Snoop Dog....I Feel Your Pain, Bro

I remember the days of sending out stories to literary journals and magazines and waiting around to see if my particular work was going to "fit the needs of the publication."  My odds were about 30:1 for a long time.  After I got some good publications under my belt and won a couple of prizes, I stopped sending stuff out.  I got caught up in writing the novel, which was a much bigger undertaking, and I pretty much stopped sending stuff out.  Once in a while, I'd write an essay and send it out.  But after I had an entire collection of published stories (nobody wanted as a book) and an entire collection of published essays (nobody wanted as a book), I pretty much gave up on that whole enterprise.  It's a discouraging business, but as Alan Ginsberg says: “To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.” True. So true.

THE LONG LROD GOOD-BYE

My Dearest Mice:
     Five years is a long time to go on sheer rejection; we've had a fun time. We've battled nay-sayers, trolls, and literary journal editors. We've talked back to agents and editors and publishers. We had a go at some writers.  Someone even included us in his novel!  They all came around, wanting to be part of this weird blog that got bigger than I ever thought possible.
     Luckily or unluckily, my luck hasn't changed over the past 5 years. I am still mostly getting rejected. To wit, just a few days ago my agent wrote back to say he didn't think the new point-of-view in my novel was working at all. Long and short, on first read, he didn't really like the novel.  That leaves me exactly where?  I'm not sure. But I'm glad I get to share this final rejection with you today.
     And do you know why? Do you know what today is, micycles?
     Today is the last day of Literary Rejections On Display (LROD).
     I'm packing it in for now. I think it is high time to start pursuing a career that leads to acceptance and love, not rejection and snarkiness. Does that mean I will stop being a writer?  Who can say?  I will try to stop being a writer, but it probably won't stick.  I have tried to stop being a writer in the past many times. It is a kind of scare tactic I use on myself when I'm sick of myself, if you know what I mean. But maybe this time it's for real.
   Of course LROD will stay up. You can search the archives in a number of different ways, and if you ever find yourself googling "literary rejection" you will no doubt end up here. I have loved and hated you and this blog and my own rejections, which ultimately led to your rejections getting posted. These days, plenty of writers and bloggers post their own rejections on their own blogs, and I hope the secret shame of getting rejection has been lightened a little by the work we have done together here.
     I do promise and vow to you, though, that if anything significant of mine ever gets published (say, my novel, short-story collection, book of essays, or non-fiction book), I will post the cover here and reveal my true identity, not that it will really matter, but many of you have asked. Until then, know that I am doing my thing elsewhere...whatever and wherever that may be.
     Until then, be nice to one another. There are enough asses in the world already.
     I wish you all the best in everything.
     Peace out, for now.

From Horrible to Hopeful

I have been in ye old hospital with a family member all week via ye old emergency room. But since I've been away from LROD all week, a few interesting items have popped up. First: my agent doesn't like my novel.  (Horrible, I know.) Nothing to say.  I love him and I appreciate his honesty.  I also love my novel.  So where does that put me? Second: I am really hoping he likes the new book proposal and chapters of my nonfiction book. (Hopeful.) I will keep you ever posted.

An Open Proposal to Secret Agent Man

Okay, mice, I'm hoping to put this chapter on biopsies and novels behind us.
     I had another biopsy yesterday with a different method, which was awesomely, eye-stingingly painful--shockingly so. But it seems they got a robust sample of cells, and if it all goes well, I can skip the hospital deep dig version of this test. It was no picnic, it took several practitioners to excavate, but it's over now and on Monday the cancer answer will be revealed. (By the way, the mathematical odds of my having cancer are very, very slim. I mean, super slim.)
     So I'm not worried, and I'm already moving on.
     You may think this is a cavalier attitude to take, given my lack of luck in most matters lately, but look at it this way, my chance of having cancer is even slimmer than my chance of publishing a novel in this climate. So, for now, I'm putting them both away.
     You can be happy to think of me quietly working on my juicy cultural memoir Daddy Dearest. (Just kidding, that's not the title.) My book is more of an attempt to figure out how disinheritance became my fate, a surprise delivered via a secret will.  (Who does that crap?) Did you know that only in this country is disinheriting a child a protected right?  The rest of the world finds it unthinkable.
     BTW, in regard to all this, I've been thinking about asking an agent friend, whom I call SECRET AGENT MAN, to represent the memoir. I'd much rather he get any money that might possibly be made on my career than any of the douches I've met over the years. Plus he's a super good guy, he knows about my blog and all my douchery, including stupid past decisions and dumb impatient ways. He represents very big memoirs, and he just started his own business.
     The question is: Will he take me on knowing what he knows about me? I would promise not to post anything he writes to me on this blog, unless he posts it himself. Maybe we could have a totally blog-worthy public relationship, communicating only via LROD, so others can see what an author/agent relationship is like.  Well, maybe that goes a step too far. But I do think this book at least stands a better chance of making some dough. It's got commercial appeal, it's got hollywood starlets, and it's got...me.

    So, what do you say, SECRET AGENT MAN? Will you take me on?

