On nameless submissions (and please don't call them "blind")

            Why don’t more journals read nameless or “blind”* submissions?

            Some writers see removing names from submissions as a way of ensuring that all writers are judged according to an objective standard of excellence. They want a system that does not take fame or identity factors into consideration. Because of an enduring sense that certain writers get by only on the strength of their name or their publication record, rather than their work’s merit, this idea of nameless submissions appeals to some who are less successful in placing their work.

Most of my experience with submitting is with named submissions, but I am not dazzled by personality; instead, the identity of the writer is in the mix, part and parcel of the packet, and I take it all in holistically. I’ve rejected fancy names and I’ve accepted beginners, always with full information in front of me. I don’t think my approach is uncommon. When there is a lot of work to choose from, a name will only get a writer so far.

It’s useful to get a realistic view of what happens with a magazine, so I’ll share some of my experience with reading work. Each issue, editors start out with the goal of putting on a good show for the readers, with a mix of genres, styles, voices, writers, etc. This is the driving force behind publishing a journal—to reach readers with compelling work that they can’t find elsewhere.

Editors typically get a ton of submissions. About two-thirds of these submissions are easy to reject, no matter whose name is on them, because they do not live up to the standards of the journal. Thus, we reject them.

What we are left with after the first big wave of rejections is the dreaded "maybe" pile—the super-hard part about editing. Even here, the better work stands out, with lesser packets being rejected one by one along the way. (These sometimes get the tiered rejection I have talked about in the past.)

Finally, there's a (virtual) stack of poems that editors like and that staffs have taken the time to discuss, and this is what we draw from as we make an issue. The stack might include famous names, it might include writers we've encouraged in the past, it might include unpublished writers that we'd be excited to unveil to the reading world, and it might include ordinary submitters with some good credits to their name.

Among the work in the refined maybe pile, a few of the pieces are definite yeses because someone on the staff can't live without them. (When I was a poetry editor, I always privileged a piece that even one staff member felt very passionate about over those pieces that everyone offered a tepid thumbs-up to. I don’t want the audience’s reaction to work to be, “OK, pretty good.” I want them to love or hate the work—I want them to talk about it.) But most of the remaining work is not “can't live without it" work—believe it or not, when you've edited a long time, you can live without a lot of stuff.

Instead, we look for good work that we would be honored to present to audiences and that we think our readers might enjoy. Say we have seventy-five poems in the maybe pile and we can print forty. See how the names and bios can help at this point? Editors usually want a mix—established and new, an ethic mix, a gender mix, new and repeat contributors, a mix of styles of work, etc. If you picture editors engaged in celebrity worship, you're probably getting the picture a little skewed. Sometimes big names even have a harder time getting in to a prominent journal because we sense that they're not sending their best.

But lest it seem that a stylistic mix is the only factor editors consider, we should keep in mind that most are at cognizant, to varying degrees, of the gender mix they have going, and the ethnic mix, and the age mix, and the ability mix. Editors want diversity, in part because an eye toward diversity keeps the journal open to work that may be outside of their immediate experience or ken.

I’m very doubtful that there’s such a thing as objective excellence. My idea of excellence is informed by my experience—a straight(ish), white(ish), middle-class(ish) woman’s experience. When I am editing a journal, I have to work to ensure that the work in its pages is more wide-ranging than my personal experience. And diversity of backgrounds and perspectives further insure that the work is diverse and interesting.

Many journals do read nameless submissions, and they often do a nice job with selecting work. I think the journals with diverse staffs have an advantage in this regard. In our culture, though, certain voices are given precedence, always—and the chance of losing some of the less-dominant voices makes nameless reading a risky practice. I actually think it’s good, after the initial winnowing, when the remaining work is, for the most part, publishable, to scrutinize bios and names for the perspectives that might otherwise be lost, and to factor identity into the decision-making.

Make no mistake—regardless of who a writer is, a certain level of accomplishment in the writing is necessary for the work to be considered. But aside from a few instances of editor passion, not a lot separates those final maybes.

At the end of the process, I think it’s healthy to look at who our submitters are, if only to reward those writers I’ve been nurturing for a long time, or because I know of no bigger editorial thrill than introducing a brand-new writer to the world.

*By the way, I object to the adjective “blind” to describe submissions that have had the name removed. The word “blind” is too commonly used to mark instances of low information or ignorance. Not knowing the author’s name is hardly equivalent to blindness; most editors can see the submission itself very clearly. And if we equate the word “blind” with “ignorant,” we are assuredly performing a huge disservice to the blind community—perpetuating a fallacy that limits their options for living and moving freely in our society. As it is, blind people face threats from all sides over this misperception of blindness as ignorance. As one devastating example of the harm this idea can cause, it is not uncommon for blind parents to lose custody of infant children because of the perception that they are unable to nurture them. The cost of this careless use of an adjective (where other words serve even better) can be extreme.