Friday, June 21, 2019
Flattering letter to a literary agent
Dear Literary Agent:
I read somewhere, maybe it was in Writer's Digest, or Publisher's Weekly, or The 2019 Writer's Guide to Publishers, or possibly even in some mercenary little fake blog post somewhere, that the big publishers, of which, tragically, there are only five now, won't even deign to look at anyone's submission for publication unless it's being sent in by a bona fide literary agent!
I am only willing to publish with the Big Five because I believe they are the only people powerful enough to bully the masses into reading my prose.
The literary distance between me and Mark Twain is mainly in marketing at this point. A little bit in sheer talent, sure, but mainly in marketing.
What does this mean?
It means that I have been wasting my time sucking up to Random House when all along I should have been sucking up to you!
It suddenly occurs to me that from your perspective this might not sound great.
Nevertheless I feel a person of your perspicacity, and one wearing such a dazzling cravat, can surely rise above it and represent me. A genius like yourself will undoubtedly make a success of it!
I look forward to receiving one of your unearthily beautiful contracts soon in the mail.
With almost fawning regard,
Posted by Feldenstein Calypso at 6:30 AM
Labels: letters, marketing, publishing, tombs, writing
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