You know? When you publish a book and send it out into the world, it’s like giving birth to a baby. Everyone checks out your baby. Is it breath-taking? Does it have ten toes and ten fingers? Is it pink and sweet or does it look like an extra from “Alien?” We writers are baring our souls, our deepest thoughts, and our feelings lay open like a cavernous wound. We can’t hide anymore. They know us inside and out. Now they see our baby, and they get to pick it to pieces, bit by bit, until the only thing left is a fuzzy blanket.
Oh, hell, we know that and go right on writing, don’t we? It’s in our DNA. We can’t help ourselves, we’re masochists.
When I started this whole book-writing process, I had full intentions of finding an agent and/or a traditional publisher; they’d do all the work while I sat back and listened to “Ca-ching, Ca-ching.” However my journey to that end has been long and stress-filled and I ended up doing just the opposite…I’d kept a daily journal while living in Thailand in the 90s. When I returned to the States, I copied my journal onto a floppy and had it printed, spiral-bound, and mailed it out to friends and family so they could read about all my trials and tribs while abroad. One of the friends who read it insisted that I make a book out of it.
“You know,” she said, “like the book ‘A Year in Provence.’” I immediately ran out and bought the book and was amazed at the problems that the author had endured in a short year. I just knew that if his book sold, then mine would also, however, life got in the way of living and I put it aside.
I joined some creative writing classes a few years later, and with encouragement from my peers I began the long road of putting the journal into book form. In 2003, when I finally thought I’d finished it, I entered it into the Southern California Writers Conference in San Diego. While there, I read chapters from my story in the Read and Critique groups and the attendees laughed in all the right places and even clapped, (I’d hoped it wasn’t because they were happy I’d finished). At the end of the conference I was notified that I’d won the Best Nonfiction award for my story and an agent asked for my manuscript. Wow! That just doesn’t happen unless they love it! I knew I was ready for the Pulitzer.
Then I began to panic. What if it isn’t perfect? I had talked to a “book doctor” at the conference who advised me that my story “…needed some conflict. Who really cares about a housewife who’s having a good time in Thailand? Give them a reason to turn the page.” Okay, that’s what I’ll do. There certainly was plenty of conflict in my life in Thailand, but I’d left it out; it was painful to relive and I wanted it to be a humorous book. I emailed the agent and told her I wasn’t ready. Take your time, she’d said. It’s not time sensitive.
So began the journey of “weaving” the conflict into my story. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. It was three years before I felt it was good enough to be a real book. But, those three years were not only spent rewriting. I took online writing classes and signed up at the local college for creative writing classes, I attended a critique group every week, putting my chapters up to their scrutiny as they tore it apart and helped put it back together. The rest of the time I was editing my life away. But as Stephen King says in his book On Writing: edit, edit and edit. And when you think it’s perfect, edit some more. My husband had a name for my constant editing: “Paralysis by analysis.”
When I felt I had everything in place, I looked for professional editing. I first paid the book doctor $500 to tell me that it needed help. He didn’t give me any, just told me it needed it. I found a line-editor in Canada, who did a great job, and then I hired a freelance editor; total for both $600; quite inexpensive in today’s editing market.
During those three years, I also did a lot of reading on the publishing world; agents, print-on-demand (PODs) and off-set printing companies. I attended conferences specifically on “How to get published.” The more I heard and read, the more I thought: From all the conferences I’d attended, the agent panels were the most disillusioning. I learned that agents don’t want you if you’ve not been published, and publishers don’t want you if you’ve not been published, or don’t have an agent, who doesn’t want you either. Who needs ‘em?
Publishers don’t want you if you don’t have a “platform!” A what? To my dismay I learned that I needed to have my own buying public. There was no publisher that was going to run out and sell my book for me, pay for my cross-country book signings and hotel rooms, unless of course I was a King or a Grisham or a Joyce Carol Oates. Then of course, there’s the eighteen month wait for the book to appear on the shelves after the publisher accepts it (if the publisher doesn’t decide to pull the plug at the last minute), and don’t forget the two years that it takes the agent to shop around for a publisher who might decide to pull the plug at the last minute. Who has that long? I don’t even buy green bananas anymore.
Wow! I remember my table mates and I frowning as we listened to the dire answers of this panel of agents and publishers. So how do we get published? Well, we have two options so it seemed: 1) have an agent living next door who loves your home cooked brownies or has a crush on your husband, or 2) know a publisher whose kid mows your lawn or has a crush on you. Not living in New York was going to be a definite drawback. Should I move? Okay, how about a POD? I was fortunate to have a friend who is a small press publisher of railroad books. He offered to put my manuscript into a Quark Express PDF file (which is the format printers prefer). He did an incredible job putting it together for me. He felt that if I had the print setup taken care of, I could approach a POD and save some money.
I signed up for the POD classes at the conferences I attended, where they explained everything I needed to know about their business ─ except how they kept most of the author’s money while they got big and rich and the author got $3.09 per book. Okay, well, $3.09 a book is not that bad. Maybe I could make it. But, wait, I had to pay them to print my book, and then pay them to buy my book back from them; too many “thems” going on here. Something didn’t compute. Maybe I should chuck the book and go into the POD business.
