The Last Submission I Loved, by Dave Housley

I don’t read submissions much anymore. I mostly manage our conference (Conversations and Connections: Practical Advice on Writing), and when I do that I sometimes tap myself in to moderate our “Editors Panel,” and the first question I always ask is “tell me about the last submission that came through the slush that you absolutely loved.” It’s a simple question that I think gets at what makes a piece stand out, what it’s like to read through a virtual pile of submissions, and why we do this weird thing for no money on the longshot bet that every now and then something written by a stranger is going to suddenly make us fall in love with writing and reading and editing and literary magazines and this whole goddam stupid weirdo deal all over again. 

For this newsletter, I’m going to ask that question of some of our (non-Barrelhouse) literary magazine editor friends, but to get us started, I’ve again tapped myself in, and I’m going to tell you about the last submission I read that I totally loved: My Monster Mask, by Nic Anstett. 

Like I said, I don’t read submissions much anymore, but when some of our fiction editors got busy with life things, I stepped in and took the first crack at some of the submissions for our special cryptids issue. It was a good fit. I was the person who made the first joke on slack: “SPECIAL CRYPTIDS ISSUE!” And I love all things paranormal, from the Mothman to ancient aliens and literally everything in between, so I was more than happy to step in, and I loved seeing what people did with the idea of cryptids in general.  As always, the submissions were generally very good, very few clunkers, lots of interesting takes on cryptids and the people who are obsessed with them. But the one that really stood out to me, the one that still gave me a little thrill and a lump in my throat and a giggle as I read through it a few days ago, was My Monster Mask, by Nic Anstett.  

It’s a story about a man who is in a self-help group for people who impersonate monsters. That’s basically what I’d call the story pitch, but the story itself is so much more. It has my two favorite, extremely hard to execute things in a story: sad and funny, funny and sad. It’s a story about a cryptid, sure, specifically a man who has gotten himself in trouble acting as the (locally) famous  Goatman of Prince George’s County, Maryland. But it’s also a story about a sad, broken person grappling with the fact that all his best, coolest, most interesting and engaging days are likely behind him. 

And then, well, those meddling kids. 

I won’t ruin the story by telling you more, but anybody who is familiar with my own writing knows that I love working with pop culture stuff, and the Scooby Do needle drop in this story is just brilliant, such a clever, knowing, confident way to infuse a story with just a little bit of fun pop culture in a way that totally works because if you know, well, you’ll get the thrill that I got when I figured out what was actually happening, and if you don’t, the story still works on its own merits. There’s nothing better to me than the feeling of riding along with an author and thinking holy shit they could really go there and then holy shit they are actually doing it and then holy shit we went there together and it was surprising and fun and delightful. Nic went there and it is a delight and I hope you’ll take a look at the story so you can go there your own self. 

I also want to add after writing all of this that there is nothing better as an editor than to get a chance to do this, to find something wonderful and brilliant and weird and surprising written by a person you had never heard of before, to be in a position to get that story poem essay out there in the world to be read by other people, and then to champion that work even further. Goddam that felt good.