Writing can be fun, but it is almost always hard work. A few lines for a blog isn’t so bad, but writing a novel is a whole new world of effort. It can take years – writing, re-writing, editing, reading, re-editing. On and on. And when you try to get published, the real misery starts.
Don’t get me wrong. Rejection isn’t wonderful, but it is part of the process. And we all know of a few ‘literary masterpieces’ where rejection should have been applied more vigorously! But waiting for publishers to reply, or come remotely close to the timespans that they quote, can be very trying. Agents tend to reply quicker, but you have to take a long, arduous course in ‘Submission Nit Picking’ when you send off your covering letter, synopsis (1 page or 2) and a sample of your work (1, 2 or 3 chapters or 10 or 30 pages or 3,000 or 10,000 words, in 1.5x or 2x spacing in whatever font, in Word or (not) PDF format, in 1 or 2 attachments in an email or by post. I do wish that they would get together and agree on a format!
Of course, they want an exclusive chance to consider your work, so you must not send your writing to others while you wait for the next standardized rejection note (if the reply). Even being asked to send in your full novel does not guarantee zip! Pick a date, then forget it. Then double the time waiting for a reply.
Authors must have massive faith in their work, to send out their brainchild to so many who will give it a cursory glance before hitting the ‘Delete’ key. I know how the publishing business works, and I know how little gold can be extracted from a mountain of dross. But please remember this …
A few years hard work, pounding out illiterate, unreadable garbage, is still a few years hard work. Worthy of a little respect. A degree in literature, and a brief internship, does not entitle anyone to be inconsiderate, and lacking in manners.
There is a firm path, somewhere in between. We should take it – not flounder in the slush pile, nor believe that crap should smell sweetly, just because there is a rose bush growing on top of it.
I will continue to write. I will continue to wait. And I will tell you who or what I meet on my travels. When a book is written in the forest, and nobody reads it – it still tells a story.
