Editorial Sampler

• How Obscene Are We? from MEDIPHORS Spring/Summer 1996, No. 7
• Joyce Renwick from MEDIPHORS Fall/Winter 1996, No. 8
• Into The Essay from MEDIPHORS Spring/Summer 1997, No. 9
• Stormy Seas On The Internet from MEDIPHORS Spring/Summer 1998, No. 11

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(from MEDIPHORS Spring/Summer 1996, No. 7)

Defining the problem is actually worse than the cure: What is obscenity? Who will define obscenity when receiving a submission to Mediphors? We have conservative and liberal editors. Should we have a tally? Divide by 11, then check the cutoff figure? Darn it, one less reference to the quivering anatomy and the submission would have made it!

To be serious for a moment, we have to define the situation relative to the current environment. It is our observation that in magazines that print quality fiction, there appears to be no taboos left in regard to sexual language. And we're talking about magazines such as The Atlantic, Harper's, The New Yorker, Story, Shenandoah, New England Review, Esquire, and so on. However, there is a guideline: mainly that the story reveal an insight into character, behavior and human conflict that has enough depth and meaning so that most readers can recognize some truth about the human condition. In other words, the definition is determined by the basic quality of the story itself, or however we want to phrase the qualities that make a piece of fiction (or poetry) memorable or at least distinctive.

So if highly objectionable language arises quite naturally out of the character and situation, we would consider leaving it as written, if agreeable to the reviewing editors. However, if a piece of fiction seems to become dependent on its prurient, salacious details to arouse or sustain interest, then the piece would either be discarded or edited for its own sake, i.e., to help a basically serious work get the focus back where it belongs. Authors of medical fiction should note the above carefully: It's quite easy (and common in the submissions we receive) to throw in grotesque or obscene details. In these situations is the author making an honest effort, or is the story too weak to stand on its own? In some cases it can be despairingly simple: If the shock material is removed, is there anything left? "Super-realism" may work (read: consumed) on television, but it is insufficient in quality fiction.

Attempting to judge whether a written work is obscene or not is difficult enough at times to have occasioned a number of court trials: Flaubert's Madame Bovary, Joyce's Ulysses, Lawrence's Lady Chatterly's Lover, Burroughs' Naked Lunch, et al. Today it's hard to imagine anyone objecting to the first three, with perhaps a relative few still objecting to the last, whose trial was held in 1966. Which is only to remind us that mores and values continue to change with the times. But in each trial the work was judged worthy of publication for the basic reasons we have tried to express here: that the work has ultimately been judged as being "serious in regard to intent," and as having "redeeming social values."

The editors of Mediphors contribute their own opinions on the question, which then provide a basis for final judgment. Are the so-called obscenities a fair and natural outgrowth of character and situation or have they themselves become the central interest of the story, in which case it does become mere vulgarity or ultimately pornography. As always, an author cannot escape the basic responsibilities in literary writing which directly reflect on the quality of his or her work.

We were saddened to learn last year of the death of Joyce Renwick, a Contributing Editor of Mediphors. Joyce was a writer, teacher, lecturer and consultant to a number of authors. It was not often realized that before establishing a writing career she was a nurse, having received her RN from the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.

When Mediphors was beginning to publish in 1993, we received two short submissions from Joyce which were subsequently published ("Alarm" Mediphors, No. 1, Spring 1993 and "Cane" Mediphors, No. 2, Fall 1993). Her work was of particular interest to us because of the quality and perspective. The voice was distinctly that of an experienced healthcare professional. The stories described intimate events on a hospital nursing floor. The reader stood nearby, watching over a nurse's shoulder, feeling the hum-drum routine become captivating. It was a position many of us have experienced, a feeling we cannot often describe.

This unusual combination of nurse turned professional creative writer (perhaps now becoming more common) prompted an invitation to become a Contributing Editor. She accepted, but for the past several years her work was overshadowed by family illnesses. Joyce helped to establish our national distribution and her suggestions on a variety of subjects were greatly appreciated. She thanked us for "not giving up on her" during long periods when she was preoccupied with other events in her life. Her consulting business was again coming up to speed when her untimely death occurred.

Joyce was sometimes drawn back to her nursing past when teaching and writing. She remembered well those times on the night shift, reading patient charts, forming narratives from the bits and pieces. Although she wanted to be a writer before attending nursing school, her nursing career was a significant part of her growth and experience. Sometimes the two were inseparable: She was the nurse at Bread Loaf writers conference, Middlebury College, and lived in the infirmary. John Irving was attending the conference while writing The World According to Garp. Included in his book was a nurse who lived in an infirmary and wrote.

Joyce encouraged other healthcare professionals to write and was pleased that Mediphors published so many, some of whom where her own students and colleagues. She feared writers becoming isolated instead of sharing the vision and excitement of their common experiences. By example she demonstrated how involved a writer could be: teaching, lecturing, consulting, and just being a friend to other writers across the country. All of these things were in harmony to her. Writing was a form of teaching, the telling of experiences. Teaching was learning, whether interacting with students to solve simple problems in technique or exposing one's complex fears brought to a fictional character.

Of Joyce Renwick's many published short stories, my favorite is "The Dolphin Story," a beautiful example of her storytelling. It was anthologized in The Best American Short Stories of 1982, edited that year by her friend and former mentor, John Gardner. Her wish was to impact readers with fiction that excited them, to make each one remember her stories for a long time, as she remembered stories that had influenced her.

We will remember her stories and we will miss her.

