I put down my fountain pen, sighed, and picked up the last page of the story I had just written. I fanned it in the air in front of me until I was satisfied that the ink had dried and that it wouldn’t smear. I then put the page face down on the stack of papers on the side of my desk. I turned the stack over - rereading my title And So It Goes – and rolled the story into a tight tube. I pushed the rolled story down the neck of a green glass bottle until it fell all the way into bottle with a gentle ‘plink’. The bottle had once held wine but that was long gone and the glass had been washed, dried, and sterilized. I pushed the cork back into the mouth of the bottle and then sealed it in with some red wax.
I carried the bottle down Dallas Road until I reached the Breakwater at Ogden Point. At the end of the wall, I held up the bottle, peered in at my story, and then kissed the glass. With a burst of energy, I tossed the bottle in a high arc into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It landed in the cold waters with a satisfying splash, and I quickly lost sight of it as it drifted, I hoped, out to sea.
And that, I thought, is how most submissions go.
If you’ve never submitted a story or poem or article to be published, it can be a long, frustrating process. After a long time perfecting a piece – writing it, rewriting it, editing it - , you print it out, stick it the mail, and then wait. Months and even years can go by without a response. Editors ignore emails and even rejections letters sometimes never show up. Often, I thought, I’d have better luck just shoving my story in a bottle and throwing it in the ocean.
Two years ago, I took over as the Editor of Island Writer Magazine. Island Writer is published by the Victoria Writers’ Society and it completely run by volunteers. I’ve always thought it was impressive that Island Writer was limited to writers living on Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands and as Editor, I’ve been able to dive into the depths of talent living in this part of the world.
And, I’m sure, I’ve added to the frustration that many people feel when they send out a submission and never hear anything back. Being the Editor has been a learning process and here are a few things that I’ve learning along the way:
Editors should never announce time lines or deadlines. The science fiction author Douglas Adams once stated: “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.” I’ve found that that whoosh is particularly loud if you’ve responded to a writer that you would let them know if their piece is included or not by a certain date. I’ve also found that just by saying out loud that the next issue will ready by a certain day, it will guarantee that on that specific day, the magazine will never, ever, be ready.
Editors should realize that emails multiply faster than the bunnies on the University of Victoria campus. For every email that you reply to, you’ll find that you’ll two more in your inbox to replace it. By the time you’ve answered each one, a deadline probably has whooshed by.
Editors shouldn’t give out too much information about how the next issue will turn out. Stating that the magazine have a specific number of pages or be a particular colour or focus on a set theme only guarantees it will never actually turn out that way. It’s best just to keep quiet and cagey about the whole affair until the magazine is actually ready. It might even be best not to admit that the magazine will even have words.
And so, after two years of being the editor of Island Writer Magazine, I’ve found that I’ve become as secretive, uncommunicative, and perpetually late as some of the editors to whom I’ve sent work. Unfortunately, I now understand why they are that way.
A secret of being an editor is that you get to work with great people who put in a lot of work to make the magazine look good. I would like to thank all of the members of the Editorial Board who have served with me.
I would also like to thank all of the writers and poets who have submitted to Island Writer during my time as Editor. I’m always amazed and humbled by the talent living in our community and I’ve enjoyed reading all of your stories, articles, and poems. The next time you feel like you might have better luck throwing your submission in the ocean and you head down to the shore, please keep an eye out for a story in a green bottle. I’m hoping to hear back from an editor about it any day now.
(Like the last couple of times, parts of this entry were adapted from my editorial in the current issue of Island Writer)
In many ways, I would recreate that short plunge when I took over the Editor position for 
