For example, let’s say you wrote a poem that is supposed to be about a sunset. Throughout you use words like “yellow” and “orange” so that nobody could ever look at your poem and say that it isn’t describing an absolute barnstormer of a sunset. However, once you turn your critical eye to the newly finished work, you notice that in the middle of your sunset epic there is an elaborate description of a moon landing that has nothing to do with the rest of the poem. To complicate matters further, the moon landing is your favorite part. It stretches on for pages in hard-won verse that took you several months to tease out of your tortured soul. The way you describe the astronaut’s helmet alone is enough to make a thousand coma victims spring from their hospital beds and all just start grinding on one another.

Figure 1: A sunset that has not yet been processed into a poem.

Nevertheless, this is where that old maxim comes into play. You must murder your moon landing description. If it helps, picture yourself as a powerful king. The queen (your brain) has just given birth to a child (moon landing description). You are waiting outside her chamber deep in thought when the queen’s servants (neurons, I guess) carry the swaddled moon landing description out to you. It looks up at you sweetly and says, “Da-da?”  But even in this touching moment, it is crucial to the integrity of your poem about a sunset that you stand firm. You must order your guards to seize the moon landing description, throw it into a ravine, and take turns shooting poison arrows at it. Then you can sit on your throne drinking port and stroking your humongous beard while up in her chamber your brain queen wails bitterly and curses the day that you ever signed up for that creative writing workshop at the community center.

This can be difficult advice to follow. Even brilliant writers occasionally have trouble murdering their darlings. A famous example from contemporary literature is Cormac McCarthy’s border trilogy, which suffers greatly under the weight of McCarthy’s constant classic rock references. Those otherwise flawless books are interrupted again and again by anachronistic asides about how the band Deep Purple, “totally rules.” Likewise, if you were to remove all the digressions about professional wrestling from the work of Edith Pearlman, most of her stories would only be a few paragraphs long.

These are both clear instances of writers who allowed their passions outside of writing to get in the way of their craft, which is something I have struggled with in my own work. Because while first and foremost I see myself as a writer and sexual healer, the fact is that I am also the proud owner of several iguanas. And so, whether I am writing a piece of fiction set in Victorian England or in a village of priapic slime cannibals on the planet Kremlak 8, I will always feel that same urge to fill my work with long, pointless descriptions of basic iguana care. But no matter what my natural inclinations may be, I know that I must never compromise the integrity of any given piece of writing on account of my role as an iguana parent. If I’m writing a scene in which one of the Viscosity Lords of Kremlak 8 sentences my protagonist to death by means of a brutal slime spanking, it wouldn’t make any sense if I were suddenly to launch into a description of my recipe for a cricket hot toddy, which, by the way, is a great home remedy if your iguana has an upper respiratory infection.

Figure 2: FYI

Whether you’re working on a poem, a short story, or a column for Tin House’s website, it is essential that you put aside all other considerations and focus on the internal rhythms of the writing itself. Once a project has begun to take on a life of its own, you must proceed with honesty and humility, eschewing all petty biases and superficial interests in order to tend to the needs of your writing without distraction, just as if it were an iguana with an upper respiratory infection… Speaking of which, when you do give your iguana a hot toddy, you should actually make sure that the water is more warm than hot. My eldest, Jub-jub, burnt her tongue on a toddy about eighteen months ago and I still haven’t forgiven myself. It happened the same week that her favorite climbing stick broke and she really slipped into a funk for a while there. Our vet upped her dosage of lizard Prozac, but, I mean, you try getting your iguana to take her lizard Prozac when she’s got a burnt tongue. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that as a writer it’s important to never lose sight of the fact that raising iguanas is a huge responsibility.

Seth Fried’s short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Tin House, One Story, McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, The Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and Vice, and have been anthologized in The Better of McSweeney’s, Volume 2 and The Pushcart Prize XXXV: The Best of the Small Presses. His debut short story collection, The Great Frustration, was published by Soft Skull Press.

However, as I mentioned, I do have some experience receiving rejection letters as well. Granted, it is usually some sort of misunderstanding. I might receive a note informing me that I accidentally left the submission envelope empty or that the story I sent was so astounding that everyone at the magazine who read even one sentence of it ended up spontaneously ripping their own heads off. In this second scenario, I am usually contacted by the executor of the editor’s estate, who will also admit to being a big fan of mine and express an interest in reading the story, and then the letter abruptly ends…

But these examples are obviously as extreme as my creative gifts are unique. In this column, I would prefer to focus on the sort of rejections that you, an average to below average writer, might receive. Let’s begin:

1) Text of rejection letter:

“Thank you for your submission. We regret that we are unable to publish it, but we appreciate your interest in [name of journal].”

