How to open a slammed door: Anatomy of a literary rejection reversal

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Realizing how I used to dream I’d one day become a great writer reveals what a young fool I used to be. Today, many people who enjoy my books or blog tell me I am, indeed, a great writer.

I should have dreamed I’d become a successful writer.

Then I wouldn’t have had to spend an afternoon finessing an agent into considering representing me and my books.

2017 marks the first big push I’ve made in seeking a literary agent in, gee, about five years. I wouldn’t say there’s been a sea change in interest, but agents who used to just blow me off are now granting thoughtful consideration.

With two credible books, a robust blog readership and a verifiable ability to engage live audiences, I guess I’m more marketable.

But I still encounter blunt resistance like the verbatim exchange that follows.

I’ve sold 4,000 copies of “Use All The Crayons!” either by myself or through supportive retailers. Industry people say that’s the kind of number that ought to attract the attention of a mainstream publisher. 

Makes sense to me.

But not to this agent. She ridicules my apparent naivete.

Read on to see how it resolves. This is her response to my initial pitch, which touts sales numbers and how supportive Barnes & Noble nationwide’s been of my book.

• Chris, A publisher isn’t going to be interested in a self-published book that’s still available for sale on Amazon AND Barnes & Noble.  Where would this new publisher sell copies—really, what’s left? This makes no sense to me.”

Rather brusque, if not downright rude. It’s contrary to most of what I’ve heard, but she’s well-respected and I blog about things like the toilet bowl night lite from above a bar so what do I know? My first instinct is to respond with reciprocal rudeness. But I’ve outgrown that. Instead I seek insight.

• Now I'm confused. I've been told publishers are eager to snap up self-published books that have a proven track record of sales to a mass audience. Have I been mislead? Should I stop trying to sell my books? I'd really appreciate any insights you could share. The book is beloved, I have a platform, am a dynamic public speaker and have a four-year backlog of material that would lend itself to obvious follow ups.

I sent this noting to myself how surprised I’ll be if she even bothers to respond. But respond she does.

• Yes, I think you were grossly mislead. The popularity of a self-published book sometimes causes publishers to want to do a commercial release, but popularity is not 4,000 copies. It’s really good for a self-published effort, so congratulations on that. But you have a huge problem here: you are proposing to “sell against yourself” unless you can remove every single copy, used and new, from circulation and get the book removed from inventory everywhere. Do you have that kind of money? Publishers are not interested in something that is currently available through the biggest channels. What’s the point? Sorry, I can’t see any way out of this.

Now, she’s probably sitting in Manhattan thinking after this shut-down it’ll be a surprise if I respond. But respond I do.

• It'd all be very disheartening, Ginger, if the very essence of the book is to never be disheartened. Any wiggle room on the fact I could from my humor blog put together a complete follow-up in days? I've been invited to do humorous talks based on the book and been paid $2,500 for the keynote on top of the pre-paid purchase of 250 books. There’s such an appetite for the humor with heart message I've crafted. And I'll pester you no more after this unless you see a mutually beneficial reason. You've already been more than generous with your time.

I think the key here was the first line vow about how I cannot be discouraged. Who doesn’t want to work with a guy like that? Plus, I’m starting to sense she’s intrigued. I do a nifty bit of boasting and then give her an opportunity to bail. She declines and responds with her first positive offer. She wants to represent me.

• Chris, you have great leverage with your history of sales with the first book. Here’s what I propose: Since you own the rights to your material and you have a lot of new material, why not do a fresh follow-up? Maybe something like “Use Even More Crayons!” I would need a complete proposal, though, since you are starting from scratch with commercial publishers.

Hers is a very welcome and forward-thinking suggestion, one I’ve already been mulling. We’ve achieved a virtual handshake agreement. My response seals the deal and becomes suddenly audacious. I want a fellow agent of hers to take “Last Baby Boomer,” too. 

