First-off: Yes, I know I'm an idiot for paying someone to read and edit my work. In one on my first posts here, I responded to a thread debating the utility of using an editor. It seems a writer must be really bad, have no friends and / or be just plain stupid to hire an editor. Since I qualify on all points, I ask your forgiveness and understanding.
That aside, it seemed like the guy who took my money did seem to have a genuine interest in what I was doing with my manuscript. I thought I'd share my response to him with you all. If you are in a spinning abyss of hopeless torment with no future, relax in the knowledge that I'm already there ahead of you. I'll see you at the bottom.
Enjoy!
Hi R******.
Is this morbid curiosity, or are you just following up on clients? Regardless, you've been upfront and fair with me. The least I can do is return the favor. Even if it means being honest with both of us.
M***** wrote that you wanted to know if I was marketing my manuscript. Over the last six months or so I've sent out dozens of queries to agents. The best responses to date have been impersonal form rejections where they spell my name right. Most have been the generic "Dear Writer" responses. Each one felt like a spade of dirt thrown on my dead effort. I haven't sent a query in almost two months now. I don't take it personal, yet the pain of rejection has put me into a creative paralysis. I've also stopped sending queries because I'm a realist. I knew I was too short to play in the NBA. I'm not smart enough to work for NASA. Now I know I can't write.
If you are checking in with me because you really do care, that puts you in a very, very small group. I printed out the complete manuscript many months ago for my wife to read. I asked her a few times how far she had read. It turned out not far... not far at all. Eventually, I stopped asking. Dittos with my teen-aged daughter.
I can understand that, even if it is hurtful. If I had, in fact, written the most turgid piece of banal tripe to ever disgrace twenty-four pound printer stock, I would hope that my own family would lie to me, at least to spare my feelings. No.
Worse? I told them I was working on a sequel. They never ask me how it's going, offer encouragement. Nothing. I have part of Monday (my day off) that I normally have had time to write. They leave me dirty dishes, laundry and assorted chores to fill-up my day. They don't leave me time. That doesn't matter now anyway. In the last two months I've written a grand total of twelve pages. I know my place now. It is not in front of the Word program.
Have I ever told you what I do for a living? Of course not. It's f***ing embarrassing.
I (insert menial job here).
What agent in their right mind will ever take me seriously? My own family doesn't. I must have been brainwashed by watching too many made-for tv movies. You know the ones. Some blue collar schlub works hard, keeps trying, and eventually breaks into some elite group. People cheer. Right.
I live in the real world. No cheering here. It's real quiet. So quiet, you can hear a dream die.
Thanks for taking the time to check in with me. I apologize that I won't be sending you any of my "writing". It seems people are looking for stories written by writers, not (insert menial job here). I suppose that makes sense. I hope you understand.
Please don't hesitate to keep sending me those cute e-mails. I can use a laugh, on occasion.
Thanks again for your help and support. Take care.
Me



14Likes
LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks
Reply With Quote






Bookmarks