Well, I succumbed. I bought a book called The Fine Print of Self Publishing by Mark Levine, an attorney, then sat down to do some homework. After going over all the PODs he listed with a fine-tooth calculator, I realized that I could pay as much as $30,000 to one such POD group, but hey, my books would be free. How generous of them. Or, I could choose a POD group charging as low as $299, but I’d still have to buy my own books back at about $8.00 each.
I finally settled on a firm I’ll call “Dewey Cheatem & Howe” (name changed to protect the guilty), and thought I’d finally get on with this damn book printing. They sent me a sample of their work that was done beautifully. I signed on the dotted line, waited three more weeks and then my author’s copy was delivered. And there it sat. On my desk. Opened to the first page, which I couldn’t read. I started bawling. Where is my baby? The font was so garbled that it was illegible. There was a space after every capital letter and the other letters were so piled on each other you couldn’t make out the words.
When I’d used all the Kleenex in my desk drawer, I called them. Of course, no one was on the other end, save for the automated voice of their mailboxes. But at least I got rid of my postpartum anger. I cried and said very imperiously, “HOLD THE PRESSES! I will not accept this book. I will call Visa (of course they already had my money) and stop payment and …” I felt like an inner tube impaled on a sharp rock. Then I called my friend, the publisher. “Of course you can do this on your own. You have the file, just find a good printing company.”
I inquired around and found out that I could get my book printed overseas at half the cost of stateside. I began to get phone numbers and surfed websites. There were some good deals to be made overseas; however, the problem was I needed a broker. So after the broker took his cut, and the shipping charges were added, a stateside printer looked better. Plus, the thought of having a problem and not being able to connect at once with your printer was worrisome.
I searched the Internet and found many websites where you could input the details of your book, number of pages, size of book, print run, etc., and within a week I got a bid from ten printing companies. After picking one printer (not the cheapest), I felt we had a fit. I spoke to the owner, who offered to throw in a hundred free books, which might have had something to do with my decision. He checked out my website while we were speaking, loved the site and the look of my book and of course, he had me. He also offered storage and order fulfillment. Now, all I had to do was put our house on the market and clear out our 401K.
I know what you’re thinking. Sure, maybe she has it, but not everyone can come up with that much money. Yes, you can if you want to. We took an equity line on our home and as the money comes rolling in, I’ll be making payments on the equity line. We authors must be optimists. Really! If you don’t believe in your book, who will?
I ran off my own bookmarks and saved a few hundred dollars. I used the cover of the book, wrote a short synopsis on the back, and had 500 printed. I have handed out those bookmarks on airplanes and in airports; Seattle, Palm Desert, San Diego, Portugal, New York, Australia, New England… well maybe not personally, but I’ve given them to people who live in those places and they were happy to have them and said they’d pass them on. I’ve handed them out in restaurants to women sitting around me; two of them bought my book right on the spot. My friends call me “A self-promoting slut.”
I have to leave you now, as that’s where I am in this wonderful world of the written word, where the writing was easy… now comes the hard part ─ marketing!
You know? When you publish a book and send it out into the world, it’s like giving birth to a baby. Everyone checks out your baby. Is it breath-taking? Does it have ten toes and ten fingers? Is it pink and sweet or does it look like an extra from “Alien?” We writers are baring our souls, our deepest thoughts, and our feelings lay open like a cavernous wound. We can’t hide anymore. They know us inside and out. Now they see our baby, and they get to pick it to pieces, bit by bit, until the only thing left is a fuzzy blanket.
Oh, hell, we know that and go right on writing, don’t we? It’s in our DNA. We can’t help ourselves, we’re masochists.
When I started this whole book-writing process, I had full intentions of finding an agent and/or a traditional publisher; they’d do all the work while I sat back and listened to “Ca-ching, Ca-ching.” However my journey to that end has been long and stress-filled and I ended up doing just the opposite…I’d kept a daily journal while living in Thailand in the 90s. When I returned to the States, I copied my journal onto a floppy and had it printed, spiral-bound, and mailed it out to friends and family so they could read about all my trials and tribs while abroad. One of the friends who read it insisted that I make a book out of it.
“You know,” she said, “like the book ‘A Year in Provence.’” I immediately ran out and bought the book and was amazed at the problems that the author had endured in a short year. I just knew that if his book sold, then mine would also, however, life got in the way of living and I put it aside.
I joined some creative writing classes a few years later, and with encouragement from my peers I began the long road of putting the journal into book form. In 2003, when I finally thought I’d finished it, I entered it into the Southern California Writers Conference in San Diego. While there, I read chapters from my story in the Read and Critique groups and the attendees laughed in all the right places and even clapped, (I’d hoped it wasn’t because they were happy I’d finished). At the end of the conference I was notified that I’d won the Best Nonfiction award for my story and an agent asked for my manuscript. Wow! That just doesn’t happen unless they love it! I knew I was ready for the Pulitzer.
Then I began to panic. What if it isn’t perfect? I had talked to a “book doctor” at the conference who advised me that my story “…needed some conflict. Who really cares about a housewife who’s having a good time in Thailand? Give them a reason to turn the page.” Okay, that’s what I’ll do. There certainly was plenty of conflict in my life in Thailand, but I’d left it out; it was painful to relive and I wanted it to be a humorous book. I emailed the agent and told her I wasn’t ready. Take your time, she’d said. It’s not time sensitive.
