Jennifer apologized profusely for getting home late last night when I was babysitting (i.e. dozing/watching Strangers with Candy), and she hoped that the late night didn’t “disturb my Monday.” But I am an unemployed writer, spending my Monday between my blog and the erotica novel I am editing for money. How can this perfect world be disturbed? She said to enjoy it while it lasts.
Rejection Letters
Now that I am finally sending out some of my work, I am surprised that my fragile ego can handle rejection. Because the rejection letters from lit journals and magazines haven’t been completely crushing me, I wonder why I didn’t start sending out my stories earlier. Here is the cover letter I sent to McSweeney’s a month ago, and their rejection letter that arrived in my mailbox today:
MY LETTER
Dear Mr. McSweeney,
I am writing with a romantic inquiry.
I am certain that my extraordinary first novel, entitled The Existential Diet, will be published to great acclaim. Furthermore I assure you that not only am I a gifted writer, I am also an attractive woman in my mid 20’s and I know that my face will light up the book jacket. However I fear that my future publisher will select a shade of pink or teal to color said book jacket. Because my novel explores weight (gain and loss), celebrities (blonde and brunette), and love affairs (lesbian and otherwise), and because I happen to be young, carefree, and good-looking, I suspect that I will be unfairly targeted as a writer of so-called Chick Lit.
I have thought deeply about this matter, in between counting calories and writing in my diary, and I have come up with a solution to my problem. When I assessed the romantic status of popular Chick Lit authors, I found that they, much like their books’ heroines, are unlucky in love. I came to the conclusion that if I were to become lucky in love, then perhaps my debut novel would be treated with a more literary, earth-toned amount of respect.
Mr. McSweeney, I am not proposing marriage, or even an exclusive commitment. I am looking for a relationship somewhere between flirty office emails and spooning to sleep on a nightly basis, something befitting your reputation as a gentleman and mine as a talented and physically stunning young author. The advantages of this arrangement will by no means be one-sided. I ask you to think of the attention you will get, walking into your next literary salon with me grafted firmly to your side.
Thank you for your consideration of this matter. I will patiently await your response, to be mailed to me at your leisure in the enclosed self-addressed stamped envelope, sprayed liberally with my perfume.
Sincerely,
Wistar Watts
REJECTION LETTER
Dear Witstar Watts Murray,
Many thanks for your recent submission ‘The Existential Diet!’
Unfortunately, due to the large amount of manuscripts we receive and small amount we can annually publish, we are unable to take your work further.
Mr. McSweeney’s was tempted by your romantic proposition but alas, he is already taken.
Again, thanking you for letting us read your writing.
Kind regards,
X
The story wasn’t about my sister
I took a writing class this summer with Lisa Russ Spaar at UVA (namedrop!), and one day she brought in a blue 80s ankle boot and told us to write a scene or a poem about it. So I wrote about a Peace Corps volunteer’s more fashionable sister. Last night when I saw my mom at a cocktail party at a nursing home, she said that maybe my sister Margaret shouldn’t see my blog because of my blue boot story. Granted, Margaret is extremely well dressed and likes to shop, but she is not the sister in the story. Margaret was far from my mind when I wrote that story. For one, I could not see Margaret in those blue boots. They just wouldn’t work on her wide-set feet. For two, Margaret studies Geography and she is way more globally aware than I am. The other day Darren pointed toward the mountains and asked “What’s in that direction?” All I could think about was walking in that direction until you wrapped around the earth and arrived back where you started. I could not mentally remove myself from the small plot of land where I was standing in my swimsuit. Anyway, I don’t think either sister in the story is very sympathetic, whereas Margaret and I are both really awesome and humanitarian. So take that, Mom.