Difference between revisions of "Alice Blue"

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(Created page with "== Prose rejections == === Standard === <blockquote> Thanks for giving me the chance to read this story. Unfortunately, I think we're going to pass this time, but don't be disco...")
 
 
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=== Standard ===
 
=== Standard ===
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'''2011'''
 
<blockquote>
 
<blockquote>
 
Thanks for giving me the chance to read this story. Unfortunately, I think we're going to pass this time, but don't be discouraged. Opportunities lope forward like so many three-legged marmots, fat and happy!
 
Thanks for giving me the chance to read this story. Unfortunately, I think we're going to pass this time, but don't be discouraged. Opportunities lope forward like so many three-legged marmots, fat and happy!
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<blockquote>
 
<blockquote>
Text of Higher Tier Rejection
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Firstly, I need to let you know that your work made it into the final round of editing. I put it in the top 25 this issue. Unfortunately, we are passing this time, but don't let that dissuade you. A lot happens in the editors' meetings and not all of it makes sense, even to me, and I'm always there.
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So please, do submit again.
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(And below is our form letter, the poetic response, if you're into that sort of thing, because you really, really are beautiful.)
 +
</blockquote>
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== Poetry rejections ==
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=== Standard ===
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'''2015'''
 +
<blockquote>
 +
Dear —,
 +
 
 +
Thank you for submitting to alice blue. We appreciate your continued support and patronage. Unfortunately we were unable to find a place for your work in this issue. Sometimes this happens. It means nothing. How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds.
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 +
Much love,
 +
Amber Nelson
 +
poetry editor, alice blue
 +
</blockquote>
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 +
'''2013'''
 +
<blockquote>
 +
Dear —,
 +
 
 +
Thank you for submitting to alice blue. We appreciate your continued support and patronage. Unfortunately we were unable to find a place for your work in this issue. Sometimes this happens. It means nothing. There is a hornet in the room and one of us will have to go out the window. More opportunities run up your ankles under the French horns of a November afternoon, through the vocalese-shaped spaces of naked elms ignited with a few late leaves, snapping from the brightwork of parked and rolling cars.
 +
 
 +
 
 +
Much love,
 +
Amber Nelson
 +
poetry editor, alice blue
 
</blockquote>
 
</blockquote>

Latest revision as of 21:32, 15 November 2016

Prose rejections

Standard

2011

Thanks for giving me the chance to read this story. Unfortunately, I think we're going to pass this time, but don't be discouraged. Opportunities lope forward like so many three-legged marmots, fat and happy!

Higher Tier

Firstly, I need to let you know that your work made it into the final round of editing. I put it in the top 25 this issue. Unfortunately, we are passing this time, but don't let that dissuade you. A lot happens in the editors' meetings and not all of it makes sense, even to me, and I'm always there. So please, do submit again. (And below is our form letter, the poetic response, if you're into that sort of thing, because you really, really are beautiful.)

Poetry rejections

Standard

2015

Dear —,

Thank you for submitting to alice blue. We appreciate your continued support and patronage. Unfortunately we were unable to find a place for your work in this issue. Sometimes this happens. It means nothing. How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds.

Much love, Amber Nelson poetry editor, alice blue

2013

Dear —,

Thank you for submitting to alice blue. We appreciate your continued support and patronage. Unfortunately we were unable to find a place for your work in this issue. Sometimes this happens. It means nothing. There is a hornet in the room and one of us will have to go out the window. More opportunities run up your ankles under the French horns of a November afternoon, through the vocalese-shaped spaces of naked elms ignited with a few late leaves, snapping from the brightwork of parked and rolling cars.


Much love, Amber Nelson poetry editor, alice blue