So began the journey of “weaving” the conflict into my story. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. It was three years before I felt it was good enough to be a real book. But, those three years were not only spent rewriting. I took online writing classes and signed up at the local college for creative writing classes, I attended a critique group every week, putting my chapters up to their scrutiny as they tore it apart and helped put it back together. The rest of the time I was editing my life away. But as Stephen King says in his book On Writing: edit, edit and edit. And when you think it’s perfect, edit some more. My husband had a name for my constant editing: “Paralysis by analysis.”
When I felt I had everything in place, I looked for professional editing. I first paid the book doctor $500 to tell me that it needed help. He didn’t give me any, just told me it needed it. I found a line-editor in Canada, who did a great job, and then I hired a freelance editor; total for both $600; quite inexpensive in today’s editing market.
During those three years, I also did a lot of reading on the publishing world; agents, print-on-demand (PODs) and off-set printing companies. I attended conferences specifically on “How to get published.” The more I heard and read, the more I thought: From all the conferences I’d attended, the agent panels were the most disillusioning. I learned that agents don’t want you if you’ve not been published, and publishers don’t want you if you’ve not been published, or don’t have an agent, who doesn’t want you either. Who needs ‘em?
Publishers don’t want you if you don’t have a “platform!” A what? To my dismay I learned that I needed to have my own buying public. There was no publisher that was going to run out and sell my book for me, pay for my cross-country book signings and hotel rooms, unless of course I was a King or a Grisham or a Joyce Carol Oates. Then of course, there’s the eighteen month wait for the book to appear on the shelves after the publisher accepts it (if the publisher doesn’t decide to pull the plug at the last minute), and don’t forget the two years that it takes the agent to shop around for a publisher who might decide to pull the plug at the last minute. Who has that long? I don’t even buy green bananas anymore.
Wow! I remember my table mates and I frowning as we listened to the dire answers of this panel of agents and publishers. So how do we get published? Well, we have two options so it seemed: 1) have an agent living next door who loves your home cooked brownies or has a crush on your husband, or 2) know a publisher whose kid mows your lawn or has a crush on you. Not living in New York was going to be a definite drawback. Should I move? Okay, how about a POD? I was fortunate to have a friend who is a small press publisher of railroad books. He offered to put my manuscript into a Quark Express PDF file (which is the format printers prefer). He did an incredible job putting it together for me. He felt that if I had the print setup taken care of, I could approach a POD and save some money.
I signed up for the POD classes at the conferences I attended, where they explained everything I needed to know about their business ─ except how they kept most of the author’s money while they got big and rich and the author got $3.09 per book. Okay, well, $3.09 a book is not that bad. Maybe I could make it. But, wait, I had to pay them to print my book, and then pay them to buy my book back from them; too many “thems” going on here. Something didn’t compute. Maybe I should chuck the book and go into the POD business.
Well, I succumbed. I bought a book called The Fine Print of Self Publishing by Mark Levine, an attorney, then sat down to do some homework. After going over all the PODs he listed with a fine-tooth calculator, I realized that I could pay as much as $30,000 to one such POD group, but hey, my books would be free. How generous of them. Or, I could choose a POD group charging as low as $299, but I’d still have to buy my own books back at about $8.00 each.
I finally settled on a firm I’ll call “Dewey Cheatem & Howe” (name changed to protect the guilty), and thought I’d finally get on with this damn book printing. They sent me a sample of their work that was done beautifully. I signed on the dotted line, waited three more weeks and then my author’s copy was delivered. And there it sat. On my desk. Opened to the first page, which I couldn’t read. I started bawling. Where is my baby? The font was so garbled that it was illegible. There was a space after every capital letter and the other letters were so piled on each other you couldn’t make out the words.
When I’d used all the Kleenex in my desk drawer, I called them. Of course, no one was on the other end, save for the automated voice of their mailboxes. But at least I got rid of my postpartum anger. I cried and said very imperiously, “HOLD THE PRESSES! I will not accept this book. I will call Visa (of course they already had my money) and stop payment and …” I felt like an inner tube impaled on a sharp rock. Then I called my friend, the publisher. “Of course you can do this on your own. You have the file, just find a good printing company.”
I inquired around and found out that I could get my book printed overseas at half the cost of stateside. I began to get phone numbers and surfed websites. There were some good deals to be made overseas; however, the problem was I needed a broker. So after the broker took his cut, and the shipping charges were added, a stateside printer looked better. Plus, the thought of having a problem and not being able to connect at once with your printer was worrisome.
I searched the Internet and found many websites where you could input the details of your book, number of pages, size of book, print run, etc., and within a week I got a bid from ten printing companies. After picking one printer (not the cheapest), I felt we had a fit. I spoke to the owner, who offered to throw in a hundred free books, which might have had something to do with my decision. He checked out my website while we were speaking, loved the site and the look of my book and of course, he had me. He also offered storage and order fulfillment. Now, all I had to do was put our house on the market and clear out our 401K.
I know what you’re thinking. Sure, maybe she has it, but not everyone can come up with that much money. Yes, you can if you want to. We took an equity line on our home and as the money comes rolling in, I’ll be making payments on the equity line. We authors must be optimists. Really! If you don’t believe in your book, who will?
