Rejection Letters, Curtis Stone and the Dangers of Satellite Radio

Rejection Letters, Hot Australian Chefs and Commercial Free Radio.

What do they have in common ? Nothing. Except that apparently each one of them is in my life for good.

Let's break them down one item at a time.

#1. THE LETTER: A rejection letter is the steaming turd on every hopeful writer's doorstep.

Yesterday I was riding high on the four outstanding fulls/three partials of SUMMER ON THE SHORT BUS, when I received notification that I had a new email. An email sent to my writing only email address! WAHOO! I clicked on the message, doing my best to ignore my inner pessimist Marge who says, "it's another rejection, stupid!" and eagerly await for what is bound to be another agent ready to represent me.

And then it happens...

My throat thickens, my shoulders sag to my elbows and I unknowingly mutter a curse word under my breath.

"Dear Author, please forgive the impersonal nature of this email..."

Ugh! Sigh. DRAT!

As if throwing a rejection turd in my face isn't bad enough, now you can't even call me by name when you do it? Is there no intern in your bustling, boutique agency who can be tasked with the job of inserting BETHANY into this email?

I know, I know, relax RookieRiter. Rejection is part of life. I get it. I understand that preferences in this business are as varied as Kirstie Allie's Crispy Kreme order, and that it only takes one "yes" to make it happen, but it doesn't make the initial sting any less painful.

I'm feeling sort of depressed now, so let's move on.

#2: CURTIS STONE:We were first introduced to Curtis as an occasional guest chef on The Biggest Loser, then got to know him much better during his stint on Celebrity Apprentice. Curtis is impossibly attractive, comfortably arrogant, and has that sexy, down-under accent that makes grown women rip off their undies and throw them on stage. (Okay...maybe not in a kitchen setting, but I'd totally rip my apron strings for him). Lately I've been enjoying him on the new NBC reality show, AMERICA'S NEXT GREAT RESTAURANT, but this morning, while watching last night's TOP CHEF finale, learned that he's going to be the host of the new season TOP CHEF MASTERS--yum, yum, more Curtis for me!

So, if you aren't familiar with Curtis beyond this blog, just tune into NBC, or any of their affiliates, because it seems this Aussie is here to stay and he's taking over America one high-definition flat screen at a time!

And finally,

#3: Satellite Radio

When I bought my first, brand new car three years ago, I assumed the one-year, free subscription to Sirius radio that came along with my new car payment would be little more than a novelty. Perhaps some light comedy while running errands on a busy weekend--some Sinatra for a rainy day. Yeah, right! I'm hooked like a street corner junkie, and yesterday I hit rock bottom.

I was tuned into the all 90's channel. Not the alternative 90's channel I usually listen to, but the top 40 type station. The variety is good--Aerosmith, U2, Stone Temple Pilots, Depeche Mode--it's the Souplantation of music for those of us who graduated high school in the 90's. Anyway, one minute I'm singing along to that Sugar Ray song, "I just wanna fly," looking like a regular schmo navigating the congested San Diego freeway system, and the next I'm bustin' moves like the very Anglo-Dutch/German girl I am. The very moment "Ice, Ice, Baby," pumped through the Bose speakers I knew I'd reached a very low, sad place in my life.

Driving with the windows down, sunroof open, and enough blond hair to cover a small village, earns me more attention on my daily commute than I care to discuss--add some white girl rhythm and the memories of Andy Wulgemuth's keg party my junior year to the mix and you've got a recipe for disaster--or at the very least, a life-long subscriber to satellite radio.

Like them or not, these things are in my life for the long-haul. I guess I should just embrace them and move on. I believe I'll start with Curtis...

Christmas in March

Ho, ho, ho. Santa's coming early this year!

Had you told me two years ago I would be obsessed with a fictitious world where a gang of sexy, tormented vampires protect the streets from white-haired, baby-powder smelling Lessers so the rest of the vampire world could live in harmony, I'd have told you to put down your crack pipe and stop smoking! But I can't do that because I am obsessed. I am, dammit! I AM OBSESSED! (insert diabolical laugh and raised brow now).

Mark my words: Tuesday, March 29, 2011, sick day records will be shattered throughout the workplace. This is going to be bigger than Swine Flu, H1N1 and SARS combined. 25-45 year old women across the country will be couching it with "headaches" and "upset tummy's" next Tuesday--all because we can't wait to see what the Brotherhood is up to this time.

Am I pathetic? Yeah.

Am I addicted? Definitely.

Is this why we read? TOTALLY!

Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself:

www.jrward.com

Womack Woes...