How to interpret this rejection letter:

Try to imagine a giraffe on roller skates slowly rolling toward the edge of a cliff. The giraffe has been drinking and maybe as it’s rolling toward the edge it’s even wearing one of those beer helmets with two cans of Budweiser in it and straws leading down to do the giraffe’s mouth. The giraffe hiccups once or twice and then plummets to a senseless, idiotic death. The reason you should try to keep this image of the giraffe in your head is because it is a perfect metaphor for what has just happened to your submission. Your writing is the giraffe, the cliff is the journal you sent it to, and the giraffe’s beer helmet is every nice thing your mother has ever said about you.

Figure 1 – A mental image

2) Text of rejection letter:

Same as the form rejection above but with a brief, handwritten note that asks you to send again soon.

How to interpret this rejection letter:

Due to the long hours and often nonexistent compensation associated with running a literary journal, most editors eventually become so mentally unbalanced that the only way they can relate to other human beings is through sporadic displays of sadism. This invitation to “send again” was most likely written as the editor howled with laughter in the journal’s small, cluttered office where your story has been pasted all over the walls and lewdly graffitied. It goes without saying that you should never send to this journal ever again.

3) Text of rejection letter:

We really enjoyed your story. However, we felt that the ending needed a little fine-tuning. If you would be willing to work on that aspect of the story with us, we would be excited to accept it for publication. Please feel free to call the number below, as we would be happy to discuss the matter with you further.

How to interpret this rejection letter:

If you receive this type of rejection letter, you should immediately call the journal and ask to speak to the editor or staff member who wrote it. Once you reach that person, introduce yourself and say to her or him very clearly, “Fuck you.” Then hang up. After all, if you’re going to start letting editors make “helpful” little “suggestions” about your work, you should just do yourself a favor and quit writing altogether. You might be saying to yourself, “This is actually really valuable feedback. The ending is something I struggled with while I was writing this piece and it would be a phenomenally cool experience to work with the editors of a journal I admire in order to make my writing the best it can be.” But the fact of the matter is that it’s your writing and you shouldn’t let any interlopers mess with your creative vision. After all, would you let those same editors sleep with your spouse just because they’re better at it than you are? No, you wouldn’t, unless you’re some sort of crazy swinger who got to this post by Googling the phrase “sex swing” which I just now had to add to this sentence thanks to you.

Figure 2 – Another standard form rejection

4)Text of rejection letter:

Thank you so much for your submission! Everyone on the staff loved it and we would be honored to accept it for the upcoming issue.

How to interpret this rejection letter:

This is your classic fake acceptance letter. The staff of the journal probably hated your submission so much that they are sending you this letter in the hopes that you will respond to it and thus confirm that they have your current street address. If you do confirm your address, they will all hide in front of your house and wait for you to come out so they can humiliate you with water balloons and paintball guns. Obviously, you should not respond to this letter. You might even consider relocating.

But no matter how many rejection letters you receive, no matter how harshly editors try to discourage you from your natural creative impulses, no matter how many water balloons they whip execution style at the back of your head while you try frantically to unlock the driver’s side door of your Toyota Tercel so you can escape the angry mob of lit mag staffers who have gathered in your front yard, you should remember that it’s all subjective. And as those staffers inevitably overpower you and wrestle you to the ground, only stopping to drop your car keys into a nearby storm drain, you should take comfort in the fact that you had the courage and/or lack of self-awareness to send out your work in the first place.

Seth Fried’s short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Tin House, One Story, McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, The Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and Vice, and have been anthologized in The Better of McSweeney’s, Volume 2 and The Pushcart Prize XXXV: The Best of the Small Presses. His debut short story collection, The Great Frustration, was published by Soft Skull Press.

Images created by Julia Mehoke.

The Joy of Cat Sex by Dr. Eleanor Goyt, DVM
Over the past four decades, this controversial and bestselling guide has helped many owners enrich their cats’ sex lives. Whether you are attempting to prepare a kitten for its inevitable sexual explorations or would simply like to help an older cat spice things up in the alley, this frank guide is an indispensable resource for all your cat’s sexual needs. The book includes tips on everything from how to host a cat orgy to educating your cat on contraceptive options that are far safer and more effective than eating its young. With many informative and startling illustrations, this book is a must-have for any owner wishing to debunk the pernicious myth that curiosity killed the cat.