I ran off my own bookmarks and saved a few hundred dollars. I used the cover of the book, wrote a short synopsis on the back, and had 500 printed. I have handed out those bookmarks on airplanes and in airports; Seattle, Palm Desert, San Diego, Portugal, New York, Australia, New England… well maybe not personally, but I’ve given them to people who live in those places and they were happy to have them and said they’d pass them on. I’ve handed them out in restaurants to women sitting around me; two of them bought my book right on the spot. My friends call me “A self-promoting slut.”
I have to leave you now, as that’s where I am in this wonderful world of the written word, where the writing was easy… now comes the hard part ─ marketing!
Most people in the writing world talk about the three levels of rejection–form, personal, rewrite–but I’ve discovered seven types (after over 200 rejections before being published and about hundred after, I should know). Learning how to analyze rejection is a helpful skill for any writer because you’ll learn what to ignore, what to consider, and what will put you on the right track or, as the case may be, off of it.
Here are the seven types of rejections that may find their way in your email or mailbox:
1) No response. The agent or editor doesn’t send you anything. I find these ones most annoying. You wait in anticipation, hoping, praying for something either in the mail or online. Nothing. Six months past. Still nothing.
2) Form rejection. These are the ones that start Dear…fill in the name. They tell you that your work isn’t right for them and wish you better luck elsewhere. There’s no feedback. You should toss these rejections immediately. But be warned, form rejections are easy to get if you don’t follow directions: submitting to the wrong magazine or publisher, a wrong topic, wrong manuscript format, or writing in crayon or invisible ink. To avoid form rejections, study the magazine or publisher’s criteria for submissions to make sure you’re giving them something they’ll want (i.e. a clean manuscript that addresses the needs of their readers) and not a missive of “Why I Should be Published by You.”
3) Multiple choice. These agents or editors have gotten creative and made a list of reasons they’re rejecting your work because a) they have something similar, b) the quality of your work doesn’t meet their standards and/or, c) they think you’re completely without talent and hope you’ll never query them again. Sometimes they’ll check one, sometimes they’ll check all three. This is still a form rejection because it’s too general to give you any real advice; however, you at least get an idea of what they’re looking for. But then again, if number three is selected it is best ignored because it’s just an opinion.
4) Personal note. These are nice, except when they’re mean. A nice personal note can provide support like, “Good job, but needs work.” A mean note on the other hand can be devastating like, “This is awful” written in blood red ink on the corner of your query. When an agent or editor takes the time to put “Not bad” on the corner of your query take it as the sign of encouragement that it is. Ignore the nasty ones. But even if they don’t tell you why your work is being rejected, you’re heading in the right direction. Getting a good or bad personal note indicates your style. It is my experience that it’s better to get some kind of response rather than just a form rejection. Why? Because that’s how readers will be. Some will hate your work. Some will love it. Receiving a response, especially a personal note, lets you know that you’re hitting buttons and that’s a good thing.
5) The critique. Most aspiring authors expect this type of rejection, but editors and agents don’t owe you this. They get hundreds of queries and manuscripts a week and they can’t critique all of them. If you do receive one consider yourself fortunate that someone has taken the time to tell you why they’re rejecting your work. They may be wrong, but at least you know why. Remember, they are taking a risk by sending you bad news. The form rejection is popular because many editors and agents have suffered the wrath of rejected authors who will bombard their offices with letters arguing why they think they critique was wrong. Don’t be one of those authors. Take what you can from the critique then move on.
6) Try again. This type of rejection is close to a personal note, but it’s never mean. They are saying that what you submitted isn’t right for them, but they’re curious to see more. Make sure you follow up.
7) Rewrite request. This type of response can make most writers jump for joy. The editor is interested and is offering hints on how to gain their favor. This is good news, of course, only if you agree with the suggested changes. Unfortunately, this is still a rejection and there is no guarantee that making the changes will result in a sale. However, the most important lesson to learn from this type of rejection is that you have caught the interest of an editor and it’s a relationship you should nurture.
No matter what type of response you get, ‘close’ is still ‘no.’ There is no gray area in publishing. You are either offered a contract or not. However, as I’ve outlined above, look at the type of rejection before you burn it. When you get varying rejections like: ‘I hate the character, but love the plot’ and ‘I love the character, but hate the plot’ you’re on your way. Why? Because whoever is reading your work is stating personal preference instead of offering a common complaint. That will be what makes your style unique.
Most writers loathe rejections and for some their careers never survive the pain of getting them. You don’t want this to happen to you. You now have the skills to sift through your rejections and never fear them again.
Most people in the writing world talk about the three levels of rejection–form, personal, rewrite–but I’ve discovered seven types (after over 200 rejections before being published and about hundred after, I should know). Learning how to analyze rejection is a helpful skill for any writer because you’ll learn what to ignore, what to consider, and what will put you on the right track or, as the case may be, off of it.
Here are the seven types of rejections that may find their way in your email or mailbox:
1) No response. The agent or editor doesn’t send you anything. I find these ones most annoying. You wait in anticipation, hoping, praying for something either in the mail or online. Nothing. Six months past. Still nothing.
