Jane Smith made a suggestion based on this post: “Write a post in which you say all the things you’ve bitten back over the years.” Ok, Jane.
Actually, our blog is the perfect medium that allows me to “say” all those things I wanted to say to some of the crazy and ludicrous situations that have happened over the years. Normally, and possibly unbelievably, I play it straight when confronted in person or on the phone because I really don’t like to be rude. Aside from the impression I may give, I can be well-behaved on occasion. But there are times when subtlety doesn’t work, and I’m forced to be…well…me. Dreadful as that can be.
Writer’s conference: This was a high-end conference that provided a marvelous breakfast buffet in one of their giant conference halls. I’m eating breakfast and jibber jabbering with some buds I hadn’t seen in a long time. This is our only freebie time, so we’re making the most of it. A woman nabs the empty seat next to me and smiles. I return the smile.
“I loved your book,” she says.
Wow, thinks I, not many people in this forum realize I actually wrote a book. Cool. She’s now my best friend. “Thank you.” Does she want me to sign her book? Invite me to speak at her wildly huge book club? Perhaps a party…?
She dumps a manuscript on the table and smiles again. “In fact, I think you’d be the perfect publisher for my book.”
Ahhh geez…what the heck was I thinking? The ol’ compliment ‘em and attack ‘em trick. Shoulda seen that one coming, dammit. I begin being polite. “You know, I’m eating breakfast, and this is my only free time. Perhaps we could do this later in the morning.”
“Oh, of course.” She takes the manuscript off the table and I think she’s leaving. Wrongo. “You know, my main character is very reminiscent of your main character.”
I put my fork down. “Uh, you’re pitching to me.”
She laughs. “Oh, I suppose I am. Sorry. It’s just that I’m so passionate about my story.” Well, duh, lady, what writer isn’t? She brings the manuscript back up to the table. “I think if you just read the first five pages, you’d be hooked.” She then launches into her synopsis. Argh!
Her failure to take a hint releases the beast from within. I put my fork down. “Look, I realize you’re passionate. We all are. But right now, I’m trying to figure out a nice way to communicate that this is not the proper time. Most people take the hint and approach me at a better time. Do you really want me to look at your work now that you’ve managed to raise my blood pressure a couple points?” I begin blinking uncontrollably to give the impression that I’m growing mentally unstable – not a real stretch. The clouds part and the angels sing. She apologizes and leaves. I don’t see her for the rest of the weekend. She’s probably writing nasty things about me on every bathroom wall from here to Arizona.
Phone call (just yesterday, in fact): “Behler Publications, this is Lynn.” (Yes, I do answer my phone because I can’t train the unreliable beagle)
“Yes, I’d like to know why you rejected me.”
I turn and glare at the beagle, who’s lounging on the floor, chewing the corner of an ARC. You set me up, didn’t you? “Um, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“How specific do you need me to be? I asked a very simple question. Why did you reject me?”
I busy myself opening up my rejection file (I keep a log of everyone I’ve rejected). “Um, well, your name would be helpful.” Lynn, why don’t you just hang up on this guy? He gives me his name – Joe Idiot – and I begin shuffling through my files. I find the name and read my comments. Ach, this is one I actually chose to give a critique rather than a form rejection letter. Damn, damn, damn, I should be shot. “Well, my email to you says that there were too many things wrong with your synopsis, that I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so I was rejecting it unread.”
“Yes, yes, I know that! But I want to know why you didn’t read the synopsis.”
My teeth are beginning to itch. “Because your synop was unclear.”
“How was it unclear?”
Now I know the beagle is behind this, and I make a silent vow to stop feeding her designer kibble. “I have no idea. I don’t keep the queries.”
“If you are going to critique my synopsis, then don’t you owe it to me to tell me exactly what’s wrong with it?”
There goes that unleashed beast from within again. “Um, no I don’t. See, I’m a publisher, and I review submissions that come into our office. It’s not my job to teach you how to write. That’s your job. And let me tell you what else is your job: learn the business, learn etiquette. You’ll be very lucky to receive any feedback on a rejection, so when you do get a tidbit, like what I gave you, then the proper response is, “thank you.” Or nothing at all. What you do not do is call up the editor and take them to task for…hello? Hello…?” Oh buggers.
Jane also requested: “And then take the right photograph to illustrate it.”
“Say what?”
Proof that the beagle plots against me.


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