You Said It
by caitlin macrae
It is Wednesday, and I am reading this letter for the 391st time. All the words are more or less the same as the first letter, an email I received at the beginning of the month. Words like “disappointed,” “outraged,” “for shame,” and “long-time subscriber.” Words that implied “threat of cancellation” and “temporary outrage.” 
They write in, a deluge at first that slows, mid-month, to an occasional, needling trickle, coming in just as I had forgotten about the whole big thing. When the new issue comes out, which it does on the monthly, it will start again. Same complaints, different issue. Sort of.
These women are writing to a magazine, a big one, a magazine that pays me to answer letters from its audience. I have been answering these letters for almost a year. In this near-year I have learned very little about how to work at a magazine, having never been invited to an editorial meeting, or spoken to on purpose by most of the staff. But I have learned that there is a very specific kind of person who will write to a magazine to give them the old verbal what-for. They are persistent, they are fierce, and sometimes I worry that they do not have gynecologists.
Some letters come from jail, some from hospitals. These have shaky handwriting and say lewd things about Jenna Jameson. “You can send her my letter because she’s my girlfriend I want her to make all the Hollywood movies. It’s ok if you can send me some money I like cops though the police are COOL.” Others want their dreams interpreted, or relationship advice. “Which is more correct, man on top or woman on top?” “My man and I broke up, he lied and cheated on me but now he says he wants me back. I still love him even though we fight all the time and I cry a lot. I don’t know what to do, how do I know if I should trust him? How do I know if he’s the one?” “What,” they ask, “is teabagging?” Sometimes I answer them, but mostly it just makes me sad, because it’s not my in my job description to be honest. I usually send them a form letter (I thank them for their interest) and call it a day.
But mostly it comes at me declarative. They are disgusted at this editorial decision, disagree with this statistic, wonder why pear-shaped bodies are given advice but inverted triangle-shaped bodies are ignored, want to know why the magazine never shows “real” women. 
They want makeovers, want us to write on this one rare illness that they just happen to have and would be happy to be interviewed about. Sometimes they just want to tell stories. “Bon Jovi changed my life.” “Here is a picture of my Bosnian village.” “I have read you for years, through divorces and children.” Thank you, they say to this corporate behemoth that has changed so many editorial hands and has never seen an advertiser it couldn’t plug, thank you for being a friend.
Each letter writer writes to me as though theirs is the first I have read. As though in all of the piles, all of the unread messages theirs will shine, a bright hard diamond, the Simba of letters. It will be foisted from the ether and held up for the office to see, will be given a full-page spread, will be pored over, praised. It would be a magazine to be framed, handed to hordes of adoring friends, family, strangers will smile and know their intelligence, reason, strength.
Or maybe they just want to be heard. Just once.
Fine, people. I hear you. I do.
May 20, 2009 @ 4:09 pm
I do much the same thing for a company that markets financial newsletters. As you can imagine, the letters I receive are a little bit different. The best I ever saw, though, was a screen shot of a recommended stock’s poor performance with “Way to go, asshole. You really know your stuff” written below in bold letters.