Wading Through a Jungle

September 17, 2012 -

Hello,

My name is Brooke Fox, and I am interning here, at The Speculative Edge magazine, until December 2012. This is the first time that the magazine has worked with one like myself, and I’m here to tell you a little about what it’s like.

First off, I’ll begin by saying that I originally knew little about the process of assisting in the editorial-type- er, processes- and now I indeed have some experience by which I can explain my first foray into the field. It is like pulling heavy crocodile teeth, I hope you know- nah, scratch that. It has a deep water, but there are no crocodiles fighting for me in the area of editorial work.

Let me explain why I originally wanted to work for a magazine that produces material of the type which this particular one, does. I had been wading through a jungle, oh, not your ordinary jungle, but one of purpose and meaning, grasping at different ways to sink my foot into the literary environment. Of course, being here in the midst of so many- you see, the list “Top 50 Literary Magazines” offered me little respite, so different was each magazine. Researching this jungle was a walk in which various colors and sights attracted me, but they did little to help my navigational obstruction. I began sending out e-mails rapidly, working towards my route, but here, and there, were so many different responses that inspired my interest, yet did little to inspire me. And here I sat, with ten e-mail boxes open in front of me, but feeling rather discomfited by the responses.

My lackadaisical attitude lasted for a few days, before I finally came upon the particular fork in my journey that I thought I’d scope out slightly. Shane Collins, the primary editor of The Speculative Edge, demonstrated a brightly colored display that- I thought I’d follow, slowly, and then happily found myself guided to one of the most sparkling, and clear waters that I could ever imagine.

“Well, ahem, I’m a twenty-two year old English student working towards my degree at Michigan’s private Madonna University campus. Well, no, sir, I don’t exactly have experience as an editor or an understudy, but I’ll show you what I do have . . . ”

Although our conversations took place solely over e-mail, Mr. Collins was a colorful peacock- but maybe he shouldn’t like this description, so let’s keep it secretive- that brought me to my house, or rather, room full of this drink of life that my experience, skills, and qualities as a writer, desperately needed.

Some of you may be wondering why I have called this blog after a lovely exploding room. Lovely? Well . . . yes. Explosives can be lovely, you know. After all, haven’t you ever been to the latest firework display in your area near to the Fourth, finding yourself amidst the miraculous display, the sparkling fireworks that were created solely for the most spectacular visual appeal on the face of the Earth? The color variety, spawned by an initial crackling on the ground that bursts, into so many different features that artists and poets over the world all around us, across seas would just simply love to be near them, wherever they may be, at that moment? And that is not their only quality. I mean fireworks are fireworks, of course. But they must necessarily be used, you know, in the most symbolic ways, since I am a writer, and you are readers and writers.

The Room That Explodes. This is my metaphor for the work that I have done so far with The Speculative Edge. During my first week with the publication I was offered three stories from different writers, with a polite request to analyze or ‘critique’ them. Well, this was common ground, I thought, seeing as the type of academic background I’ve had underlines it. But, into the second and the third week, I was given even more stories, and I soon realized, that the term ‘speculative’ meant much more. My background, although having a creative lean to it, perpetually lent me to academic based papers, what some might consider ‘dry.’ I read so many fantasies from my analytical work, and the magazine itself- since Mr. Collins had graciously given me a free copy- that I had monsters with flowers spurting from their brains, and colorful, strange talking demons, crawling out of my ears, and my mind. But- this was the room of my dreams! An endless number of stories to read, from writers of various backgrounds, from perhaps India, to Idaho, and no end of stimuli for my overactive brain, and a shower of sparks, and fire beneath them, that made my creativity simply- ooze.

Okay, I suppose we are out of the forest now, and into the safe haven of The Room That Explodes. But let me take you back there for a moment out of necessity, to explain the end of our lost journey. Ahhh, think of a peacock once more, although we will not say who it might be. So as not to confuse our metaphors with each other, that bird gradually brings us around to a sparkling river flow. Of course we are drawn to that pretty water and we step into it. The rest of the route works its way into the material that I have been privileged to read. But how exactly it will meander to the end of wherever it goes, I wouldn’t know. Perhaps the editorial process will be a never ending one. I suppose we will see in the future months. For now, I will bring you out of the jungle though, and back into the room that is alight with speculative fiction glories. And in the next post, I hope that you will once again join me in,

The Room That Explodes.

Brooke ~