A letter to some professor friends about a letter to someone at Image, the journal of faith, and why most people in publishing don't want people to read or care about reading

Monday 10/6/25

Essentially what it says above. From yesterday. Seemed a useful, telling document so it is included here. The coals are being readied for more specific, fuller rakings per these people and the hook-ups they specialize in, the hypocrisy, he easily revealed lies, and, of course, the dreadful, pointless, soulless, MFA-machined writing that no one could possibly like, including people like the person I'm talking about here who publishes it.

This is to the publisher of Image. I'm going to be very brief, because (hopefully) you'll see everything on the blog later, and I don't want you to waste time reading something twice when you can see it in one place definitively. Image is a literary journal of faith. It's not necessarily outrightly religious in focus and scope, but faith--however that is defined, and it can, of course, be broad--is the alleged crux of their enterprise and the work they publish.

So what do you think they actually publish? That's right--short shorts by professors who were hooked up because of connections that are about MFA programs. I'm talking fiction now. How on earth is a half-page story about an exercise in an MFA class something that has anything to do with faith? Beyond just how stupid and pointless everyone who looks at it would understand it to be. Not that that matters here. 

I offered this place "Idra"--talk about landing square on the faith-based nose--and "The Installation," and "Best Present Ever," and "Thank You, Human," and "Fitty," and "The Bird," and "Friendship Bracelet." Obvious masterpieces all. With heavy faith components. And you know what happened. This woman told me to pay her money to "submit"--and believe me, they really mean that word in the fullest sense of it--and be form rejected. Because I'm not one of these people and I'm an infinitely better writer and artist than all of them. So now there's this. These people aren't built to handle real fights. What goes on in the corner. I can. So I might as well play to that, drag them behind the net, and beat the ever living s--- out of them, deservedly. It's the only way right now for me to try and level the ice. 

You know what she'll do when she sees this? Nothing. Cower. Shake. Cower some more. Hope for the best. That is, that no one sees it, or not enough people, or no one she knows. It's imperative for these people that no one read and no one care about writing, or else they'd be exposed--as in seen for what they are and what they can't do--and SOL.

Quite the f---ing irony, isn't it? That if you're in publishing, at any level of publishing, it's in your best interests that no one reads and no one wants to so that no one will know how bad every last one of these people is at writing and who they are--what they are--as people. 

A few things were added to today's earlier blog. The Joel Whitney addition was a nice touch. Look at that guy, man. 

Stair time.