Seven Habits of Highly Effective Caged Birds by Terrence Hill:
If there is one type of pet that has time for self-improvement, it is any species of caged bird. This is because they are literally being kept prisoner in your home. Domesticated birds are typically housed in very small cages, an arrangement which in a laboratory setting would constitute scientific misconduct, but which, in the confines of your living room, is charming and wonderful. However, you may have noticed that birds’ bodies were designed to occupy the entire sky, the sky being noticeably larger than even the most luxurious small metal cage in your miserable apartment. So there is often little else for caged birds to do but turn inward. That’s why Seven Habits of Highly Effective Caged Birds is the perfect gift for your special little détenu. The book includes many exciting, life-improving techniques for caged birds such as Nervously pulling out your own neck feathers with your beak and Killing yourself by flying into a wall as soon as anyone accidentally leaves the door to your cage open. Your jailbird will also love the appendix which features beautiful color photographs of all the natural habitats that it will never get to experience as well as a brief manual on how to hang itself with its own seed bell.

Everyone Poops, And Smells Terrible, And Will Probably Be Given Away Soon (from the Ferret Hygiene Series) by Annabel Wedge:
This book is perfect for anyone who wants to prevent their ferrets from becoming self-conscious about the fact that all ferrets poop and smell terrible and are probably going to be given away soon. Many people are initially enthusiastic about the prospect of owning one of these seemingly adorable creatures. Unfortunately, the natural musk of ferrets is usually obscured by the overwhelming stink of pet stores in general, and so it is not until a ferret has already been brought home that its owners begin to notice that their new companion smells a bit like a dead bear filled with hardboiled eggs. This brisk and heavily illustrated book lets the animal know in soothing, non-judgmental tones that it is perfectly normal for being awful and that, if the pet store won’t take it back, it will most likely be listed on Craigslist as a “like new ferret.”

A Dog’s Guide to Being Fixed by Victor Sussers
Everyone knows that you love your dog more than anything in the world. Though, your dog most likely has a somewhat limited understanding of human love. For this reason, it might not understand why you have decided to mutilate its genitals. This handy book will walk your dog through all the various reasons it is being fixed, like the fact that the talking animals prominently featured in the Disney cartoons that its owners were raised on did not have huge, pendulous testicles. The book also suggests plenty of activities your dog can occupy itself with in lieu of having genitals, such as gaining weight, sleeping, and allowing its owners to dress it up.

So You’re Going to Die Immediately?: A Book of Daily Affirmations for Tropical Fish by H.L. Tufferts
This handsomely-bound, single-page booklet contains all the daily affirmations your tropical fish will ever need. The mortality rate of tropical fish in privately owned aquariums is incredibly high due to the fact that there is relatively little overlap between the type of people who have the expertise to look after exotic life forms and the type of people who are excited by bright colors. Whether you forget to buy a water filter or intentionally drop a handful of goldfish crackers into the tank in order to “see what happens,” this book is designed to help your fish keep a positive attitude and ultimately come to terms with the fact that it will die faster in your care than if it were thrown into the roaring maw of a jet engine.

Seth Fried’s short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Tin House, One Story, McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, The Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and Vice, and have been anthologized in The Better of McSweeney’s, Volume 2 and The Pushcart Prize XXXV: The Best of the Small Presses. His debut short story collection, The Great Frustration, was published by Soft Skull Press.

Book images created by Julia Mehoke.

1) LETTERS OF RECOMMENDATION

Spoons (1998-2010) Student, thief … friend.

Much like the royal courts of the yestermillennium, MFA programs will not grant you an audience unless you approach them with proper letters of introduction. That is why it is of the utmost importance that you secure two to three letters in which your former teachers recommend you as a human.

When requesting these letters from your teachers, you must be sensitive to the fact that teaching is demanding work and leaves very little time for writing letters. A polite thing to do is to create a generic letter to which any teacher can simply sign his or her name. I have included an example below:

Dear College,

I am writing to recommend that you accept Seth Fried to your creative writing program.

Seth was a star pupil in my (please circle one) REMEDIAL MATH COURSE/ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS/BASIC HYGIENE INTERVENTION. Based on his performance, I am able to say with a high degree of certainty that you would be a fool not to accept him.

I found his intelligence to be so intimidating that after grading his work I was often unable to perform sexually. Frankly, I’m not even certain that he shouldn’t be writing a letter of recommendation for me.

He would truly be an asset to your program. Not only is he talented and focused, but he also does not do hard drugs and has never been convicted of a violent crime.

Sincerely,

—————————-
(sign above)

2) TEACHING STATEMENT

Many MFA programs offer teaching assistantships, which can provide financial relief for MFA candidates as well as valuable teaching experience. For this reason, many applications must be accompanied by a statement in which you outline what you would be able to offer your prospective students. Under no circumstances should you use any of the following words or phrases in your teaching statement:

body painting
tantric
trust falls
pressure points
blood oath
human pyramid
eugenics
real estate opportunity
hit it and quit it
short shorts
banjo
absinthe

3) WRITING SAMPLE

With the notable exception of the bribe envelope, the writing sample is by far the most important part of your MFA application. Each school will provide its own guidelines regarding formatting and word count. But if you want your writing sample to stand out, you should ignore these guidelines at all costs.

