The Rejection Letter

I should entitle this "No Rejection Letter." Lots of thought went into my decision to write some books specifically aimed at self-publishing.  Mainly, I'm not happy about how publishing houses treat authors.  It's simple, really.  In this day and age, when a rejection letter can be sent with an email address and the push of a button more and more houses are saying, "Due to high volume we no longer send rejection letters.  If we are interested in your work we will contact you.  If you don't hear from us in (3 months, 6 months, a year) please feel free to submit your work elsewhere." They add insult to injury with the statement, "If your work is accepted elsewhere we request the courtesy of letting us know." Courtesy?

First, without writers there are no publishing houses.  Second, I don't have any more time than you do so if you can't give me the courtesy of a rejection I hardly think you need to know if someone else accepts my work for publication.  Third, if you are so outmoded that you don't make use of form letters and email accounts, which cost you absolutely nothing and take only a second to utilize, I'm not sure you are worth dealing with anyway.

Self-publication isn't new.  Writers use to take their stories to the local paper and have them published.  Sometimes they had to pay something to do it.  When people liked what they read they asked for more and the paper would, in turn, offer to pay something to the writer to provide more of their work.  But publishing houses had contacts, had longer reach, eventually had financial resources the writer didn't and so they became a better way for the writer to get their work to the public -- until they started thinking that writers couldn't live without them. 

Welcome to the age of the Internet.  While publishing houses started looking for the sure bet and only accepted agented work; while the entire institution of publishing became more and more conservative; while people like Stephen King and J K Rowling spent time and money being rejected for years, writers gained direct access to the public. 

I don't enjoy reading poorly crafted plot lines and books full of misspellings and incorrect grammar.  I get shocked when Writer's Digest lists their criteria for entering a contest and it includes "no handwritten manuscripts." That being said, I read copiously based on the fact that, as Stephen King says, "Reading is the apprenticeship to writing." And I have to say, there are publishing houses that release books with poorly crafted plot lines, misspellings and incorrect grammar.  I know; I'm reading one right now.  As a matter of fact I'm half way through a book written by a New York Times Best Selling Author and even though I'm half-way through the only thing I've read so far is the back story from the five books previously published.  It's so boring I keep putting it down and coming back to it when my stomach stops churning.  If there is a story in this book I haven't found it yet.  Some agent or publisher should have told the author to get a new story line or just forget it. They didn't, of course.  They figured that they could put "Author of ..............New York Times Bestseller List," and the book would sell itself, garbage or not; that's how they got me to read it.  Meanwhile, there are good stories by good writers being passed over because they aren't a sure thing -- no one knows their name.

I wrote a middle-grade-coming-of-age novel about a boy who is called Chunkie Two Boys by bullies at school.  As it turns out, Charlie (aka Chunkie) has to buddy up with his enemies when they are accused of attacking Mr. Scrod based on the simple fact that they are "city kids." Charlie realizes eventually that "everyone seems to hate someone," and he solves the mystery of exactly who hit Mr. Scrod, which not only clears his name  but also makes him a hero. Two well published authors, one being a field agent for a major publishing house, gave it a thumbs up and had me send it to their personal contacts at specific publishing houses.  The same book was revised multiple times under the tutelage of several professors who are also well published and who all agreed that it's a good book and ready to go.  I have submitted it to ten houses; I have one rejection letter and that is from an agent who asked to see my next book because she "likes the way I write."

Ten places are not that many to reject a manuscript.  I should and will continue to put it out there, read it for things to tweak. revise if I find something that could be bigger, better or stronger, and continue to find it a good home.  But I'm pretty upset about the lack of rejection letters.  I'm insulted and pissed off.  Every time I send out a letter, synopsis, outline and three chapters it costs me a respectable amount of time and money.  I deserve a rejection letter.  I deserve to have an end to the hope that pops up with every unknown phone number on my cell phone and every large envelope that arrives in the mail.  I deserve an email that says, "Thanks but no thanks." My time and effort is worth that much. It's just plain good business.

So, I have done a ton of research, talked to a lot of people, read great and horrible literature and come up with what I think will sell to the thousands of readers who are skimming titles on Amazon and Kindle.  These aren't books thought up with self-publishing in mind; they are books I was going to write anyway but which I know are commercial in a way my non-fiction children works series won't be.  These are books for the person who wants a fun read full of excitement and romance and fresh ideas. They are books people will find when they type in "romance" or "paranormal" or "ghost" or "women."

I've done the same careful research, have a professional editor, a graphic designer, and a well educated, in some cases published, group of readers.  I still draft, revise, edit and revise again and again -- and I'll be thrilled if I can eventually say to an agent or publishing house, "I am the author of these books and here is my readership and here are the reviews; I believe this is the type of book you are looking for and I have proof that people like what I write."

