Milford, Connecticut
January 3, 2001

Dear Readers,

Today’s letter comes from Scott, a semi-anonymous CEO of a struggling dot-com. I say “semi” because Scott is his real first name. His letter is episode three in our week of open letters about endings and beginnings.

Scott first wrote me back in October, with what I thought was a pretty interesting suggestion. Here’s what his email said:

i have a letter i am about to write to the staff of my five person start up, on the verge of its collapse. we were all extremely good friends going into the experience, and it is a very sad experience to watch it fail, during this time of terrible tech market action, and because of my own inexperience as a ceo. i was wondering if such a thing would be of interest to you. i have found it very easy to be cynical about the “dot com” craze, but we were a small, tireless group who probably deserved better. at any rate, it would qualify as extremely personal, but i would share it with your readers if only to illuminate the very human side of the collapse of the tech markets and the hopes of ppl who thought they could pull off something exciting and unique in the midst of a sea of mediocrity.

I wrote him back and said I liked the idea of publishing his valedictory letter. Then, o cursed fate, a little money came through to keep his company afloat, so we put off the letter, and kept in touch. A month or so went by, and I began to wonder whether a letter by Scott to someone outside the company, from the midst of his struggle, might be more interesting than his final address to the troops. I asked him what he thought of that idea, and he sent metoday’s letter.

I haven’t heard from Scott in a couple of weeks, so I don’t know what’s been going on with his company since he wrote. Today’s letter represents the state of things in mid-December – but maybe fortune smiled on Scott’s company at the end of Q4, and things are rosy again. I hope so.

On to Open Letters business: My explanation in yesterday’s editor’s letter that Open Letters was closing because it was on the verge of becoming unsurprising didn’t play too well, I’m afraid. Joshua Dumas, a weekly subscriber, wrote, “i got to tell you, i’m not feeling you on this one; every week i am surprised: by great friggin writing, by quiet style, by friggin amazing letters and some kinda right on insight and its spilling out the printer at work on Monday morning.” Another reader, Gary Evans, wrote, “It’s called Open Letters, not Your Daily Freakin’ Surprise.”

The PayPal thing, too: that didn’t always go over so well: One reader, named S Smith, wrote, “Your pitch was a little like the old National Lampoon magazine cover: Buy this magazine or we shoot this dog.” Even worse, I think it felt to many readers more like: Hey, I just shot your dog – want to buy a magazine?

Lisa Miya-Jervis, editor of Bitchmagazine, summed up the feelings of many readers when she wrote, yesterday, “I am curious about your request for donations – why not ask for support to continue, rather than to retroactively pay people who I would bet were not expecting money from this writing at all? I would happily fork over some cash to help OL continue, but it feels futile to do so otherwise.”

Here’s my answer: From day one, the main financial model that we’ve had in our heads was at some point to ask subscribers and regular readers to donate money to cover our costs. The public-radio model, basically. I still believe that that’s the best way to fund a magazine like Open Letters, and the chorus of opinion I heard yesterday from readers made it clear that that’s a model that makes sense to a lot of you, as well.

But all along, I felt strongly that I didn’t want to ask for subscription fees without being sure that I could deliver a subscription. If I asked readers for, say, twenty dollars for the next year of Open Letters, and then had to call it quits after three months, you’d feel ripped off. (Please see today’s letterfor a glimpse at how that would make me feel.)

It’s still one option, and probably the best one, for the future: to become secure enough, financially and editorially, to be able to guarantee publication, and then request subscription funds from readers.

But yesterday’s PayPal button wasn’t about that. My model there wasn’t the public-radio pledge drive – it was the way the bartender at the Continental Club in Austin passes the ten-gallon cowboy hat around after the Hot Club of Cowtown plays happy hour: if you like what you just heard, you can give a couple of dollars to the artists.

I’m well aware that the writers didn’t write their letters in the hope of financial return (as a reader named Andrew Knight wrote yesterday, “I imagine that having your letter published in Open Letters is like having one published in Penthouse Forum: it’s a matter of honor, not income”), but I still feel that the work our correspondents have contributed to Open Letters is valuable, and not just in a metaphorical sense: they deserve to be paid well for writing so well. So that’s why I decided that whatever money we collect this week will be divided equally among the writers, rather than be put toward any potential future editorial costs. It seemed like a warm exchange, like dropping change in a troubador’s open guitar case: a nice way to say thanks to those whose words are the bricks and mortar of Open Letters.

The writers and I are very grateful for all of the generous – often very generous – contributions we received yesterday, but we’re just as grateful for the kind notes and quiet attention that the letters themselves have provoked. You’re still welcome to donate, if you’re able to negotiate the tortuous shores of PayPal – all the information is inyesterday’s editor’s letter – but please don’t feel compelled to donate, or guilt-tripped, or anything.

One final clarification, in the service of which I need to quote Andrew Knight again:

What’s with this beating around the bush thing you’ve been doing: Open Letters is dead, it’s over, it’s gone, no more open letters ever…perhaps. You would make a horrible doctor: “Yes, he’s dead, maybe.” Or a cop: “Yes, he definitely is the man who shot and killed my partner no more than 3 feet in front of me…I think.” Tell it to us straight, man.

Andrew, Andrew, Andrew: I’m being as straight as I can. I have no secret plan. All I know is that I need to shut things down on Sunday (after the newly designed weekly goes out to our subscribers). Then I will think about things. I love open letters, and Open Letters, and I would be very happy if I, or we, or you, were able to come up with a way for it to return, or to morph into something new and improved. But I can’t be certain that will happen, which is why I’m calling this an end, rather than a hiatus.

Since day one, I’ve tried in these editor’s letters to inform you readers as much as possible about the complicated reality that is the creation of this magazine. Like the packing of sausage, it hasn’t always been pretty, and it hasn’t always been straightforward. So I’m not trying to be cute when I say that I’m not sure what the future will bring; I’m just telling the truth. And Andrew’s right: I would make a horrible doctor.

Tomorrow, the return of Sharon O’Connor, author of the wise and beautiful Mazie letter. More great friggin writing from Your Daily Freakin’ Surprise.

Yours truly,

Paul Tough