Any applicants who are boring enough to send their writing samples printed out on white computer paper in 12-point Times New Roman deserve the form rejection letters that they will all inevitably receive. Against this! Show the admissions board that your application is not to be ignored by printing it out on some nice sheets of pumice-smoothed vellum in 22-point Zapf Chancery.

Vellum is superior to computer paper except for the overpowering smell and the fact that you will have to slaughter and skin a calf.

Though, make sure to include special instructions so that your writing sample will be stored in a special low-humidity environment, otherwise the vellum will begin to develop a fungus almost immediately. When placing your writing sample in the mailing envelope, also make sure to include roughly one half pound of glitter.

4) THE GRE

Some MFA programs may require you to take the GRE. Like all standardized tests, the Graduate Record Examination is an objective measure to determine as discretely as possible whether or not you are rich and from Connecticut. If you are in fact rich and from Connecticut, then you will have plenty of fun at the testing center, letting out short bursts of reedy laughter as you are asked to define various privilege shibboleths like “fusillade” and “inerrancy.” However, if you are a normal person, taking the GRE may require weeks of preparation. A handy mnemonic device for remembering some of the more arcane vocabulary words is to pretend that you are insufferable and own a boat.

5) TRANSCRIPTS

Remember when you were taking all those classes and your teachers kept warning you that if you didn’t stop making fart noises and setting your desk on fire that they would give you a bad grade? And you would just sit there laughing to yourself and thinking, “WHAT’S A GRADE!?”

Well, it turns out that grades are a series of letters that correspond to levels of achievement in a given course. Though it might seem shocking, every teacher you’ve ever had has been evaluating your performance and assigning you one of these “grades.” All the grades you have ever received have then been compiled into a master document called a “transcript.”

Your first impulse will naturally be to find this document and destroy it. Unfortunately, many MFA programs will ask you to send a copy of it to them as part of your application. The only thing you can do to get around this requirement is to make sure that your transcripts are sent to the school in question on Opposite Day. That way all your failing grades will legally have to be regarded as passing grades. Also, any reference to you being removed from a class for making fart noises will have to be replaced with a special commendation in which you are recognized for having abstained from any noisemaking that could be considered fartish in nature.

There you are! That is all the information you will need to complete your MFA application. Once all of these materials are submitted to the program or programs of your choice, you can relax by sitting in front of your computer in a tuxedo and refreshing your email inbox every 30 seconds for the next six months. If you do end up getting rejected, just remember that it’s not the end of the world. Unless you’re speaking in hyperbole and by “end of the world” you are just trying to say that it’s incredibly soul-crushing and disappointing with no upside. In which case, I see what you mean.

A rare, early photo of Andrea Wexler as a zygote

Keith Abernacky (Age 7): With his debut book, New Leavings, Keith Abernacky has written what critics have hailed as the first great potty-training novel of the 21st Century. Abernacky has also become somewhat of a controversial figure due to the book’s vivid depictions of what the American Association of School Librarians has termed “toilet situations.” Many fans were also disturbed by the author’s public remarks that his work should only be read in the bathroom. As a result, the book was banned from public schools and Walmart refused to carry the paperback edition once they learned that it would be laminated. However, Abernacky remains a proud proponent of what he refers to as the “Bathroom Movement.” He is still happily potty-trained and is currently at work on a novel-in-verse about the life and times of Alexander Cummings, inventor of the S-pipe.

Abigail Conklin (Age 10): Abigail Conklin first achieved national acclaim at the age of 8 when she translated The Great Gatsby into lolspeak under the title LOLGATZ. Fans, critics, and even several members of the Fitzgerald Estate quickly agreed that Conklin’s version was vastly superior to the original:

OH HAI, IN MAI YOUNGR AN MOAR VULNERABLE YEERS MAI FATHR GAEV MINE SUM ADVICE DAT I HAS TURNZ IN MAI MIND EVR SINSE.

Conklin went on to complete a similar translation of Moby Dick under the title I CAN HAS A WHALE? and later had to be hospitalized when she attempted to rewrite Finnegan’s Wake as a single emoticon. She now teaches a course on Meme Literature at Brown University, where she is hard at work transcribing the novels of William Gaddis into leetspeak.

An image from Abigail Conklin's I CAN HAS A WHALE?

