Tis the Season...I guess

Remember back in April when I pulled that April Fool's Joke, where I said I was so depressed because I kept getting all these failure rejection notices in the mail? Oh, yeah, I had you all going with that. And by "had you all going", I mean to say you were all thinking "Yeah, whatever, jackass. We know what day it is." Good times, good times.

Anyway, I've recently "gotten serious" about this whole submission thing. And by "gotten serious", I mean that I'm sending out more than one or two query letters at a time. In fact, I just finished another one right now! Can you believe it? Saturday morning and I've already submitted a query to another agency and I'm deftly crafting a blogpost. "Holy Shit!" you might be thinking, "this man is the model of efficiency and hard work! I should pattern my life after him and/or send him boob pictures!" While that's all true, it's not my main reason for being here. Entertaining you is, of course. See how much I give? I know. I'm fucking awesome. Now, make with the pics.

Also, I realize just how much italicized print is up there. Wow. That's a lot. Tis the season for italices, I guess. Or Italians. Or fallacies. Italian fallacies? Italian phallus? Whatever, let's move along.Actually, let's back up. Remember how, in the April Fool's post, I wrote about getting failure rejection notices from lazy agents, where they just wrote "Dear Author" and all that jazz? Yeah, well, I actually got one of those. And here's the kicker! Not only was it a "Dear Author" letter, but the agent (or probably her assistant) didn't even bother to sign the letter. No, there was a crudely scanned copy of the agent's signature printed out with what looked like a dot matrix printer. I actually looked over the letter two or three times, folded it back up and placed it back in the envelope, and thought "You know, maybe getting a rejection from her isn't so bad..."

But then, this past week, I got one that topped that. No "Dear Author", no signature. Just "your work doesn't suit our needs at this time." I don't even think there was a good luck attached to it. Wow. Seriously, you just wasted a piece of paper on this? I'm sure the spotted owls thank you for it. Again, I thought, "I don't want this place representing me anyway." It might sound like a lot of sour grapes, and there might be some truth to that, but I also got another rejection from an agency that was very pleasant. She took the time to use my name and to wish me luck and even threw in a "Happy Holidays". Aside from that time that Jenn Leutzow turned me down for a date in high school because she "didn't know who I was", it was the most pleasant way I've ever been turned down for something. I even wrote back to the person and said as much and wished her well and shot a happy holidays back to her, that's how appreciative I was. Plus, I figure if our paths ever cross again, I will have at least left without burning bridges.

To top it off, I saved the failure rejection notices from those two other agents. I figure once I find an agent, I might have an occasion to be around other agents. If I ever get offered to be represented by these folks, I'll just say no. Petty? Yes. I don't care if they can get me a better deal or let me or my bumpkin friend ride in their corporate helicopter, I'll stay with the people who gave me my first big break and who were pleasant with me. Yeah, guess whose been watching Cars lately?

Anyway, in the past week and a half, I've submitted my stuff to ten different agencies, with one more outstanding. Two have gotten back to me, so there's still nine possibilities out there. I figure after another handful of rejections, I'll send out another batch. The idea is to keep 5 to 12 out at a time. There was this guy at Notre Dame named Doran who asked out every woman he met. Most of the time they said no. Sometimes, one would say yes. We called it "flooding the market". I think this might be my new approach.

At the same time, I'm feeling that passion and desire to write reawaken deep within me. It's either that or my McRib from last night is not sitting well. The funny thing is, my mode of inspiration is kind of...odd. This sudden reawakening might simply be a biorhythmic crest, or it could come from my current read: Kiss me like a Stranger. It's Gene Wilder's autobiography, and dammit, I'm enjoying the hell out of it. There's a part where he discusses how he began learning about directing, and for some reason, this just touched a nerve or made a connection or whatever other ham-fisted metaphor you want me to create here to tell you that I was inspired.

However, as I've said time and time before, my home computer kind of sucks. A jolly fat man stood in line for three hours at Best Buy the day after Thanksgiving--thus rendering him decidedly less jolly--just to secure a new computer for me. That same jolly fat man bought his comely and red-tressed wife a laptop that they both have agreed to share for writing projects. Nice fucking run-on sentence, writer-boy. Anyway, I've decided that I won't restart the writing process until after Christmas, when the current P.O.S. I'm working on is set in the closet as a once very expensive paperweight. I can almost hear taps playing now. Almost.

The moral of the story...if there is one...is don't overuse italics. The other message is that I might not be blogging as much, and by as much, I mean that I might go back to doing somewhat regular updates about the writing process. However, I won't be like some people and abandon things altogether. Sheesh.