You know, it's so funny how his name was niggling at me, then when I put the pieces together, how it all fell into place. I blogged about the GalleyCat incident, but it's no wonder I was drawing a blank on it, since it all happened a couple of days after one of my deadlines and my brain was cottage cheese. Even so, some part of my brain recalled what a dickhead this cat was.

Has he ever been published?

Got rejected by 65 editors and who knows how many agents before deciding to publish his magnum opus on his website as a free download. And... and... if you go by the sheer numbers of downloads, he's a "best seller" in Canada.

I loved his reasoning for it:

"The fact that I've been forced to publish it myself to my mind reveals something seriously fucked up in the publishing biz. How could they let this one slip through their fingers? It's got everything going for it: funny, attractive leads, supernatural demon spawn galore..."

Can't help but wonder what his query letter read like...

Can't help but wonder what his query letter read like...

Dear Sir/Madam:

You're welcome.

-Cliff
enc.

Oh wow. I used to get letters from people like that.

"Dear Editor:

[Blah blah introductioncakes.]

This novel is a can't-miss bestseller! We're going to make pots of money together! I can't wait to speak to you so we can start making plans!

All best,

Pompous, Arrogant, Completely Deluded Author"

We passed those letters around the office for laughs. ::nods::

I never know what to say in those letters. But it's never been that, I hope.

I got one once attached to absolutely terrible prose. It read as if the author had been writing with a thesaurus and a dictionary at his elbow, with the intention to stuff at least three extra words in where one would do. I told him thanks but no thanks, he demanded to know why. I told him it was faux literary, disjointed, and overwritten. He told me that was what editors were for, to use the mighty red pen to tease out the gold, questioned my parentage, morals, and work ethic, and lumped me with all of those other editors who couldn't be bothered to accept something that wasn't popular hackery.

Then he wrote three days later and apologized and said he hoped I would read his next submission. I said I would but have never heard from him again.

My former agent once had a guy query/submit to her with his proposal in the BODY of the email. About a hundred pages' worth. Mentioned in the query that it was his first novel, coming in at 800 pages, and essentially, that it was the Great American Novel.

When she rejected him-- a very nice, personal rejection, he wrote back that he hoped she tripped in an intersection and broke both her legs.

You say, briefly and to the point:

I'm writing to submit my novel, TITLE, for consideration. The story of a girl who wears tiaras 24/7 and tackles serial comma abuse with a sword, TITLE explores the search for identity in a world that cares too little about the issues of cilantro, hoyay, and the many meanings of Buffy's leather pants.

I've enclosed a synopsis and the first three chapters for your consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Best,

Your Name Here

And you never send the full manuscript unless it's been requested, and you don't even send the partial unless you know that the editor you've addresses accepts unsolicited queries.

That's about it, really. (Unless, say, you're a bestselling author already, in which case the editor will probably know it.)

Nonfiction is different, because editors want a platform they can use -- if you're writing about cilantro, they want to know if you have a degree in cilantro, or work for Cilantro Central!, or if you have a website/blog (and lots of cilantro-friendly readers, for that matter).

I do some editing work for a disability arts journal sometimes and we had a serial submitter like that. Whom I almost started a kerfuffle with by saying straight out that he is crazy and shouldn't write his name without being supervised. My editor caught it, but that would have been one rude thing I've done that I wouldn't regret, even a little bit. After reading the same dumb essay about the spleen six times what would you do?

When she rejected him-- a very nice, personal rejection, he wrote back that he hoped she tripped in an intersection and broke both her legs.

Ultimately, this is my problem with the capital-W-Writers. Why on earth would they imagine that people want to hear stories from people with so very little clue about how humanity works?