2) Form rejection. These are the ones that start Dear…fill in the name. They tell you that your work isn’t right for them and wish you better luck elsewhere. There’s no feedback. You should toss these rejections immediately. But be warned, form rejections are easy to get if you don’t follow directions: submitting to the wrong magazine or publisher, a wrong topic, wrong manuscript format, or writing in crayon or invisible ink. To avoid form rejections, study the magazine or publisher’s criteria for submissions to make sure you’re giving them something they’ll want (i.e. a clean manuscript that addresses the needs of their readers) and not a missive of “Why I Should be Published by You.”
3) Multiple choice. These agents or editors have gotten creative and made a list of reasons they’re rejecting your work because a) they have something similar, b) the quality of your work doesn’t meet their standards and/or, c) they think you’re completely without talent and hope you’ll never query them again. Sometimes they’ll check one, sometimes they’ll check all three. This is still a form rejection because it’s too general to give you any real advice; however, you at least get an idea of what they’re looking for. But then again, if number three is selected it is best ignored because it’s just an opinion.
4) Personal note. These are nice, except when they’re mean. A nice personal note can provide support like, “Good job, but needs work.” A mean note on the other hand can be devastating like, “This is awful” written in blood red ink on the corner of your query. When an agent or editor takes the time to put “Not bad” on the corner of your query take it as the sign of encouragement that it is. Ignore the nasty ones. But even if they don’t tell you why your work is being rejected, you’re heading in the right direction. Getting a good or bad personal note indicates your style. It is my experience that it’s better to get some kind of response rather than just a form rejection. Why? Because that’s how readers will be. Some will hate your work. Some will love it. Receiving a response, especially a personal note, lets you know that you’re hitting buttons and that’s a good thing.
5) The critique. Most aspiring authors expect this type of rejection, but editors and agents don’t owe you this. They get hundreds of queries and manuscripts a week and they can’t critique all of them. If you do receive one consider yourself fortunate that someone has taken the time to tell you why they’re rejecting your work. They may be wrong, but at least you know why. Remember, they are taking a risk by sending you bad news. The form rejection is popular because many editors and agents have suffered the wrath of rejected authors who will bombard their offices with letters arguing why they think they critique was wrong. Don’t be one of those authors. Take what you can from the critique then move on.
6) Try again. This type of rejection is close to a personal note, but it’s never mean. They are saying that what you submitted isn’t right for them, but they’re curious to see more. Make sure you follow up.
7) Rewrite request. This type of response can make most writers jump for joy. The editor is interested and is offering hints on how to gain their favor. This is good news, of course, only if you agree with the suggested changes. Unfortunately, this is still a rejection and there is no guarantee that making the changes will result in a sale. However, the most important lesson to learn from this type of rejection is that you have caught the interest of an editor and it’s a relationship you should nurture.
No matter what type of response you get, ‘close’ is still ‘no.’ There is no gray area in publishing. You are either offered a contract or not. However, as I’ve outlined above, look at the type of rejection before you burn it. When you get varying rejections like: ‘I hate the character, but love the plot’ and ‘I love the character, but hate the plot’ you’re on your way. Why? Because whoever is reading your work is stating personal preference instead of offering a common complaint. That will be what makes your style unique.
Most writers loathe rejections and for some their careers never survive the pain of getting them. You don’t want this to happen to you. You now have the skills to sift through your rejections and never fear them again.
Before I became a full-time writer, I had a job counting envelopes. Not colored envelopes or large manila envelopes, mind you, but white #10 envelopes. I had to count them in series of a hundred. Even now I can see them flashing in my eyes as I flipped through them, blinding myself as though I were looking out at a blanket of snow polished by the sun with dilated pupils. At the end of the day I’d leave the office with spots in my eyes.
Why I had to count envelopes for six hours a day, I don’t know (I blocked out most of the experience, I do remember however that the temp agency who gave me the assignment thought it was a perfect introduction to the work world for a recent college graduate &ndash which was cruel as well as delusional); however, I did learn how to cope while I was there and the other day jobs I’ve had. This is how:
1) I threw away the statement: “I’ll be happy when…” Sure I would have been happier if my coworker had stopped adding her pile to mine or I had left that place (screaming in terror) after only an hour of torture. But I needed the money so I fought to be happy about it. I made sure to put the money I earned to good use. Not only was I saving a large chunk for a rainy day and my eventual freedom, but I also traveled to places, bought books I needed (How to Work with People You Can’t Stand was especially helpful) and attended writing workshops. Working with a purpose makes life easier. When you just work to survive, life can be very painful.
2) I didn’t label myself. I once worked in the complaint department of a hospital (a place to which I affectionately refer to as Hell on Earth). When people asked me what I did, I didn’t say I was a lowly clerk working towards a Master’s in Masochism. I said I was a temp. Even when I had a permanent job, I said I was a temp because I knew any situation I was in was only temporary. I was a free agent, nobody owned me. We are all free agents. Bosses can fire us, but we too can walk out the door. I never let myself feel like a prisoner.