Essay as a writing form reached its peak somewhere in the 19th century, then seemed to fade almost out of existence in the middle of the 20th century. After being relegated to introductory writing courses and personal memoirs for a number of years, an interesting thing happened over the last decade or two: a resurgence and wider appeal of the essay. With a large momentum to overcome, the stone began to move slowly into mainstream once more. As it picked up speed, the essay has worked its way back as a challenging and thought-provoking medium. Is the essay just filling a crevice by the shifting levels of other forms, i.e., the novel rising to new heights of popularity and sales, short story fiction waning?

The essay appears to be moving on its own unique merits: a personal narrative and reflective form of prose making an effort to express wide or universal concerns to a varied audience. This definition of a genre is generally considered as originating with Michael Montaigne (1533-92). Whether it is being re-discovered or never really left us is unclear. Perhaps it is a form of communication inherently identified with one person agonizing over a conflict and seeking expression to others, a form of communication in medicine so familiar that it fades into the daily background.

Since its inception, Mediphors has published essays. It would be difficult to imagine the literature of medicine devoid of these. There is too much to learn from experience of others. In the beginning sufficient quantity and quality of submissions concerned us. How interested would the readers be? The answers were all positive. From humor to pain, Mediphors' essays have proven to be varied in subject and captivating in interest.

The question of quality is always present. How can one balance the simple telling of a personal experience on one hand with high quality writing on the other (i.e., standards of clarity and general interest). Obviously involving both in one essay is the goal. The experiences in medicine can be compelling but alone is this enough to hold a reader's interest? The purist answer is no. There must be structure and craft to achieve quality writing. Our answer is: maybe. Our editors attempt to revise and suggest improvements to inexperienced authors in order to achieve quality work. The balance is a judgment call. Mediphors is not a purely literary magazine, nor is it a medical journal. Occasionally we feel like the boulder tottering on the sharp point.

Other guidelines continue to change with popular style and experimentation. How is non-fiction defined? How does the essay differ from the ubiquitous "article" in the general media? What is truth, or can interpretation be permitted? Embellished? Fictionalized? You mean docu-dramatized? Info-commercialized? This is a difficult problem to assess. We prefer to remain as close to non-fiction as possible in the essay - and to keep an open mind. We feel the reader should not be fooled into believing something true that is actually fictionalized.

Infringement of privacy is also a difficult problem in the context of medicine. Authors must beware of hurting those whose stories are being told. Name changing is acceptable, but privacy rights must be respected as well. This responsibility falls on the author (by our written contract) since we have no way to verify the contents. This should not be inhibiting when the writer is familiar with current privacy and libel laws. (A topic covered well in a number of easily understood writing manuals and books.)

Without a doubt the experience of our editors with the Mediphors' essays has been enjoyable. We have presented a number of engaging essays discussing important topics. We look forward to telling many more personal reflections, those of the workers, patients and writers in medicine.

Which is it going to be? Strap on the old hip-waders and wallow through a sea of information with about as much editing quality as CB radio? Or is it the dawn of a new enlightenment where every individual has instantaneous access to all great literature of humankind? For the writer and reader, perhaps the truth has changed very little: It has always been the best of times and the worst of times. Now possibly we could add: the most annoying of times.

Computer technology can perform increasingly amazing feats. The cost is measured in complexity. Unfortunately, computers are not becoming simpler to use. The programs are massive, learning curves get steeper, and the system-crashes constantly irritate. It is little comfort that even computer specialists are frazzled. If you have any doubt, call Tech Support at any computer company or Internet Server and listen to them get frustrated. Even experts cannot predict how programs manufactured by different companies will interact.

For those of you still typing manuscripts, I used to encourage learning a simple word processor. However, I can't think of any computers now that will turn on easily and use any simple programs. So the choices are: grit your teeth and learn it, ask your kids to train you, or at least buy a little desktop copy machine or typewriter-processor. Carbon paper really has become ancient. Submissions pounded out on manual typewriters today stand out like medieval manuscripts, each erasure illuminating the author's labor. The time spent learning the computer will be repaid in the long run, so I'd still recommend the gnashing-of-teeth option. And the added benefit is use of the Internet, should you actually begin to enjoy this kind of abuse.

In all fairness, computer manufacturers are trying to simplify Internet access and operation - and it's neck-in-neck who's winning, they or the bytes. From the consumer end, the bottleneck is now the modem/connection speed. There are tens- (soon to be hundreds-) of-millions of people using the Internet. Applications for domain names (the Internet addresses to locate the information spots) are running 70,000 per month. Is it worth an attempt at perspective? An average human vocabulary may be 8,000 words, a very smart person 15,000, Shakespeare about 30,000. Did Internet registration (Internic) run out of words yet? Apparently no icebergs in sight.

Sailing out there on the data high seas is the Mediphors home page. Our address is www.mediphors.org where you will find samples of work from past issues, author guidelines, subscription and other information. For those so inclined, e-mail is available at mediphor@ptd.net (note: no "s" in mediphor e-mail address). Comments and suggestions are welcome, but we will not have sufficient staff to answer author manuscript inquiries or subscriptions via the Internet.

Commentary about the Internet would not be complete without predictions of the future. Can Mediphors be published in its entirety on the Internet? Difficult at this point because a magazine print-layout cannot easily be taken and dropped right in. The Internet is a free-flowing medium where spacing, paragraphing, text and images all vary depending on the program (browser) and computer at the receiving end. The integrity of poetry can be particularly threatened. To be done properly with current technology requires a separate and unique layout processed for the Internet. Copyright and Internet billing are other conflicts still in evolution. With the quickly advancing software, Mediphors may someday become an e-zine too. For now readers will have to be satisfied with a feel of paper between the fingers, like all the low-tech literature printed mechanically over the past 500 years.

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