Update: Biopsy and Books

Thanks to all you mice for the fortifying thoughts and wishes.  I took you right with me into that gruesome procedure. Unfortch, it didn't go quite as swimmingly well as hoped, but I will find out today if indeed they got as many cells as they need to hunt down any cancer. If not, I may have to go the hospital for deeper dive. Either way, I should know the scoop by this afternoon. I have a strong feeling that everything is going to be nice and healthy in there. And if not, the good news is that I am truly one of the lucky ones to have very good insurance and access to medical experts. So, we will therefore carry on.
     As for, Agent 99, I have to say my overriding feeling is one of relief. I've been on pins and needles for a year, trying to become someone I'm not, trying to make my book something it's not, just so she'd send the blessed thing out. That was not a winning combination. I might as well have been back in my family of origin; I was never "good enough" for those freaks either. No more of that, mice. From now on, it's pretty much going to be take it or leave it. I'll wait until I have a real editor before I mess around with the book again. In the meantime, I'm going to let it hibernate for a while until I can get a clear thought going about what to do with it next re: going back to the original or keeping the version the genius rejecting agent says is muddled.
     In the meantime, I've had a kind of breakthrough with my non-fiction book. I think I'm going to get it together as a proposal and see if I can start there. It is the most commercial, marketable thing that has ever happened to me (disinheritance). Then if I get some bites, I can work backward through my unpublished opus: the novel, the collection of published fiction, the book of published essays, the other nonfiction project. (Don't you love the word "opus"? So much better than "evidence of wasting one's life.")
     So that's the scoop for now.  How about if I embed a nice little rejection in the middle of this long post, just for fun? A loyal reader sent this one from Ashley at Bateau Press, where the tag line is "Lit to float your boat."

So sorry if you received a response that told you your work was out of our scope. Ugh! New system quirks: we didn't realize it was sending that email out to everyone. Just disregard it. thanks! ashley

We all make mistakes, ashley. We all really do. Peace out, for now.

UPDATE: They didn't get the cells. More medical barbarism is needed. Unlucky in literature and diagnostics this month. Not sorry to see September go.  

On Wishing I Could Quit This Depressing Business

One of the anonymice happened to indicate that s/he had quit writing. Got fed up and gave the whole messy business up.  When I lamented that I wished I could do it to, here was the wise response:

It's not that hard, really. You just have to give up the ego thing.It feels nice to stop jumping through the flaming hoops they set up for you (as if you were a trained poodle in a sideshow). Anyway, after you jump through them they still have some trumped up reason to reject you. Write, if you must. Share your work with friends and others. I sent a story to a friend, she passed it on to her mother, the mother had it read by a reading group she was in. So fifteen people read and discussed it and shared their reactions with me. I haven't submitted it to any magazine. Why bother?

But is it really my ego that's the problem? I think it's that I don't know how to do anything else.  Maybe I am a decent cook; I enjoy concocting something wonderful and creative for friends and family, but I'd never want to do it full time or as a profession.  That would suck the joy right out of it for me.  But, seriously, I can only do one other thing, and that's write. So maybe it's my lack of ego that's the problem. BTW, I've tried quitting before. It never sticks.

Me, Unadorned

I'm having trouble with posting letters/pictures on blogger today. Not sure what the deal is.  So, anyway, you just get me this morning, unadorned. I'm waiting for Agent 99 to read the new (probably last) version of the novel. It's hard to wait, especially since sometimes she will delay if she has bad news. I kind of figure this is the last shot for two reasons: 1) I don't think I want to make any more major changes to it; I'm happy with where it landed and 2) We've worked together for a year now, so if she doesn't feel like it's the book she wanted it to be by now, it probably won't ever be that book. What's weird is that sometimes I feel like everything will be ruined if I don't get that novel published; other times, I think "eh...whatever." It's just some words on some paper. If she decides it's time to take a pass on the novel, I have one editor I'd like to try, and then I'll probably shelf the bad-boy. All that being said, I've moved on to working on a non-fiction book about disinheritance--my own and others--as a cultural phenomenon. Probably the most marketable thing that ever happened to me. So that's the scoop with me this summer.

A Redneck Thanksgiving

Sorry for the lapse in posts over the Thanksgiving holiday. I went back to my hometown to spend the first holiday with my mother and a couple of my brothers. I haven't been to a holiday in at least a decade for, it turns out, good reason. I have made it a policy to avoid those drunken affairs especially when my father was alive. I made my visits on non-holiday occasions. But this year, we moved my mother out of the family home (which we sold) and into a nice little condo that she loves; somehow I thought this would make us free from all the past bullshit and bad feelings. A fresh place, a fresh start. I thought maybe her first Thanksgiving in the new place would be kind of nice. Oh, futile optimism! Let's just say that one of my drunky brothers made a huge unpleasant scary scene that pretty much ruined the whole dinner. Luckily, it was after the turkey. (Though before the pie.) I'm talking some kind of hostile crazy screaming in the street, peeps. An insane scene. Well, the stuff of memoirs, really, though I can imagine if he were a character in a book you may have a hard time believing anyone would act that way.  Reality more bizarre than the written word.  Alas.  Hope your Thanksgiving was better than mine.  In other news, I am happily working on the new draft with the restructure of the novel.  Writing saves me.  It always has.

