Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Tales Of Denial

Or,
An Ode to Rejection

When I was a fresh/brash/new/eager young Author

With “How to” manuals in hand
I mimed another fame-hunting writer
Who sought a hundred rejections a year

A hundred misses means offering your self/words/blood/Rear
On the block of publication land
Where said buyer must be hungry for your wares
No backsies, no buts, no artificial sweeteners allowed

Humorous essays on fighting bugs/papering the ceiling/lost in a Crowd
Net me “loved it, just bought one like it
“No thanks, “why are you writing a query
“Just send it, “not my taste, “too early, “too late, “lost in the mail”

Agent queries result in okays/nays/maybes; all a Travail
Rarely a bite, never a shield, little cheer
“No passion, “can’t get behind it, “send a different one
“Do this, fix that, format like so, put this scene here,” no word

Publisher wish lists call for new age/space operas/tropes/AngryBirds
I pitch an old series, they ask for the full first,
Reluctantly I agree, say it’s dated, needs work which I’ll do
They say “no blood, needs more sex, I like it, but…it’s dated

Masochism keeps us humble while self-publishing is Debated
Sometimes it’s not me, it’s the process/timing/mood/publisher call
As long as we Authors seek approval from Strangers
We accept feeling like Sticking an Icepick in our Eyes



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