On Schedule

This being Friday, I am done for the week. On Monday and Tuesday, the mailbox will hold a few rejections from literary agents who did not fall in love with my query. Wednesday and Thursday are the golden days, when an e-mail could pop up at any time, asking for a sample chapter or three, or, better yet, the full manuscript. The creased #10 envelope is the sure sign of rejection, a sentence handed down on the golden days that takes two or three days to arrive. Frustrating and stressful, the novelist is at the mercy of a complete stranger who must be sold an idea, and salespeople know how difficult it is to cold call. It is a business model without shortcuts, and one that cannot be reduced to a DIY project.

Peruse the various internet forums and chat rooms and inevitably one will find the following, in one form or another:


">Writers Net discussion


Networking, sharing leads and dreams, they will not post again in a year or so when they discover that all the self-generated publicity in the world will not lead to a seat next to Oprah. They have been sucked in by the PODs, printers who skate along the edge of legitimacy and reap the financial rewards. Bookstores will not stock these literary works, libraries do not buy them, and they do not sell more than a few copies to friends and family.

If the current manuscript does not find a home, there will be another one after that, with its accompanying round of queries. Underneath it all is a hope that one day a story will resonate, first with an agent and then with an editor and then with the acquisitions committee. Tiocfardh ar la indeed.