Just before she went off on Christmas hols, Gail Hochman must have cleaned out her in box and dusted off her desk. My gift for St. Stephen's Day this year was a form rejection, three months in the making. Bill Contardi of the same agency rejected an e-mail query I sent last Saturday, so clearly he's the one holding down the fort this week.
Last October I fired off a batch of submissions to a few literary journals, but there wasn't much thought behind it. What was I thinking, to send a satire about the Center for Science in the Public Interest to Swink, when they're based in California? Of all the editors who would not find it amusing, that would be the place to find them. They were good enough to reply within their twelve week time-frame, which every author appreciates, and they accept simultaneous submissions so you don't have to tie up your short story for months at a time. If you've got something all selfishly introspective and LA-LA-land whingey, they might be the literary rag for you. Just don't make fun of their sacred cows.
Sorry, about the cows, I wasn't thinking. Sure and they must all be vegetarians out there. Make that last bit "sacred cow-parsnips" and we'll call it even.
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