Since I’m handling critiques this year, lots of you have called or emailed to ask about the process. How we organize, sort, transmit, etc. I thought it might be interesting to have a blog post that explains the whole murky process.
The manuscript you sent via email is saved on a flash drive, in folders by faculty member. This drive will be taken to the conference just in case another copy of your submission is needed for any reason. (This does NOT mean you shouldn’t consider bringing your own flash drive.)
The manuscript you mailed traveled from the post office to my house, where it was stored in a large tupperware bin until all of them arrived. Then, on September 6th, I moved all the furniture in my living room to the side and sorted them. (For once, I was very thankful for my impractical formal living room—it’s long instead of wide and I fuss about this constantly—just ask Mr. Husband. He knows a millon reasons why the fireplace SHOULD BE ON THE LONG WALL. But, he admits, he doesn’t know WHY it isn’t.) After they were alphabetized, I put them in boxes and under lock and key. If your faculty member asked for paper copies, he or she will be sent one copy and the conference will keep the other. Again, in case we need a copy once we get to the conference site.
Take heart—-I take the care of these submissions very seriously. The only eyes that will see them and the only fingers that will touch them are mine and you faculty member’s. They are safe with me!
What happens when the conference is over? You can pick up your copies or we will shred them. This will be done before we leave the beach. I give you my word—they will be shredded.
Faculty members chose, when they signed their contracts, how they wanted to receive their manuscripts. Some chose mail and some chose email. So, I’ll be sending them out the next few days.
Keep your fingers crossed. This just might be your year!
For the record, I read Nikki Poppen’s THE DOWAGER’S WAGER yesterday. Bravo, Nikki!
And today I REALLY AM working on line edits. All day. No matter what. Even if Mr. Husband wants to whisk me away to some tropical beach–HINT, HINT—I’ll be here in my office.