Christie Muffert (Age 10): Born and raised in Park Slope, Brooklyn, Muffert began attending creative writing workshops at the age of 6 in order to avoid volunteering at her parents’ food co-op. Since then, she has become one of the most widely celebrated young writers in the country. Famously reclusive, Muffert’s sole companion is her sister Dipsy, a dog that her parents have raised as a human child. Her breakout memoir, The Bums of Center Slope, deals with her parents’ former fennel addiction, which, coupled with the high costs of Dipsy’s Montessori tuition, often left the Mufferts penniless.

Cassandra Bartlett (Age 9): Arguably the youngest Romance novelist in history, Bartlett’s depictions of adult relationships betray an insight beyond her years. Critics have pointed out that Bartlett’s understanding of human anatomy and sexuality is somewhat crude. Also, the flow of her narratives tends to be interrupted by Bartlett’s own transcribed giggling. Nevertheless, her work enjoys a devoted readership among the legions of adolescent girls who are struggling to find titillation in the post boy-band era.

Ian Donnelly (Age 9): Tragically, Donnelly’s promising writing career was cut short when he was chopped in half for the purposes of this list. Fortunately, Little Brown, and Company’s special Posthumous Division is already in the process of converting Donnelly’s personal papers into a novel. Tentatively titled Ian’s Notebook KEEP OUT!!!!, critics are speculating that Donnelly’s first and last novel will be a frontrunner to be snubbed by next year’s Pulitzer Board.

-If your story has a moment of catharsis that provides the reader with insight about the human condition, take that part out and replace it with one character hitting another character on the butt with a hairbrush.

-Instead of someone in your story having an epiphany, he or she should have a sex slave named Epiphany.

Figure 1: Epiphany at work.

-Do not make use of double entendres. Since your work is intended to be overtly erotic, you should only concern yourself with single entendres. If you happen to come across a double entrendre in one of your drafts, a handy trick is to divide it down the middle and move the second half to any section of your manuscript in which entendres may be lacking.

-No matter what the plot or setting, your protagonist should always be wearing a leather mask with a zipper over the mouth. The only permissible alternative is if you prefer a mask with a button fly.

-Readers who seek out erotica tend to be motivated more out of curiosity and boredom than actual lust. So the goal is not to be explicit in your depictions of sex. Rather, you should endeavor to make the sexuality in your fiction mysterious and surprising. Since even the most peculiar sex acts have already been well-documented at this point, the best way to keep readers guessing is to introduce them to new body parts. The simple addition of a prehensile lobe protruding from the nape of your heroine’s neck or an extra sinus cavity concealed coquettishly in her armpit is all you need to provide your readers with a much needed thrill.

-Do your best to avoid clichés. A scene in which a character is blindfolded and then has hot wax dripped onto his or her bare torso may be erotic, but it is also overwhelmingly familiar. It would be far more interesting to see what happens when the person wearing the blindfold starts dripping wax onto the person who can see. The chances of hot wax accidentally being poured into a character’s nostril are increased in this second scenario, making it scary and exciting.

-Refrain from using words that evoke unpleasant sensory experiences like “mushy” or “cramp.” Instead, try to use more titillating words like “naked” or “grab.”

Figure 2: The Erotic Blindfold

-If you are having trouble getting your story started, you can shake things up a little by writing in your underwear. If that fails, try giving your word processor a long, sensual back massage and some wine.

-Sex is serious, and so everyone you depict must take themselves very seriously. You should never allow the sexual escapades of your characters to be unduly complicated by one of those characters having a personality. If anyone in your story is even remotely interesting, you run the risk of distracting from the whole point of erotic literature in the first place, which is to portray stock characters having as much sex with one another as your vocabulary can support.

There you are! If you are prepared to follow these simple eroti-principles, then I am already blushing at the very idea of the devilishly sexy fiction you are about to write. And while I will in all likelihood never read it, I assure you that all those who do will be in awe of your ability to breathe new life into this age-old art of describing a bodily function at length.

Here is something you can try: Call an agent on the phone and tell him or her that you are Stephen King. If you are a woman, try to make your voice sound like a man’s. If you are a man, try to make your voice sound like you are wearing glasses. Explain to the agent that you are looking for new representation and that you want to meet in a fancy restaurant in Manhattan. Ask the agent to wear a big, floppy hat so you will be able to recognize him or her. Then go to the restaurant and watch the agent sit there in a floppy hat as he or she slowly realizes that Stephen King probably isn’t going to show up. Just when it looks like the agent can’t get anymore embarrassed, jump out from behind one of the restaurant’s ferns wearing a Stephen King mask and hit the agent in the face with a pie. BAM! You got that agent. You got that agent good.

Again, I want to reiterate that I don’t really understand why so many writers are out to get literary agents. In my experience, agents are all lovely, diligent people who only want the best for their clients. And yet, lots of writers are apparently determined to give them a hard time. I’m finally starting to understand why I always see Andrew Wylie crying in Bryant Park.

