One of the most exciting things about living near NYC are not the bars, clubs, restaurants, or the museums. It’s nice that they’re there, and I enjoy going to them here and there, but what I really love are the events. I’ll go ahead and say it: the FREE events. The Brooklyn Book Festival draws some of the most interesting speakers and panels (I saw Salman Rushdie one year and Amitav Ghosh the next).  There’s the PEN Festival that hosts a very international affair, where I saw Deborah Treisman (New Yorker Fiction Editor) for the first time in person where she moderated a panel on the modern short-story. And then there’s the Asian Writer’s Workshop, as well as a handful of great independent bookshops that host free events with a wide variety of authors, and panels that could only take place in New York.

On Wednesdays, I am absolutely knackered: I teach from 9 in the morning until 2pm with a short break in-between, add a few hours for grading, and the commute back and forth, and you have one worn out bloke. Yesterday, however, my lovely wife, Sona Charaipotra, had no sympathy for me when I just wanted to lie in bed and watch a little telly that evening. She insisted I attend an event I hadn’t even heard about at a bookshop I’d never been to before: “Beyond the Slushpile: A Magazine Roundtable” at McNally Jackson Books on 52 Prince Street. And appropriately enough, it was raining.

At first, I was a bit hesitant to go because I had all but abandoned my short-stories and was slowing plodding away at my novel. But then Sona told me about a one year writing program at CUNY, called the Writer’s Institute, that prides itself on being the “Un-M.F.A.” program, and is taught entirely by editors, including Nathaniel Rich (Paris Review), who sent me a lovely rejection letter years ago, John Freeman, and Deborah Treisman. But after I read the description, I was excited about the panel and at the prospect of returning to my short-stories and about the potential of what the program might offer me. So, I dashed off to the PATH station, caught the downtown F train to Lafayette/Broadway, and walked the three blocks to Prince street, without an umbrella. Here is the description:

“Join Ellah Allfrey, James Marcus and Deborah Treisman – editors from Granta, Harper’s and The New Yorker – as they discuss how and why and what they publish. The proverbial slush pile; the writers they’re loving; the ones that got away. Tonight they’ll talk about what goes on behind the curtain. Granta editor John Freeman will moderate.”

I’ve always loved the concept of an Independent Bookshop and McNally Jackson was utterly charming, although I whizzed through the entrance and shot straight downstairs, where it was immediately packed. There were people standing, not just in the aisles, but on the stairs. I got a dodgy seat adjacent to where the panel was speaking, so I got to see Deborah Treisman’s face, John’s legs, and that was about it. I didn’t even know what Ellah Allfrey (Granta) and James Marcus (Harper’s) looked like until after the panel when we got to chat.

I was expecting the panel to be a bit stuffy, but was very surprised at how informal it was, and definitely didn’t expect the f bomb to be thrown quite so often. “Those fuckers don’t write short-stories,” was the first of many, when John Freeman (Granta) contextualized his question on why England has so few short-story writers. Deborah immediately jumped in and said it was because of the lack of outlets. “There’s Granta, the occasional Guardian commissioned piece, and that’s about it.” She also mentioned one other journal I don’t remember the name of, and contrasted it to America, where it is still not a great market, but there is more opportunity to be published and paid than in England, or any other country. She was much less scary than the interviews I’d read of hers had led me to believe. It was very relaxing atmosphere and felt very much like a conversation taking place.

A woman from the bookshop announced some upcoming events, including one on Thursday with Patrick deWitt, author of “The Sisters Brothers,” where there would be free brandy. That immediately got my attention.

One of the first questions John Freeman (Granta) posed was on a study that showed the divide in statistics between women and men writers, and asked the editors to comment on this. Deborah Treisman (New Yorker) put it very well and said there were a variety of factors, but in the fiction section of the New Yorker, it was pretty even. The pitches she receives from writers over 45 are mainly male, but under 45, it’s pretty even. She also said that it was a cultural factor. “I think women today are much more likely to put themselves and their egos out there, before they get married and have children,” which of course, dictates the kinds of stories they write.

James Marcus (Harpers) echoed Deborah’s thoughts and said that “the stats are pretty rotten, but the fiction section is probably evenly divided.”

John Freeman then moved the conversations towards their process and everyone was pussyfooting around the fact that there was a pile of unsolicited manuscripts known as the slush-pile, and that interns read through this and decided whether it even came onto the desk of an editor. John very skillfully coaxed the term out of James, who quickly added that the work was done by “our essential team of interns,” which elicited quiet laughter amongst the audience.

But the bombshell was when Ellah Allfrey shared the fact that Granta recently changed its policy on the slushpile, thereby “democratizing the process.” Ready for it? They no longer have interns reading through it! An actual editor will read through each and every manuscript. John Freeman (Granta) added that the reason for this change was that an intern had turned down several really great stories.

Deborah Treisman (New Yorker) said that because her magazine has over 1 million readers, she is acutely aware of her audience, so wouldn’t choose an experimental piece to publish. This would explain why a lot of the stories are so similar in the subjects they cover and to a certain degree, even how the stories are written. A story she was particularly excited about didn’t sound that different from most of the stories they publish was written by Jim Gavin (an established writer) called “Costello” about a middle aged plumbing salesman and widower who lives in the suburbs in California.

She also told us that it is rare for something to go from the slushpile directly into the magazine, but it starts the relationship, and it might be the 5^th story the writer submits that ends up in publication.

During the Q&A, there was a question posed by a tall, lanky bloke with curly hair who stood all the way in the back, and it was by far the best question anyone asked. He referenced the Pakistan themed issue of Granta, which contained stories all on Pakistan, and he talked about a Pakistani writer, who was highly critical of American fiction. And she made the accusation that American fiction writers aren’t diverse or won’t step out of their comfort zone in depicting characters or subjects other than what they are firmly rooted in.

John Freeman summed up the question quite astutely: is there a creeping parochial in American fiction,” and both James and Deborah disagreed and had a great counter-point, although I don’t agree that a diverse America is being represented in the publishing world: “it’s ridiculous,” she said. “What Pakistani writers step out of their comfort zone to talk about American subjects or American characters?” I can’t think of any either. But then again, I can’t think of very many Pakistani writers who have been published in America.

Patrick Ryan, associate editor of Granta (and also a widely published author), ended the official panel discussion with a story about how a manuscript by an unknown writer was picked out of the slushpile and made it to publication, something neither James (Harper) or Deborah Treisman (New Yorker)  could talk about in specifics because it’s probably never happened. The essay began with “Dear Editor/Reader” and was about his 3 friends who all inch out of the closet, but one of them decides to go back in, and gets married, etc. Everyone thought it was wonderfully written and made the decision to publish it. So Patrick is about to email the writer when he notices a number at the bottom, so he calls it, and hears a lot of background noise. When he tells him that he’s being published by Granta, there’s a lot of hysterical shouts in the back, and it is revealed that the writer is with his 3 friends and they are pulling in to Las Vegas to start their vacation!

After the conference, it was also very informal  with the editors walking around and chatting with people, allowing them to ask some more questions. Most of the questions I had were answered during the panel, but I talked to John Freeman about the CUNY Writer’s Institute, and was even able to chat with Deborah Treisman at some length outside the bookshop as she was leaving.

All in all, a fantastic panel. The deadline for the upcoming semester is in less than 2 weeks: March 15, which means I have plenty of work cut out for me, including polishing up two short-stories I wrote ages ago, and refining my novel excerpt.  I better get moving!