I admit to making at least one 0r three brain farts a day. It keeps me humble and on my toes. I usually try to limit my cerebral wind breakage to things that won’t prevent the earth from turning or the sun from rising.
For the most part, I do ok. Well, there was that one time I inadvertently insulted a very respected agent, thinking she was a scammer. She handled my blunder with amazing grace, and I think she enjoyed watching my size 7’s fill every crevice of my mouth. We went on to laugh about it, even though the experience still makes me blush.
Authors, however, don’t have the luxury of breaking cerebral wind when they query because they only get one bite at the apple. Sadly those cranial wind tunnels usually afflict the noob writer because all you savvy folks know better. This is what the ensuing kerfluffle looks like:
My name is Jane Author and I have currently written a fiction novel entitled The Bestest Book Evah.
I would like to invite you to review my work and consider representing me.
I’m speaking to the author who writes stuff like this to me. She has a whole list of agents and editors to e-blast and doesn’t stop to remember thar be a world ‘o difference between “representin'” and “publishin’.”
I do the publishin’ part, so she shouldn’t be asking me to be doin’ the representin’ part. We aren’t interchangeable. I’m sure the ever-talented shark bait, Janet Reid, would rather eat a rusty nail than do my job, and it’s a certainty that I’d be happier joining a motorcycle gang of pygmy aliens than trying to do hers.
The other problem is that the author doesn’t realize that novels are fiction, ergo la redundancy. The final indignity is that the entire email is stuffed inside the body of a text table – a dead giveaway to the drop ‘n drag query.
Learn from others’ mistakes so you don’t suffer brain fart rejection-itis because you can’t figure out which is your mouth and which is your foot. It’s just plain wrong.
And thanks to a very understanding agent, I know the difference. As for the gale-force winds that run rampant through the caverns of my cerebral cortex, I just blame the beagle these days.