But while I might not agree with other writers’ temptation to be mean to agents, I also don’t feel that I am in a position to judge it. If the writers I encounter have animosity toward literary agents, I think the best thing is probably just for them to work their feelings out organically through a little harmless torment. That’s why below I have included a few more pranks you can try if you are a writer looking to get one over on an agent:

-Accept an agent’s offer of representation. Wait till your manuscript is out on submission, and then admit to your agent that it’s just a word for word copy of Don Delilo’s Libra.

-Steal the agent’s diary, and then every Thursday for a year have a cookie cake delivered to his or her office with a new, embarrassing diary passage written on it in frosting.

-Change his or her out of office reply so it says something to the effect of: “I am out of the office with limited access to email because I am currently on tour with my ska band, Boogie Phillips and The Not Too Busy For Brunch Bunch.”

-Put a kangaroo in his or her apartment. At first the agent will think, “How cute, a kangaroo!” But what he or she won’t know is that, thanks to you, the kangaroo is on angel dust and is looking to box.

-Tell the agent that there is a new phone app that is able to determine whether or not a person is gullible. When the agent hands you his or her smartphone so you can help download the app and explain how it works, take the phone and drop it into a bucket of bleach.

There you have it. Those are some fun, practical ideas that will help you get an agent’s goat. I do hope writers will put them to use as they see fit, but I also hope that they can eventually let go of their hostility toward agents. Because the simple fact of the matter is that most literary agents are incredibly hardworking and underappreciated. They have to spend long hours shut up in their offices, reading query letter after query letter, manuscript after manuscript. They are forced to sit through arduous lunches with book editors, who are all hopelessly deranged. Even worse, they have to deal with us writers… the most abusive, self-obsessed, and ridiculous creatures to ever besmirch God’s good earth. That‘s why when you see literary agents on the street they always look haggard, with their eyes bloodshot and stacks of manuscripts clutched desperately to their chests. It’s as if they are only getting 15% of life. So while I would never look down on another writer’s desire to be mean to agents, I would suggest considering the possibility that it might be better just to leave them be. Especially if the agent in question is wearing a floppy hat and is covered in pie. Somebody already got that one.

As a boy I attended Henry Fielding Elementary, a special school for gifted fiction writers, and so this element of craft was instilled in me from a very early age. While Show and Tell is a typical activity for most classrooms, my classmates and I were only permitted to show. We would stand at the front of the room, holding up objects of personal significance and staring blankly out at our classmates. If any student ever tried to tell the class what the object was or why it was significant, he or she would have to spend recess locked in an old trunk.

Figure 1: Class trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania

But for those of you who were not lucky enough to attend a special elementary school for preternatural fiction geniuses, I understand that this strong emphasis on showing might not be as firmly ingrained in your psyche. It is likely that you do not even keep a leather strop near your writing desk so that you can whip yourself with it whenever you find that you have inadvertently written a dreaded “telling” sentence. That is why below I have composed some sentences intended to demonstrate to you once and for all the obvious superiority of showing over telling.

Bad: Spiderman was angry.

Good: Spiderman raised his katana sword over his head and let out a blood-curdling howl.

Bad: The garbage truck was smelly.

Good: The garbage truck was filled with festering poop, and in the July heat the semi-opaque stench waves turned into a giant fist that began to punch birds out of the air.

Bad: France shares a border with Spain. 

Good: Like lovers sharing a farewell kiss on a railway platform during wartime, France and Spain touch lightly and then are separated.

Bad: “I’m leaving you,” she said.

Good: “I’m leaving you,” she pushed air through her trembling larynx, producing vibrations that were softly contorted by her lips, tongue, and teeth so that these words were inevitably what was heard.

Figure 2: Standard Composition Strop

From those examples alone it is clear not only that showing is always necessary and appropriate, but that telling is always hellish and shitty. Granted, there are many people who might argue that telling is just as valuable as showing and that the very best writing is actually comprised of these two elements playing off of each other. These people might even argue that there is no maxim or oversimplification of craft that can compete with your own private sense of what aspects of your writing are the most honest, urgent, and beautiful. However, it is important to remember that the people who would put forward such a point of view are all mentally ill. Creative writing is not about expressing your unique personhood; it’s about learning secret craft rules that will help you to purify your work of imperfections. Any suggestions to the contrary are most likely just the uninformed ramblings of all those unfortunate souls who failed to spend their formative years locked safely in an old trunk.

