TSS has always been dedicated to publishing extraordinary fiction and critical writing. And, as long as I can afford – mentally, physically and financially – to do so, TSS will remain a place for outstanding talent and a home to writing I continue to love.
Despite my aim to maintain this constancy, three things have changed in the last decade. First, our world has become noisier, more distracting, and more dependent on fast forms of entertainment and social media. Secondly and correspondingly, I have changed – desiring less distraction, deeper engagement and more connection. As writer and reader, I value these enormously and have struggled with the pressures of the online world, both personally and with regards to TSS.
Increasingly, I have come to view time spent with words on the page as an almost sacred thing that must be fought for; I have felt that the modern world is, in too many ways, antithetical to the writer and reader. These changes, internal and external, are what drove the recent website redesign to something simpler, without pictures or excessive links, no ads, and very little social media. I wanted visitors to feel as if they were opening the page of a book. I want TSS to be like a well-thumbed anthology on the bookshelf; something to return to, now and then, and to be delighted each time.
Despite the many changes and challenges I have encountered in running the journal, nothing has prepared me for the philosophical, emotional and practical hurdles presented by the rise of AI and LLMs. Never have I questioned the value of my work – and the work of others – so thoroughly. Never have I been so dispirited when reading submissions, encountering again and again text that feels too familiar in cadence and style and lacks the warmth of a human heart, the depth of human ingenuity, and the daring linguistic finesse of a human hand. Never have I worried so much about my liberal use of dashes and never have I so worried about what we will lose if we lose this: our ability to put down words on the page in a manner that connects with others, stirring thoughts and feelings and the wild imagination.
I hope to resist the insidious aspects of time-stealing technology, endless commodification and the blunting effects of virtual worlds. Sometimes, when the present feels off-kilter, we look to the future. We might look to the past. Often, both offer guidance.
And so, to the past: TSS is moving – (almost) exclusively – to postal submissions. I know this will reduce the number of submissions but most importantly I believe it will help filter out those who rely on prompts, AI and LLMs; it means I can go back to trusting and loving what I read, and so can those who enjoy this site. Sure, those who use AI can still print out the slop and send it this way, but as I outline in a this Substack piece, I think this extra hurdle will make such submissions a lot less likely. Good writing takes a huge amount of effort. Some paper, an envelope and a stamp – these are comparatively small hurdles for the person who takes their craft seriously. And for those for whom a postal submission is an impossibility? There are two brief periods in which work can be sent digitally.
And what of the future: I believe more and more journals, agents and publishers are going to have to contend with the rise of LLMs. While my generation and those who are older may resist, I have repeatedly witnessed – through my work as teacher, tutor and mentor – the way younger generations use, rely and trust this new and ever-evolving technology. There must, therefore, be dissenting voices. There must be resistance in those of us who understand the value of labouring for hours over a single paragraph. And there must be spaces, even on the internet, where there is trust, ingenuity, creativity and human-to-human connection. I hope TSS will be one such place, now and in the years to come.
This is not a Mission Statement in the traditional sense. However, I hope it captures some of the discord I’ve experienced in recent months and helps explain some of the quiet, the pauses, the changes that have taken place here. And I hope it conveys how I feel about writing and publishing and that, possibly, it connects with you – whoever you are – reading these words as I’ve laid them out, one by one, like the bricks of a temple. Traveller to these lands, thank you. I hope you’ll stay.