Dear Writer,

We regret that your story does not meet our current needs—much as we apparently do not meet Mandy’s current needs. We wish you luck placing this piece elsewhere. We also wish Mandy would give us one more chance. We suppose we don’t always get everything we wish for.

Sincerely,
The Editors

Dear Writer,

Thank you for sending us your poetry. Please know we have fully considered your work. We have also fully considered all our old text conversations with Mandy. We see now that we probably came across as overly eager. Our friend Derrick says we should use less capitalization and punctuation in our messages, so as not to look “uptight.” But Mandy knows we’re an editor. Does Derrick think Mandy would be impressed by us being bad at our job? Not that we’re prescriptivists—we believe in original expression over adherence to grammatical “rules.” But sending a “u up,” as Derrick suggests, feels crass. Anyway, we’re not accepting these poems.

Best, 
The Editors

Dear Writer,

“We appreciated the opportunity to review your submission; unfortunately, it is not a right fit for us at this time.” 

That’s the rejection we just got for our hybrid narrative, “Nor/Mandy Invasion,” and while we’re not upset, we do find the phrasing odd. “A right fit?” It sounds hillbilly-ish to us, like “These britches ain’t a right fit, Paw.” It’s fine, though. We’re fine. 

As for your piece, we have decided against offering publication at this time. See how professional that sounds compared to “not a right fit”? So that should be some consolation.

Regards,
The Editors

Dear Writer,

Thank you for your interest, but your writing is not a fit for our magazine. 

Actually, “fit” by itself still sounds wrong. Is it us, or does “fit” almost imply something sexual? Sorry, we’re in a strange place emotionally. We’re going to take a pause and finish this rejection later.

Cordially,
The Editors

Dear Writer,

We are unable to include your flash fiction in our upcoming issue. This is not a comment on the quality of your writing. 

It obviously is, though? That’s such a lie, like when Mandy said that we were a great person, but she wasn’t looking for anything serious. Meanwhile, word has it she and Derrick are pretty serious.

Respectfully,
The Editors

Dear Writer,

Unfortunately, your essay was not among the pieces we selected during this reading period. Many authors of original and well-crafted pieces will receive this letter, and you are also receiving it.

What if we sent Mandy our hybrid narrative? Super casually, like “Haha, look at this random thing we totally wrote as a joke”? Is that a crazy idea?

Casually,
The Editors

Dear Writer,

Thanks for the look, but we’re afraid we’ll have to pass. As writers ourselves, we know how much time goes into one’s craft. For example, one can pour one’s life’s blood into a piece of hybrid writing that combines prose, poetry, song lyrics, animation, NFTs—a real Gesamtkunstwerk—only to have another person respond with a two-line email about how they “don’t really get this experimental stuff, but good for you, being creative.” And then one sees that person’s Instagram story where they’re out with Derrick at a glow stick party at the trampoline park. And Derrick has posted a snarky comment alluding to one’s very vulnerable work, even though one did not give permission for it to be shared with said ex-friend Derrick. Then one remembers that people can see who looks at Instagram stories, so one posts a thumbs-up emoji like it’s no big deal and one isn’t dying inside. And one resumes reading literary submissions alone, which one has done ever since the whole masthead quit because they felt “disturbed” by one’s crying during staff meetings. In conclusion, hopefully this piece will find the perfect home, like Mandy and Derrick found each other.

–The Editors

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