Dear New Yorker Magazine,
The New Yorker Magazine is a legendary magazine representing the heart of the deep literary history of New York City. It has published many of the great literary figures of the past 90 years, and has stood at the epicenter of American culture. Which is why I am eager both to publish my work in your brilliant and amazing magazine, and to one day read a copy of your magazine.
Unfortunately, never having read The New Yorker, except for an occasional cartoon, leaves me unclear on whether my work is of a suitable nature to be published in it. For instance, my writing is almost never about New York. Is that a problem?
But as I debated whether to send any of my writing to The New Yorker I realized that I publish my work every day on the Internet, which I know is entirely, almost comically unsuited to my writing, as are all the other venues I consider for publishing: Cat Fancy Magazine, my neighborhood newspaper, and all known publishing houses. Generally speaking my work is oddly unsuited for publication anywhere. So sending along work to a magazine not knowing if it's a suitable venue is far ahead of the curve for me. Indeed, I suspect it is my only chance, slim though it may be.
There is this though:
A few years ago I wrote The Eleven Secret Secrets of Writing and for some reason gave it to an older co-worker under some random burst of confident energy that led me to think she might enjoy it. This woman, now retired, was a person who revered The Great Gatsby and would have heard of your magazine and possibly even submitted a story or two to it in the 1970's. She read my piece and enjoyed it in the mild way people occasionally do with my writing when I haven't upset them with it. She had a suggestion for me as well. "You should submit it to The New Yorker. They won't publish it, but they might get a kick out of it."