Figure 1: Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Those who argue against affected behavior tend to make the claim that it can distract writers from the actual craft of writing. Of course, this could not be further from the truth. There are many instances in which affectations have played a crucial role in a writer’s creative process. Ford Maddox Ford wrote the first draft of The Good Soldier by repeatedly shooting a bow and arrow at a typewriter, whereas John Dos Passos completed his U.S.A. trilogy while he was high on owl urine. Lawrence Ferlinghetti also wrote some of his most beloved work while wearing a mask. Conversely, he often insisted on tending goal in ice hockey while equipped only with a steno pad and a pencil. This prevented him from developing an otherwise promising career in professional hockey due to the fact that The Berkeley Slapshots could no longer afford to insure him. Therefore, Ferlinghetti’s affectations actually forced him to write full-time.

Others may try to make the argument that the self-indulgent behavior associated with writerly affectations can end up being socially irresponsible or even dangerous. There is of course the unfortunate incident in which Ayn Rand terrorized a small town in upstate New York by circling it for several hours in a helicopter. Rand spent the better part of a day dropping down bricks and occasionally buzzing the locals. According to several witnesses, one could hear Rand’s laughter even over the deafening thump of the helicopter’s main rotor. However, it is important to distinguish between an affectation and a rampage. If Rand had been wearing a monocle or if she had written witticisms on the bricks, one could possibly consider this episode to be an affectation. As it stands, it was just a senseless act of heli-terror.

It is also worth mentioning that many writers have adopted affectations in an attempt to give back to society. Gordon Lish was a volunteer firefighter for a short spell in the 1970’s.  Though his tenure as a firefighter was brief, Lish went on to wear the helmet for years, thus helping raise awareness about firefighting. Toward the end of his life, Ernest Hemingway also founded a free summer camp for all the people he had ever punched. What’s more, Marquis De Sade once famously attempted to develop a social program that would provide free spankings for the elderly. This plan was ill-received, but from De Sade’s point of view the endeavor was clearly full of good intentions.

Whatever the case, the simple truth of the matter is that affectations are a healthy and essential part of the literary experience. With that in mind, some potential affectations have been listed below in the hopes that any writers reading this column might decide to take them up:

1.) Chewing Tobacco: While tobacco of all sorts has been popular fodder for affectations in the past (pipes, cigarette holders, snuff), chewing tobacco has been strangely underutilized. For writers with weak stomachs, it should be mentioned that chewing tobacco is equally effective both as an affectation and as a stimulant if you rub it in your eyes.

2.) Polygamy: Few writers have had the courage to engage in this controversial practice, except of course for Shel Silverstein, who had upwards of 30 wives by the time federal agents finally raided his compound. For this reason, it is important to remember that there are two distinct types of polygamy. There is polygamy that is exciting and provocative, but, as Mr. Silverstein proved, there is also polygamy that is cultish and creepy. For your arrangement to resemble the former and not the latter, you should make sure that your spouses all have access to the internet and at least three pairs of shoes each.

Figure 2: Camp Yoosdapunchem Est. by Ernest Hemingway in 1956

3.) Miscellaneous:

-If someone points a finger at you, slide an onion ring onto it.

-Play chess using human servants as chess pieces.

-Train komodo dragons to perform household tasks. Alternatively, just release feral komodo dragons into your house while shouting instructions at them.

-Wear a cosmetic back brace.

-Replace each book in your personal library with an e-reader that has that one book on it.

-Throw your friend an elaborate birthday party. The party should be lovely in every respect except that the cake is inexplicably in the shape of a revolver.

-Whenever you hear a flute, scream as if you are being burnt.

-Instead of going through the trouble of walking down a flight of stairs, just stand at the top step and then chloroform yourself.

-Be difficult to work with.

All the affectations mentioned above are so safe and easy that they could be incorporated into any writer’s daily routine almost immediately. Granted, some of them are safer and easier than others. Keep in mind that chewing tobacco is dangerous for your health, and that if you chloroform yourself with komodo dragons in the house they will almost certainly eat you before you wake up. That is, after all, how the entire Algonquin Round Table died. Their death was a tragedy to be sure, and a great blow to the practice of affectations everywhere. But the fact remains that they died in the service of something truly great. Because even though affectations seem silly and precious to most contemporary writers, it is important to remember that most writing seems silly and precious to everyone else. So if writers are taking a step away from affectations it is a step in that direction, in which writing itself is considered an affectation and in which all human behavior is expected to be practical, conventional, safe, and nowhere near as much fun.

Ladies and gentlemen, Seth Fried’s “Das Kolumne”……..

Why Do We Hate Short Stories?