• That's a capital idea, Ginger, something I've been mulling. With your encouragement, I believe I can have something worthy of your consideration by probably April 1. Can I send you a copy of the current book so you'll have a better understanding of its appeals? Also, while I have your attention, perhaps you'll affirm if it'd be a good idea to send the first 50 pages of my satiric novel to your Ohio confederate. It's "The Last Baby Boomer: The Story of the Ultimate Ghoul Pool." Here's the premise:

In the year 2076, the sprawling Baby Boom generation will be down to one sole survivor, 112-year-old Martin J. McCrae. The distinction earns the chatty McCrae a luxury suite at a NYC museum where contestants pay $25 each to spend 15 minutes with him as part of the ultimate ghoul pool. If they're in the room when he expires, they win the $1.2 billion jackpot. 

Everyone is praying McCrae will die for them, but the ghoul pool is the answer to his prayers. It’s given the old man what he’s always craved. It’s given him an audience, one he’s unwilling to relinquish.

It's a ‘round-the-clock global reality show where no one wins until death does.

Because everyone has to die.

But only one of us gets to die last.

This was self-published last year. Sold about 250 copies on my own. Reactions to it leave me euphoric. Readers say it's hilarious. That was my intention.

Either way, I'll begin compiling a new "Use Even More Crayons!" and thank you for your thoughtful bursts of attention these last two days.

Her response: 

• Jim wouldn’t like this, I don’t think. I like the premise, though, so I’ll take a look. I’m personally expanding my fiction list and I like quirkier things than Jim. Please make sure before I’d take it to anyone that every copy has been removed from every possible sales venue. You can send the books to …

Does any of this portend I’ll soon be a successful writer?

Hell, no.

All it means is I’m getting better at getting rejected.

Related …

Reject me, please

Bullies, my ‘stache & insane reaction to my speech

Amazon “Last Baby Boomer” reviews

Someone stole Buck’s book from Tin Lizzy

A 10-star “Use All The Crayons!” review

A 5-star “Use All The Crayons!” industry review

My obsession: The perfect match

(Note: Redroom.com asked its contributors to this week relate their obsessions. This is my effort. Check out www.redroom.com if you're interested in reading about writing from some really great writers. If you're not, stick around here and I'll try to keep from boring you with my petty writerly concerns. Thanks for reading and please consider enlisting as a "follower" of www.EightDaysToAmish.com. I know there are more than 33 of you out there, but that's a whole 'nuther obsession. Have a great day! Chris R.)

I am obsessed with finding the perfect match. I like to collect them from fancy hotels and restaurants whenever I go on a road trip for business or pleasure.

Despite the tanked economy, I still have the connections to get invited on free trips all over the world. Many resorts and destinations are looking for guys like me, credentialed travel writers, who will come, enjoy all they have to offer and write about the lavish experience.

I’m obsessed with trying to find outlets that will justify their flattering interest. Until then, I turn down all the free trips outside the country and more than 90 percent of the ones within.

I like to use those matches to start fires. I’m obsessed with watching things burn.

We have two fireplaces in our home and a big limestone fire pit out back. I spend many, many days in the woods behind our house chopping timber and watching the big stack of firewood grow. If I could, I’d stop writing for a month and do nothing but concentrate on getting a pile of wood big enough to keep us in firewood for the next 20 years.

And then I’d cut more wood.

One of the things I’m obsessed with burning is a footstool-sized stack of rejection letters from literary agents who say they are not interested in reading my novel. I always say I know I’m not working hard enough unless I get at least a rejection letter a day.

Despite my insistent proclamations of laziness, the stack is evidence I’m a hard worker. There are form letters, personal ones, ones that say I suck and ones that say I don’t. There are snail mailed ones and print outs from e-mailed ones. I save each of them.

After about five years, I’m convinced my novel is really ready for publication. Several top agents have told me so. They say the book is destined to succeed and I believe them.

They tell me the book’s not right for them but they are certain that the right agent for me is out there. They say it’s just a matter of time before I’m matched with an enthusiastic agent who will shepherd this book through to successful publication.

I’m obsessed with finding that agent.

When I find him or her I’m going to go out in my back yard and spend a day cutting firewood. I’ll run the chainsaw till it’s too hot to handle. Then I’ll get the ax out and split the stuff till my arms and back ache.