Self-publishing isn't easy.  People scoff and act like every yahoo who imagines they can write is simply throwing a Word manuscript at Kindle and -- voila! -- they dream of sitting back and letting the money roll in.  Maybe that's true of some; I don't know.  I know it took me a week to get my book formatted to look good and meet the requirements.  I know I'll probably borrow the money to have Create Space upload it to Kindle for me.  I know I've given very careful thought to the cover, gotten feed back from trusted colleagues every step of the way and that I have already made marketing plans for getting it out there.  I also know I would love it if someone else did all of that for me.  And I'm not expecting to get rich.  I want a little bit of money to come in which will buy me time to write other books and submit them to agents and publishers, hopefully along with a little bit of success I can wave around as collateral.  You see, I don't have the benefit of another job.  I don't have six months or six years to wait.  But more than that, I believe in myself and my work.  I'm good at this. 

Mainly, I don't like the way publishing houses do business.  I don't like the death of the rejection letter or the months and years it takes just to get something read.  I don't like it at all.  I've led a different kind of life -- taking chances, betting with my heart, following a different path.  This is just more of the same.  By the way, Waking Up Dead  is a good book.  You'll be able to get it from the Kindle free library for 90 days.  Give it a read; you might even be moved to write a review.  If you think it's garbage, say so.  If you like it please say that, too.  I'm always up for constructive criticism. 

One final note: my fellow writers are pretty much disapproving of my decision to self-publish.  I hope they're wrong.  I accept, support and respect the choices they make; hopefully they will do the same for me.

Why I've Decided to Write Ghost Stories

When I was a little girl my sisters and I would tell ghost stories; not just the sit-around-the-campfire stories everyone hears but other stories -- our own.  Maybe that was foreshadowing of sorts.  Strange things can happen in families and they certainly did in mine.

My mother was a seer of sorts.  She never told me about ghosts but she had a freaky way of knowing things before they happened.  The time I remember most vividly was the day my brother had gone deer hunting with one of our neighbors.  My mother was hanging out clothes that afternoon and I was helping.  All of  sudden she became completely still and turned to stare at the mountain behind her.  "Something is wrong," she said. 

We had a 10 party line back then; 10 families shared one phone line.  If you wantd to make a call you picked up the receiver and hung up if someone else was talking on the phone.  That day she picked up the receiver and heard a man saying, "Some kid is in the woods with his leg shot off." 

She didn't even wait to find out what kid or who was talking.  She simply got her coat and boots on and waved down the ambulance as it went by the house. "I'm going with you.  He's my son."

My brother had gone after a large buck with a big rack, tripped over some barbed-wire fence, and discharged his shotgun at close range.  His lower leg was shattered.  At the age of 14 he had the presence of mind to strip off his coat, remove his undershirt and put on his own tourniquet. There he was, alone and wounded, in a forest on the mountain.

The farmer who had taken my brother hunting had left him in the woods and gone home to do chores.  Whether he thought Lewie was going home or continuing to hunt I guess I never knew.  That part doesn't really matter, I suppose.  What does matter is that the farmer came out of the barn and saw what every hunter hopes to see -- a large buck with a huge rack standing at the bottom of the field looking at him.  The deer was just out of range.  The farmer grabbed his rifle and took off after the deer.

Every time the farmer had the deer in range and stopped to take a shot, the deer would move.  As soon as it was out of range it would stop again and watch the farmer approach.  This happened repeatedly, the deer always moving just out of range and then stopping as if waiting for the farmer.  The deer led the farmer to my brother and then disappeared.  The farmer swore, over and over for year to come, that the deer had taken him to Lewie on purpose. Some of us believe it was the buck Lewie had been chasing in the first place who saw the child in need of help and went to get it. Without intervention there is no doubt my brother would have either bled to death or frozen to death.

Between the story of the deer and my mother's uncanny way of knowing when things were wrong I knew at an early age that I believed in things that couldn't be seen.  I was disappointed to realize that I wasn't born with any talent in that direction myself; however, I have a sister who attracts premonitions and spirits to the point that she has to work to block them.  It was through her that I found out my mother could sense more than events.  At some point when my mother realized that Faye had inherited this skill or curse, depending on your point of view, she had reassured Faye that the ghosts were real even if other people couldn't see or hear them. "Places aren't haunted; people are," she told her. 

And that seems to be true. I never had a real encounter with a ghost until recently and that was when I was researching a book I'm writing called The Haunting of Waterford Road.  My sister had told me that a spirit pounds on the cellar door.  I was standing right next to the door one day when it was struck by someone or something hard enough to make me jump.  I'm not talking about a tap or a moment when you think you might have heard something; I'm talking about a good, solid bang like a fist on the door.  As I jumped back, startled, Faye laughed.  "That's my ghost," she said and immediately opened the door to show me that no one and nothing was there.  "I don't think he wants to hurt anyone.  He's just angry." 

I think that writing about ghosts draws them to you.  I heard a CSI investigator who did paranormal research say the same thing in a presentation.  My brother-in-law says it's just a matter of being aware.  More and more I think he's right.  He never gave much thought to ghosts until he waved at his young daughter and her friend who were walking up the road to meet him.  When the little girl go to him she was alone. "Where's your friend?" he asked.  Kassie assured him that no one was nor had been with her.  The ghost child is more easily seen than the angry man in the cellar.  She has been seen not only walking up the road but also crouching under the dining room table and walking up the steps to the bedrooms.  I haven't seen her myself although I would like to but three people have. 