Among the many difficulties facing short stories, perhaps the most significant is the fact that no one reads or enjoys them. This has always been a widely held opinion in the publishing world, but it has been elevated to the realm of fact thanks to a recent study that was conducted by the US Center for Literary Statistics. According to the study, when a sample of readers were asked whether they would rather read a novel or a short story collection, 100% of participants barfed at the mention of a short story collection. When asked whether they would rather read a short story collection or have a hardcover copy of Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom thrown at each of their heads in such a way as to cause the corner of the book to strike them sharply in the temple, 90% of participants said they would prefer to have the novel thrown at them. The remaining 10% hastily took out their own copies of Freedom and began flagellating themselves about the temples, as if they now believed that doing so would help ward off short stories in general. To summarize the results of this study in the words of your average publishing professional, short story collections are a “tough sell.”

Fig. 1: Washington Irving defends his MFA thesis

And while this might seem like a recent phenomenon, the fact is that this bias against short stories was already evident in the US as far back as the 18^th century. Early editions of Poor Richard’s Almanack included charts that attempted to link low crop yields in a given region to the number of short stories published there. Also, despite the fact that there is no evidence to support the claim, many colonial newspapers attributed the coining of the phrase “flash fiction” to Benedict Arnold.

Early American physicians often warned pregnant women against being left alone in a room with short story collections or interacting with them in any way whatsoever. John M. Woodworth, our nation’s first Surgeon General, wrote: “If a volume of short fiction brushes against a woman’s stomach when she is with child, it is well established that the child in question will be born without a forehead. Furthermore, if she is present while so much as one line from the book is read aloud, it is generally understood that immediately upon being born her child will explode.”

It is difficult to understand how short story collections managed to attain such a nefarious reputation in the US. Though, there are a handful of unfortunate episodes that historians tend to point to in their efforts to explain this perception of short stories as evil. Contrary to popular depictions, John Wilkes Booth did not shout sic semper tyrannis after shooting Lincoln. Rather, he leapt down to the stage and began reading aloud from a Fitz Hugh Ludlow story. Booth’s biographer, Theodore Roscoe, even speculates that Booth was wanted by the law more on account of his reading Ludlow to an unwilling audience than for the assassination of Lincoln. When Union forces caught up with Booth, they set the barn he was in on fire and then shot him in the neck. Roscoe points out that at the time this was the traditional punishment for reading short stories out loud. In fact, the legend of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow notwithstanding, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 was actually the result of Chicagoans attempting to carry out a similar punishment against a young woman who had been overheard reading some of the shorter works of Balzac to her housecat. Many literary historians also enjoy pointing out the fact that one of the only pieces of evidence in the abduction of the Lindbergh baby was a collection of stories by P.G. Wodehouse that was left in the crib. Others argue even more tenuously that the Great Depression was the result of a bet between Sherwood Anderson and Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Whatever the case, it is hard to deny that the connection between these national tragedies and short fiction seem either coincidental or the result of a preexisting hatred for short stories. The only evidence that manages to suggest any firm sense of causality is several eyewitness accounts of Edgar Allen Poe lunging at and biting the editor of The Saturday Evening Post while screaming, “I am doing this because I write short stories!”

Figure 2. Several short story writers seek refuge at Yaddo and are driven off

What makes our distaste for the short form even more peculiar is that it seems to be an almost exclusively American attitude. Short story writers throughout history have enjoyed much more tolerance abroad. Frank O’Connor was beloved by his community, and was frequently let out of his cage on public holidays. Anton Chekov was even permitted to practice medicine, provided he wear two pairs of gloves while examining patients. And before forcibly placing Katherine Mansfield into a box and mailing her to the South Pole, Londoners actually allowed her to say a few parting words. Granted, this sense of open-mindedness was hardly uniform. When Alfred Nobel, a lifetime supporter of the arts, realized that he had inadvertently given financial support to several short story writers, he was so riddled with guilt that he invented dynamite in order to take his own life. Nevertheless, on average short fiction has always been greeted with far more equanimity overseas.

There is most likely no one answer as to why we as Americans hate short stories. At this point in our history it is a hatred so ingrained in our collective identity as a nation that to truly understand it we would have to be able to step outside of ourselves and unlearn our whole way of life. The only thing that can be said for certain is that since this bias has existed for so long, it most likely isn’t going anywhere. After all, overcoming hundreds of years of intolerance isn’t exactly our specialty. But one could hope that perhaps over time our primal feelings of disgust for the short story as a form might eventually be replaced with a gentler attitude, something like curiosity toward the handful of strange men and women who go out of their way to create these unloved literary objects – the same combination of pity and admiration we feel whenever we see anyone laboring against so strong a current.

Seth Fried’s short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Tin House, One Story, McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, The Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and Vice, and have been anthologized in The Better of McSweeney’s, Volume 2 and The Pushcart Prize XXXV: The Best of the Small Presses. His debut short story collection, The Great Frustration, was published in May 2011 by Soft Skull Press.