3) I stayed away from the gossip mill. It’s fun really. I love stories and gossips tell the best (of course I was also aware that they were talking about me, but oh well) unfortunately, they are a waste of energy. Gossiping about the crappy boss, social climbers, backstabbers and butt kissers is good time poorly spent. Yes, offices have a great cast of characters to talk about, but spending your lunch break complaining all day is not good for the spirit. Take a walk, listen to music, you’re at your present job only temporarily and complaining about being there won’t make you feel any better about yourself or your situation. Remember you’re a temp - your future looks bright. Most of the gossips and complainers will still be there years later, older and more miserable. I know. I’ve gone back. It’s rather sad really.
4) Do your best. I hated counting envelopes. At times I would well up with tears at the thought of facing another day (I did that with most of my day jobs to be truthful); however I was one of the fastest counters there. I made it into a game and set challenges for myself. When you do a good job you are doing yourself a service and things will be pleasant. Work to please yourself. I’ve worked in customer service and I know people can be bleeding obnoxious; however, if you don’t like people, please don’t work in this department. (Yes, I’m speaking to everyone at fast food restaurants, retailers and health care providers. Learn how to smile!)
5) Come up with an escape plan. I don’t believe in endless suffering. If you have an abusive boss or your job is giving your headaches and ulcers, Leave It. I don’t care what kind of money you’re making. Ask for a demotion or start looking in the Want Ads. No job is worth your health. I walked off one job that was completely demoralizing.
6) Live your secret life NOW. At any job I was on I pretended I was an author who was there doing research for my next book. It helped to make the atmosphere more interesting. The woman who ate my lunch (damn those blasted office fridges) and pretended not to know it became a character I poisoned; a boss that liked to make fun of my name became a hobo with a severe speech impediment. I imagined how I would write my autobiography, I would practice my answers for when I was interviewed on TV. My imaginary life made my reality much more exciting. Try it; you’ll be surprised where your imagination can take you.
Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, but they don’t have to be an agony. I had many jobs that I couldn’t stand, but I knew they were only temporary. Remember: This too shall pass, and your future looks bright.
Before I became a full-time writer, I had a job counting envelopes. Not colored envelopes or large manila envelopes, mind you, but white #10 envelopes. I had to count them in series of a hundred. Even now I can see them flashing in my eyes as I flipped through them, blinding myself as though I were looking out at a blanket of snow polished by the sun with dilated pupils. At the end of the day I’d leave the office with spots in my eyes.
Why I had to count envelopes for six hours a day, I don’t know (I blocked out most of the experience, I do remember however that the temp agency who gave me the assignment thought it was a perfect introduction to the work world for a recent college graduate &ndash which was cruel as well as delusional); however, I did learn how to cope while I was there and the other day jobs I’ve had. This is how:
1) I threw away the statement: “I’ll be happy when…” Sure I would have been happier if my coworker had stopped adding her pile to mine or I had left that place (screaming in terror) after only an hour of torture. But I needed the money so I fought to be happy about it. I made sure to put the money I earned to good use. Not only was I saving a large chunk for a rainy day and my eventual freedom, but I also traveled to places, bought books I needed (How to Work with People You Can’t Stand was especially helpful) and attended writing workshops. Working with a purpose makes life easier. When you just work to survive, life can be very painful.
2) I didn’t label myself. I once worked in the complaint department of a hospital (a place to which I affectionately refer to as Hell on Earth). When people asked me what I did, I didn’t say I was a lowly clerk working towards a Master’s in Masochism. I said I was a temp. Even when I had a permanent job, I said I was a temp because I knew any situation I was in was only temporary. I was a free agent, nobody owned me. We are all free agents. Bosses can fire us, but we too can walk out the door. I never let myself feel like a prisoner.
3) I stayed away from the gossip mill. It’s fun really. I love stories and gossips tell the best (of course I was also aware that they were talking about me, but oh well) unfortunately, they are a waste of energy. Gossiping about the crappy boss, social climbers, backstabbers and butt kissers is good time poorly spent. Yes, offices have a great cast of characters to talk about, but spending your lunch break complaining all day is not good for the spirit. Take a walk, listen to music, you’re at your present job only temporarily and complaining about being there won’t make you feel any better about yourself or your situation. Remember you’re a temp - your future looks bright. Most of the gossips and complainers will still be there years later, older and more miserable. I know. I’ve gone back. It’s rather sad really.
4) Do your best. I hated counting envelopes. At times I would well up with tears at the thought of facing another day (I did that with most of my day jobs to be truthful); however I was one of the fastest counters there. I made it into a game and set challenges for myself. When you do a good job you are doing yourself a service and things will be pleasant. Work to please yourself. I’ve worked in customer service and I know people can be bleeding obnoxious; however, if you don’t like people, please don’t work in this department. (Yes, I’m speaking to everyone at fast food restaurants, retailers and health care providers. Learn how to smile!)
5) Come up with an escape plan. I don’t believe in endless suffering. If you have an abusive boss or your job is giving your headaches and ulcers, Leave It. I don’t care what kind of money you’re making. Ask for a demotion or start looking in the Want Ads. No job is worth your health. I walked off one job that was completely demoralizing.