I’ll stack a pile of it in the pit out back and pull out that stack of rejection letters.

And I’ll set fire to them all.

But first I need to find that perfect match before burn out sets in.

I got to get that match.

Jump the Query Shark!

I disagreed whenever my late father used to tell me I had a real talent for writing. It’s a character defect, I’d argue.

A talent is something that leads to lucrative fulfillment and widespread affirmation. A character defect is something that impedes those things.

Those with real talent enjoy robust professional obligations. Those with character defects squander hour after hour in lonely self-indulgent pursuits with no perceptible results.

Kind of like those of us who regularly blog.

I used to consider this blog the journalistic equivalent of a lemonade stand. Then one day it dawned on me that even stupid kids don’t give the lemonade away for free.

I always tell my students that I know I’m not working hard enough unless I receive at least a rejection letter a day. If that’s the proper measure, then I’ve been working my tail off since 1992 and have been on a real roll since September.

It has me once again wondering if it isn’t time to do something less yoked by near-constant rejection and more likely to lead to actual income. Something like, you know, sell lemonade by the glass.

This occurred to me over the weekend when my pitch letter for my rejection-magnet of a novel was critiqued on the “Query Shark” blogspot. It’s agent Janet Reid’s popular and useful writer’s website that gives professional feedback to wannabe authors like me who’re seeking agents or publishers.

To me it’s like sending your heartfelt best stuff to Simon Cowell on “American Idol.” The feedback can be brutal.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on here . . . You’ve lost me . . . This is a confusing mess,” are some examples.

Now, I understand that may seem like pretty tame stuff to those of you who work in factories, the military or for all I know cupcake bakeries. Remember, I’ve only had three real jobs my entire life and one of them was at Pizza Hut.

But I know writers are notoriously thin-skinned and have enormous dirigible-sized egos when it comes to our work.

Take me, for example. Every single time I turn in an essay, assignment or book proposal, I become exactly like like Ralphie in the scene from “A Christmas Story” where he turns in his theme. I imagine the editor dancing across the room euphorically singing, “A-plus! Plus! Plus! Plus! Plus!”

It’s never happened and it didn’t happen with Query Shark. Here’s a key paragraph from my query:

“The Last Baby Boomer” is my 209-page novel about the life and death of the last baby boomer, Martin J. McCrae. Because his impending death will symbolically tombstone a generation known for selfish excess, the 117-year-old McCrae agrees to be part of a lottery ghoul pool. Contestants pay $25 to be in a museum suite with him for 15 minutes. If they are present when he expires, they win the multimillion dollar jackpot. One problem: McCrae won't die.”

Gripping stuff, huh? Here’s what she thought:

"Word count, not page numbers. Always . . . Tombstone is not a verb. Not now, not in the future, not ever . . . If the novel is simply waiting for him to die, you'll need something else to hold our interest.”

To which, I find myself stammering in retort, “But . . . but . . . C’mon, just give it a chance! It’s wonderful! It’s funny! It’s poignant! I work for six packs!”

I was most stung by her grave comment that tombstone cannot be used as a verb. For you non-writers out there, “symbolically tombstone” is one of those phrases writers coin with such self-satisfied glee that we immediately begin twirling around the room in our purple smoking jackets whist taking deep soulful snorts from our Tiffany brandy snifters.

Because that’s just what writer’s do

But on this day, there would be no retort. The Query Shark moves on. I’m invited to rewrite the query and to resubmit for consideration. Some of the reader comments were wonderfully kind and supportive and a few even appreciated my controversial use of tombstone as a verb.

I’m deeply grateful to them. May hot cigarette ash never singe their purple smoking jackets!

I’m in one of those professional troughs where I feel like giving up. There’s little hope and even less work. I used to pray that I’d be successful. Now, I have to fight off the urge to pray that God will just slay all my ambitions.

I cannot give in to those defeatist impulses. It’s too late for me to do something sensible like enroll in plumbing school. I will presevever. I will rewrite my query and hope anew that the valuable insights I’ve gained will lead to publishing success.

Besides, any writer would be foolish to let one perhaps offhand remark tombstone an entire career.