Thursday, January 17, 2019

Dear publisher, my many attempts

Dear Publisher;

Well, I throw my hands up. I don't know what to do anymore. I have written thousands of essays. I have composed dozens, possibly hundreds of letters to you. I have approached it from every angle. I have dreamed of being a famous author and applied all my skill to it. Nothing has worked.

I remain unpublished. I have no book deal. No publisher or editor has ever indicated the least bit of interest in working with me.

Allow me to just list the breadth of my different approaches:

1. Lying self-aggrandizement.

In retrospect doubling the number of MacArthur Genius Grants that I said I won was pointless.

2. Reverse psychology.

Oddly the only times I can reliably convince anyone is in my proposals that are attempting to use reverse psychology.

3. Bribery.

My lucky quarter and a signed glossy of myself apparently just don't mean what they used to to American Publishers. You do realize if you're not going to accept the bribe you have to return them?

4. Coercion.

Who was I kidding. I doubt I could convince your cat to like you less anyway.

5. Demonstration of a massive writing talent.

If only I didn't have the quirk where my massive writing talent only shows up in the thing I'm about to write.

6. Inclusion of a fake name and fake return address.

I don't know why I thought this would work. Actually, upon reflection, this one might have worked.

7. Respectful professionalism.

I kept nodding off every time I researched the best way to format my query.

8. Networking.

I know loads of people but most of them are semi-homeless loners.

9. Appeal to greed.

I'm not so sure the greed part didn't work. You probably just didn't believe we really could make an easy 20 dollars.

10. Never say die relentless "wear 'em down" persistence.

Do you have any idea how much postage my "One query a year" campaign cost? And what's the point anyway. It's all hopeless.

So now you see. I really have tried everything. Well, I mean, everything other than actually sending the letters instead of imagining sending the letters. But at some point a person simply has to say...

enough is enough.

Yours in the abandonment of all hope,

F. Calypso


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