Monday, Monday

Well, I'm glad someone has standard these days. What's in your wallet? Apparently not anything profane, obscene, morbid, violent or cruel to animals/humans. That's a rejection of a different color, but thought it would get us off to a good start this week.

Update: Disclosure

I delivered my last round of edits to Agent 99 on Friday. So now I have to broach the topic of my novel's history. Agent 99 didn't ask about it, which is unusual, but I think her enthusiasm for the project and our working together on edits have preempted the normal line of questioning. I wrote to told her about this sorry incident about 14 months ago, and mentioned that a few other editors have seen much older versions of the novel, and a few who had seen my short story collection were interested in seeing the novel. But I also told her that I thought she should go out fresh and ride her luck, since my own has been rather tepid. I said maybe just let me know who you're sending it out to and I'll let you know if I have a history there. Of course, that would be too sparing, right?  She wrote back and thanked me for the information and asked me to send her a list of editors who have seen the novel, or requested to see it. This is tricky business, which in part makes me wish the novel were a virgin, but it's not. I'm just going to be honest with her, send her the list of those who have previously seen and rejected an older version of the novel and short story collection.  That harkens back about a decade; maybe all those people have moved on to more lucrative careers, like driving taxis and washing windows. I'll let you know what happens next.

Tiers and Tears

James McGirk (cloud across the sun that he is) has posted this interesting discussion on tiered rejections, complete with samples from his own fund.

Do Not Be Discouraged...In Iowa

Iowa is the state of many rejections as far as I'm concerned. Just the fact that the Iowa Workshop exists without me is like a perennial rejection.  Best wishes to you, Doyen.

New Anderbo Algebra Rejection

From the editors of Anderbo: "Sorry to say, we will not be using this submitted work, and do wish you the best of luck with it elsewhere. Anderbo.com is an all-volunteer organization. We are able to use less than 1/4 of 1% of what comes in; most submissions receive a response within 30 minutes to 48 hours."  Doesn't it remind you of those Algebra word problems?  If it takes the editors 30 minutes to read and rejection one-quarter of 1% of 5,000 manuscripts received in a month, what are your chances of being published?

Failing One Day At A Time

Now this Slate article really speaks my language.  I first conceived of my present novel in 1997 and am still revising today, but, yes, we fail (or we quit) a little at a time.

Update: Rewrite (version #2) Nearly Accomplished

I've finished the new rewrite for the new, new agent (Agent 99, as we shall call her henceforth), and I have a few of my peeps giving it a once over to make sure I haven't somehow gone over the edge. The good news is that I think 99's suggestions were very astute and make the novel stronger in a lot of ways.  There's only one item (easy to implement, but has a huge impact on the book) that I'm not quite sure I'll keep, but happy to give it a whirl and see how it feels on a fresh read down the road. From our conversation a few weeks ago, 99's voice is echoing in my head: "With this kind of book, the manuscript needs to be perfect to sell."  Ah, perfection, my old prison guard.  I thought I had long ago gotten rid of you!

Change Your Frame

While I do not personally like the agent in this lovely story (knew her once), I do like her advice to Les Edgerton. Especially since it's the kind of advice that turned this writer's 86th rejection into 1 precious acceptance.  Interesting read.

They Bring You Lunch in A Basket There

Have you ever been to MacDowell, the artists' colony?  I think it was one of the all-time greatest writing experiences of my life. The company and food were great; they even dropped off a midday meal right on the doorstep of your little cabin in the woods. The second time I applied, they turned me down, which was a little mean, if you ask me. I would apply to Yaddo, but I hear it's haunted, and, quite frankly, I'm afraid of ghosts. Can anyone confirm or deny? What's your colony experience been like?  Did you have sex with lots of people? That seemed to be quite a common activity at MacDowell when I was there, but not me. I'm kind of shy that way. Anyway, I did write a lot.

Contest Blog

In case you are a contest-enterer, or would like to become one, this clever mouse started a contest blog for you.  I went through a period of entering a lot of contests and won a few, but lost a bunch.  It was an important period in my life because I wasn't sure how much of a writer I still was since I'd been working on my novel for forever and a day. Sometimes a third-gendered person just needs a little positive feedback by way of getting published or winning a prize, I guess.  Invariably, the other mice will scratch in some comments about what a waste of money/time/space/and/life it is to submit fiction to contests, but there's a time, place, and reason for it for some peeps.

Personal Agent Rejection -- FACE!

When my former agent, who quit the business, started having personal public exchanges with all her other former clients, I got all weirded out about it and ended up having to delete her as a "friend" from my Facebook page.  Why I ever thought it was a good idea to be "friends" with an agent, not to mention my former agent, I cannot say.  But I do know this: it's a mistake I will never make again.

Just For Fun

Happy Friday, everybody.