On a Baltimore Review Internship
by Adina Edelman
Writers never just write. Taking experience, be it good or bad, and turning it into something others can gain from is incredible. Great writers spin the straw of experience into gold.
I started an internship with the Baltimore Review at the beginning of July. As a shaky foal entering the editors’ side of the writing world, I was hoping to gain practical experience and see how a successful literary journal runs. Turns out, I got to see a whole lot more. I saw the mass of creativity of writers who submit their stories and poems. I saw the editors’ dedication in plucking out the ripest grapes from the bunch. And I saw how I’m part of a community that welcomes all backgrounds, ages, and personalities from all corners of the world—as long as they tell a good story. I think that’s a fair deal.
A lesson I’ve learned these past couple months—and something I’m not sure writers realize—is that many of the stories are so close. The editors might breeze through a story, loving it, and then get a fist in the stomach for an ending. There may be plot points that are unconvincing or stray from the story’s trajectory. Or, as one fiction editor puts it, the story doesn’t achieve “narrative lift-off” after a promising start. Cliché? Click goes the “thumbs down” button. And the editors often don’t agree, so submissions may end up with a mix of Yes, No, and Maybe votes. Sometimes, final decisions are difficult.
So editing, like writing, is not all straightforward stuff. It’s a rather appropriate reflection of the writing process, really. Put in effort, note mistakes, groan a little, keep pushing forward. And throughout it all is the joy of words. The careful placing of letters to achieve meaning. Favorite word I’ve learned this summer? “Freshet.” Look it up. Rejoice in the awesomeness of this word. Words, like people, are worlds unto themselves. Poetry in particular relies greatly on the correct word. There would often be discussions among the editors on whether certain word choices in submissions were fitting. “Concision and precision” is a mantra here.
Reviewing submissions requires a paradoxical mix of compassion and detachment. On the one hand, there’s a name on that story—and that name belongs to a person who put hours of effort into their submission. That’s not something that should be ignored. On the other hand, people want to read great work, not passable stuff, and editors gotta do what editors gotta do. We all know what it’s like to wait eagerly for a reply, hopefully one with the words “We are pleased to inform you …” Yet we also know that a decline email is a more realistic response, especially when a journal receives over 8,000 submissions each year and can only publish 60 to 70 of those. Thing is, maybe the mix isn’t quite so paradoxical. Because we also know what it’s like to re-read a piece we wrote five years ago and recoil with horror: “I wrote that?” Then comes relief that it wasn’t accepted. So oftentimes, compassion may go hand-in-hand with ruthlessness.
But it’s so much easier to judge a work when it’s not your own. There’s another writing lesson for life: Keep an open and compassionate mind when reading others’ work and remember that we all have much to learn from each other. And we all have room for improvement. I’ve certainly started looking at my own writing with new eyes after reviewing hundreds of submissions. Because of this internship, I’ve been able to see a bigger world outside my own. And that’s our goal, isn’t it, for writers and editors alike? To shift perspective, to open the door a little wider, to draw on all our kindness and determination, and create.