If you announce in a crowded room that you are collecting people's ghost stories you always have a few individuals pull you aside before they leave and say, "I don't know if you're interested, but ...." Some of those stories don't ring true; some are "a feeling" or a story that is a third, fourth or fifth person narrative. You know those stories, the ones Aunt Jane told Mom who told Sister Sally who told me.  But there are other stories that are clear and sure: the deceased mother-in-law who insisted her daughter-in-law look at the family album for no apparent reason until she finally found her deceased father-in-law's military discharge and purple heart citation tucked inside the binding, the elderly gentleman who sits rocking in his favorite chair on the porch visible enough for a boy to ask who he is, the doors that won't open or keep opening, the adult children who each had a visit from their deceased mother the week before their father passed away, and more and more and more.

My goal is to write four books this year.  Waking Up Dead is about a woman who doesn't know she's dead and who, when she finds out why everything is so out of whack, goes about the business of deciding how to live after death.  The second book (hopefully) is about Johnny (non-titled at this time) who died in a house fire he accidentally set with matches.  When other children move into the house he now lives in he doesn't want them to leave him -- it gets so lonely -- and so he works on getting them to start a fire, too.  Third, The Haunting of Waterford Road; the story of a family haunted by and then saved by the ghosts who live in their farm house.  The fourth planned book is a collection of ghost stories which I have been collecting as my research for the first three books.  They are all first hand accounts and based in the Endless Mountains.  Maybe we just have more ghosts than other places?  Who knows. 

New Year 2012

It has been a year since I threw away everything I had and knew and moved back to Montrose.  I came back with a list of what had to be done, what could be done and what should be done.  I don't think I've accomplisehed much of it.  Everything takes longer than anticipated but isn't that always the case when you've set unreasonable expectations to start with?  Maybe.  But I have a habit of requiring more from myself than is reasonable and this year is no different.  To encourage and jump start inspiration, I must acknowledge what has been accomplished:

• I now have an office where I can close the door and work.
• I've completed a rough (oh, so disheartingly rough) draft of another book.
• I have a specific list of the books to be written this year.
• I've completed a great deal of research.
• My home is not what it will be but is finally in shape enough to move forward.
• I've lost and kept off 20 pounds.
• There is an order to things.
• I've made friends I can call and invite for a pot of tea or glass of wine and good conversation.
• I've been reasonably healthy.
• I exercise fairly regularly.
• I have found art projects I can enjoy and am fairly good at.
• I have gotten some experience teaching at the college level.
• I went camping with Gabe.

To be honest, there are things I haven't done and they are important:

• I haven't made any money (and that may be the biggest, scariest item on my list).
• I haven't manged to quit smoking although I did stop for a couple of months.
• I haven't lost the other 20 pounds and they have to go.
• I haven't published a book.
• I haven't found a local college to teach at.
• I haven't taken off my running shoes.
• I haven't started painting the rooms in the house or putting up shelves.
• I haven't gotten back to the piano.
• I haven't traveled further than NYC, Harrisburg and Rochester.

Okay, so the list of what I did do is longer than the list of what I didn't do but some of the items on the "didn't do" list are critical and so they are being brought into 2012.  I don't think I'm ready to take off my running shoes yet, though, and don't know if that will ever happen.  I'm not sure it ever needs to happen.  I don't think I'll make it one of my new resolutions.  As for the other things, none of them can happen unless and until I do the first one.  I need to earn money and I don't want to do it on anyone else's terms. No running back to the state. No giving someone else the right to say how, where and when I work. No going backwards.  That means I have to move forward.  So -- here is the new impossible list:

• Daily schedule:
• Morning chores (chores include exercise).
• Afternoon writing (write whenever I feel the urge but always must spend afteroons writing).
• Evening art work.
• Deidra Shay:
• Revised by Jan 30 and self-published.
• Johnny
• Rough draft by the end of February.
• Revised by the end of March.
• Haunting of Waterford Road
• Rough draft by the end of April.
• Revised by the end of May.
• My Ghost Story (non-fiction)
• Rough draft by the end of June.
• Revised by the end of July.
• Compilation of Poetry Chap book by end of Aug using existing poems and new art work.
• The Dragon Prince
• Rough draft by the end of September.
• Revised by the end of October
• King of the Mountain
• Rough draft by the end of November.
• Revised byt he end of Decmeber.
• 2013
• Angelo, Man of the House.
• Children Work (non-fiction).
• Putting Mother to Bed (Memoir).
• Greeting card line for Episale Design.

It's impossible but it's very possible.  Meanwhile I exercise, eat fruits and vegetables and limit alcohol to no more than two glasses of wine a day.  If I get half of it done I'm doing well but nothing ventured, nothing gained.  I am a writer and artist.  I plan to write and create art.  The rest will follow.  Happy New Year, everyone!