In the past two weeks I have ingested around 1,200 novel pitches as a screener for a book contest. I’m a poet. I work to make small things do big things. So from the start I respect anyone willing to embark on a 50,000-plus-word adventure.

That said, a surprising number of entries were poorly written, chock full of cliches and stunted by grammatical errors. It’s hard to move past that kind of distraction. What struck me most, however, was not the continually repeated story patterns (there were many), but the way in which authors presented their manuscripts. I’d have to say around 70% were at least partially framed in the second person, gesturing very loudly toward me, the reader, as if to say: Like me! Relate to me! Publish me!

Some of my favorite novels out there offer characters who I don’t easily relate to immediately. I draw my connections from the situations the characters are placed in and how they maneuver through them. Sometimes this aligns with my own life experience and sometimes it gives me an experience outside of what I’ve known. I like to be surprised—both by “the shock of recognition” and by a discovery I had not considered. Beyond these small insights, though, it is good writing that draws me in. A strong voice and command of the language.

For these reasons, the second person framework feels like a cheap gimmick, immediately cheesy, only interested in ushering me through the door and less interested in having something worth sharing. It’s a hard game, though, trying to imagine the stranger that might be handling your dream.

I don’t mind being critical here for two reasons: first, I participate in the game of sending my precious work off to unknown hands all the time, and secondly, even with my hopes for publication, I expect editors to filter out the stuff that isn’t ready for print. Sure, there are some fine hairs to split in that last category, but that’s after you’ve weeded through the majority of what comes in.

Even though I’m not signing rejection slips here, this work makes the karmic circle a bit more complete. I don’t smile while saying “no.” But I’ll probably feel a bit lighter the next time rejection rolls my way. Which is, inevitably, going to be very soon.