Wooing Brevity
by Sandra Gail Lambert
Audio Version:
Wooing Brevity by Sandra Gail Lambert
It all began with a piece called “Horror in the Okefenokee” which I thought was irresistibly funny what with that part about my rear end looking as if it had a bad comb over. Brevity didn’t laugh, and in 2006 our relationship began with a flat-out rejection. Brevity was and still is a highly sought after publication. I knew it was out of my league, but I was undeterred and in 2007 submitted again—this time with an essay immersed in loneliness and exhaustion. My angst was rejected. What the heck? I languished in despair. Would my writing never be wanted?
It wasn’t until 2010, after dallying with other journals and taking a few writing classes, that I wooed Brevity again. And this time my essay “made the final rounds.” I imagined a future for us. I saw our names printed together in Helvetica, sometimes in Trebuchet. In 2011 another “made the final rounds” rejection made me impatient. When was Brevity going accept our shared destiny? Then in 2012 I received the best rejection ever. It offered editorial advice. It said I could resubmit.
I asked friends how long to wait before I made contact again. Some said to take my own sweet time. Others said to not play games. Just fix the thing and send it off. No one getting dressed for a first date dithered more than I did on that essay. I pulled out sentences and left them spread out at the bottom of the page. Before restoring them, I reversed phrases in an attempt to seem more confident. The editor had suggested a rearranging of paragraphs. I changed them to exactly what she wanted. Then I worried about being seen as fawning and preserved my dignity by returning one small section to its original place. I change the words "moved" to "advanced" and "green" to "sage," decided that was getting above myself, and changed them back.
I finished the edits in two days but didn't want the editor to think I was lazy or casual about my writing or conversely and worse, let on about the sleepless nights of obsession. Two weeks later I sent the piece back. I waited. I waited for six months. I sent an apology-infused nudge of a message to remind the editor that I existed. And in 2013, after seven years of pursuit, the e-mail said “yes I said yes I will Yes.” No, it didn't say that. But there was a definitive yes.
P.S. As with all personal essays there is another way this story can be told, another emphasis. The unnamed "editor" in this essay went on to become my dear friend. So the end of this piece could become the beginning of another, one about what it means for writers to hold each other close in mutual support and love. And, also, how to decide which one of you is the others arm candy at conference events.
Acknowledgments: A version of this piece originally appeared on the May 16, 2014 Brevity Blog. The essay that was accepted, Poster Children, became part of my memoir, A Certain Loneliness.