6) Live your secret life NOW. At any job I was on I pretended I was an author who was there doing research for my next book. It helped to make the atmosphere more interesting. The woman who ate my lunch (damn those blasted office fridges) and pretended not to know it became a character I poisoned; a boss that liked to make fun of my name became a hobo with a severe speech impediment. I imagined how I would write my autobiography, I would practice my answers for when I was interviewed on TV. My imaginary life made my reality much more exciting. Try it; you’ll be surprised where your imagination can take you.
Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, but they don’t have to be an agony. I had many jobs that I couldn’t stand, but I knew they were only temporary. Remember: This too shall pass, and your future looks bright.
Apr
20
It has become obvious to all but the most unrelentingly stubborn apologists for the oil industry that we now stand at a pivotal moment in the history of our planet. As much fun as it would be to make fun of Al Gore’s pretentious drawl and expanding bald spot, none of us can afford to ignore his clarion call for global change. With humankind’s carbon footprint leaving a catastrophic impact upon Mother Earth, it is the sacred responsibility of every citizen to make a change for the better. We can all agree on that much, but the next question is a lot thornier: How exactly do you start?
As in so many vital areas of life, when confronted by a monumental task it is beneficial to start with something small. In other words, begin by taking a “micro” view of your “macro” problem. Numerous studies have indicated that the more we are taught to respect and even love the tiniest creatures, the deeper connection we will feel to the planet at large. So if you’re looking to address climate change in your own way, you might want to start by picking up a copy of Fables From the Mud by Erik Quisling. This book, simple in structure yet profound in implication, illuminates the plight of Earth’s smallest inhabitants in a style that will make you laugh even as your empathy expands.
The first thing you are apt to notice about Fables is the fluid interchange between illustrations and text. This book has been designed with such a graceful simplicity that you could easily read it cover to cover in a single sitting. Indeed, once you’ve gotten a sense of its sharp humor and cerebral charms, you may be tempted to consume the whole thing while in the middle of a crowded book store.
Try to avoid this temptation, as you will find Fables to be a veritable banquet of philosophical speculation and belly laughs. How in God’s name, you may be wondering, can one book offer such seemingly incongruous rewards? The answer to that question is the secret of Quisling’s triumph. He has crafted three distinct but thematically connected tales,focusing on some of the Earth’s least respected inhabitants: a clam, an ant, and an earthworm. Against all expectation, Quisling turns these lowly invertebrates into heroes of truly epic scale.
By infusing so much ambiguous life and recognizably human foibles into its three-pack of protagonists, Fables allows readers to understand these creatures as reflections of ourselves. Laughable as the clam’s frustration with the emptiness of his existence might seem, is our own periodic despair any less ridiculous? It all comes down to a matter of perspective, which seems to be one of Quisling’s primary lessons.
After reading this timeless book, you may find yourself thinking twice before stepping on the next ant you see crossing the sidewalk. He’s a guest on this ailing planet, just like you. And for all you know, he might be in the middle of an heroic struggle worthy of mention in a book Fables From the Mud.
Apr
20
It has become obvious to all but the most unrelentingly stubborn apologists for the oil industry that we now stand at a pivotal moment in the history of our planet. As much fun as it would be to make fun of Al Gore’s pretentious drawl and expanding bald spot, none of us can afford to ignore his clarion call for global change. With humankind’s carbon footprint leaving a catastrophic impact upon Mother Earth, it is the sacred responsibility of every citizen to make a change for the better. We can all agree on that much, but the next question is a lot thornier: How exactly do you start?
As in so many vital areas of life, when confronted by a monumental task it is beneficial to start with something small. In other words, begin by taking a “micro” view of your “macro” problem. Numerous studies have indicated that the more we are taught to respect and even love the tiniest creatures, the deeper connection we will feel to the planet at large. So if you’re looking to address climate change in your own way, you might want to start by picking up a copy of Fables From the Mud by Erik Quisling. This book, simple in structure yet profound in implication, illuminates the plight of Earth’s smallest inhabitants in a style that will make you laugh even as your empathy expands.
The first thing you are apt to notice about Fables is the fluid interchange between illustrations and text. This book has been designed with such a graceful simplicity that you could easily read it cover to cover in a single sitting. Indeed, once you’ve gotten a sense of its sharp humor and cerebral charms, you may be tempted to consume the whole thing while in the middle of a crowded book store.
Try to avoid this temptation, as you will find Fables to be a veritable banquet of philosophical speculation and belly laughs. How in God’s name, you may be wondering, can one book offer such seemingly incongruous rewards? The answer to that question is the secret of Quisling’s triumph. He has crafted three distinct but thematically connected tales,focusing on some of the Earth’s least respected inhabitants: a clam, an ant, and an earthworm. Against all expectation, Quisling turns these lowly invertebrates into heroes of truly epic scale.
By infusing so much ambiguous life and recognizably human foibles into its three-pack of protagonists, Fables allows readers to understand these creatures as reflections of ourselves. Laughable as the clam’s frustration with the emptiness of his existence might seem, is our own periodic despair any less ridiculous? It all comes down to a matter of perspective, which seems to be one of Quisling’s primary lessons.
After reading this timeless book, you may find yourself thinking twice before stepping on the next ant you see crossing the sidewalk. He’s a guest on this ailing planet, just like you. And for all you know, he might be in the middle of an heroic struggle worthy of mention in a book Fables From the Mud.
