does this isn’t trying to help but has some other kind of power trip going on.

But that’s the very rare exception. Mostly I’m always grateful for any kind of feedback an editor wants to give.


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