Apr
4
When I was functioning as that lowest of all life forms, the unpublished author, I benefited from established novelists willing to share their experiences. This article is intended to give something back, especially since my experience had some unexpected turns.
I quickly learned to prefer sending queries by snail mail. Yes, it is slower, expensive, and more work, but my perception is that paper queries are taken more seriously and less likely to be ignored. They are also harder to destroy than merely pushing a delete key.
Where I struck out on my own relative to what I was reading on the Internet was the volume and velocity of my campaign. I sent out more than 500 queries, each a customized package, in three months. I scrupulously abided by all guidelines listed for each agency or publisher except one. I did not abide by the industry’s requirement of honoring exclusive reading policies of agencies who request it.
This is an unethical system that appears to have been deliberately rigged to unfairly favor publishers at the expense of writers. Although many publishers no longer ask for it, it is a disgraceful legacy that needs to be put out of its misery as soon as possible. Ignoring it in a massive way will do that. I do, however, think that, for now, writers should state clearly that they are making simultaneous queries.
Why such a massive, saturation bombing approach to querying? Well, life is short, and the more leads you put out, the greater the chance of a productive hit. I also needed it because I discovered that I was disadvantaged relative to many other authors. My novel, Coinage of Commitment, is a new kind of love story, one written of characters who love at a higher level than we see all around us. Plus it is fittingly written in a more emotionally vivid style than is currently fashionable.
Sales figures tell me this works well for readers, but it did not appeal to agencies who, I quickly discovered, are very conservative, extremely risk averse, and looking only for something they are used to or which has sold well in the past. Many have political or ideological agendas that bias their decision making. I never did come that close to landing an agent. Publishers were more sympathetic, more interested in literature for its own sake, but it was still a tough row to hoe.
The high volume approach to querying was decisive in my case because without it I would not have found the three royalty publishers who offered me contracts. Only after I had exhausted the list of addresses in print sources like Writer’s Market, and those on subscription sites like Firstwriter.com, did I go to open sites like Predators & Editors. There I discovered a new class of royalty publisher not listed in the other sources. These are small outfits with low overheads, who use POD print technology (which is becoming widespread), and who do not accept returns.
Otherwise their books are carried by the leading distributors. This is a group of publishers who have sprung up in the last five years. Many of these folks seem to be in it more for the love of books and literature than the profit motive. I found them much more willing to consider something new, like what I was offering, and this is where I hit gold with my own project.
There are other related issues: how to progress as a writer and improve your manuscript while also trying to sell it; how to deal with independent editors when you feel your manuscript is not good enough; and how to deal with the shadier side of our industry during a query campaign. But that is for a future article.
Apr
2
When I was functioning as that lowest of all life forms, the unpublished author, I benefited from established novelists willing to share their experiences. This article is intended to give something back, especially since my experience had some unexpected turns.
I quickly learned to prefer sending queries by snail mail. Yes, it is slower, expensive, and more work, but my perception is that paper queries are taken more seriously and less likely to be ignored. They are also harder to destroy than merely pushing a delete key.
Where I struck out on my own relative to what I was reading on the Internet was the volume and velocity of my campaign. I sent out more than 500 queries, each a customized package, in three months. I scrupulously abided by all guidelines listed for each agency or publisher except one. I did not abide by the industry’s requirement of honoring exclusive reading policies of agencies who request it.
This is an unethical system that appears to have been deliberately rigged to unfairly favor publishers at the expense of writers. Although many publishers no longer ask for it, it is a disgraceful legacy that needs to be put out of its misery as soon as possible. Ignoring it in a massive way will do that. I do, however, think that, for now, writers should state clearly that they are making simultaneous queries.
Why such a massive, saturation bombing approach to querying? Well, life is short, and the more leads you put out, the greater the chance of a productive hit. I also needed it because I discovered that I was disadvantaged relative to many other authors. My novel, Coinage of Commitment, is a new kind of love story, one written of characters who love at a higher level than we see all around us. Plus it is fittingly written in a more emotionally vivid style than is currently fashionable.
Sales figures tell me this works well for readers, but it did not appeal to agencies who, I quickly discovered, are very conservative, extremely risk averse, and looking only for something they are used to or which has sold well in the past. Many have political or ideological agendas that bias their decision making. I never did come that close to landing an agent. Publishers were more sympathetic, more interested in literature for its own sake, but it was still a tough row to hoe.
The high volume approach to querying was decisive in my case because without it I would not have found the three royalty publishers who offered me contracts. Only after I had exhausted the list of addresses in print sources like Writer’s Market, and those on subscription sites like Firstwriter.com, did I go to open sites like Predators & Editors. There I discovered a new class of royalty publisher not listed in the other sources. These are small outfits with low overheads, who use POD print technology (which is becoming widespread), and who do not accept returns.
Otherwise their books are carried by the leading distributors. This is a group of publishers who have sprung up in the last five years. Many of these folks seem to be in it more for the love of books and literature than the profit motive. I found them much more willing to consider something new, like what I was offering, and this is where I hit gold with my own project.
There are other related issues: how to progress as a writer and improve your manuscript while also trying to sell it; how to deal with independent editors when you feel your manuscript is not good enough; and how to deal with the shadier side of our industry during a query campaign. But that is for a future article.