I'm not sure who is more upset this morning; Brad for choosing a girl who so clearly doesn't want him, or yours truly for getting suckered into watching another season of that damn show. And now we find out that Ashley, the soon-to-be dentist with the gigantic forehead, is the next Bachelorette?! ARGH--what's a viewer to do?

(watch, of course)

The waiting room

The doctor's office.
The car dealership.
Your email inbox.

Wherever you are, waiting sucks.

Whether it's the outdated magazines, stale coffee, downed server or the demon possessed three-year-old whose parents think spanking is a felony, nothing makes waiting easier.

Or does it?

I've been chatting it up with some new friends over at QueryTracker and I have to say, I love knowing that I'm not alone in this venture to find an agent. I mean, who wouldn't want to know that fourteen other hopefuls were rejected by the same agent? And who doesn't enjoy vying for the fastest rejection time? (4 minutes was mine, but I don't think I hold the record).

The bottom line is, the old adage is true: MISERY LOVES COMPANY
While I may not be able to take a buddy with me to my next root canal appointment, you better believe I'll be hanging with my QT friends in the waiting room over there. If I've gotta go through this painful, exhausting, worth-every-second of it journey, I'd rather go through it with people who know exactly how I'm feeling.

So if you're trying to get published (I have 2 readers...this is a funny suggestion) go check out QueryTracker.com--there is safety in numbers people!

CHEERS TO THAT!

I could easily think of a thousand reasons why the consumption of an adult beverage is a necessity. However, I have lots to do (like finish the first season of MAD MEN) so I won't bore you with overkill. Instead, I've compiled a list for your reference:

1. Holidays. (No explanation necessary)

2. Rejections. Particularly when someone says your manuscript is "cliche". (Thanks for reading beyond the first 30 pages!)

3. Children. (See #1)

4. Brad Womack is the new Bachelor. Again.
5. You couldn't say "no" to that slice of leftover birthday cake and now your jeans feel tight.

6. Cramps.
7. Waiting for J.R. Ward's latest installment of the Brotherhood.
8. Atheists.
9. Joy Behar.
10. It's there.

VIRTUE OR PAIN IN THE A*S?

Patience has never been my thing.


Case in point: the ceramic angel I painted when I was about seven...

After a trip to LeeWards (Denver's version of Michael's in 1982) my older sisters and I stationed ourselves around the ping pong table in the basement and set to work painting our ceramic masterpieces. I remember taking the brush in my hand, and eyeing the beautiful array of colors...my angel was going to be stunning! I'd make her look just like the angel on the box; with long, blonde hair, shimmering blue eyes, and even a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. I'd take my time and do it just the way I wanted...

Two minutes later she was complete. And she looked nothing like the angel I'd imagined in my head. Disappointed, I ran to my mom to ask her what I could work on now that I'd finished the angel. She said, "Paint it again." So I did. About twenty-seven more times.

I'm pretty sure I saw that angel strapped to the hood of a Miata at the gay pride parade last year.

And so now I ask this question: Is Patience really a virtue, or is it just a royal pain in the ass that you're either born with or not?

Time to call the professionals...

Up until this point, the responses I've received from agents have fallen into the following four categories:

1. Form Rejection: "Dear Author, I'm sure your book is good, but I am too busy to care..."
2. Polite, Personal Rejection: "Dear Bethany, thank you for your submission. It is not what I'm looking for..."
3. Encouraging, Personal Rejection: "Dear Bethany, what a great concept. Unfortunately I'm not currently in the market for chick-lit..."
and finally,
4. Encouraging, Give Me More: "Dear Bethany, You've nailed Peggy's voice--it's fresh, charming, and lively--and the title is superb..."

AND THEN LAST WEEK I RECEIVED THIS:
"Dear Bethany, Thanks for your submission. While your subject and writing interest me, as I began to read I found your manuscript filled with punctuation errors, which were distracting and detract from its professionalism. I'd suggest having your manuscript professionally edited before resubmitting it."

OUCH, STOP! THAT HURTS!!!
After my ego stopped bleeding, I took a look at the email with a little more diplomacy. First, she said "your subject and writing interest me". That's much better than, "this sounds stupid and you write like a left-handed preschooler." Secondly she said, "before resubmitting". Now it may be a stretch, but it sounds to me like she's offering me an opportunity to make it better and let her take a look at it again. That too, is a good thing.

So now I'm left with the question...DO I GET AN EDITOR?

I was well in the thick of mulling over the question of the day, when low and behold I received this email from another agent: "Dear Bethany:We are interested in reading your manuscript. Could you please send it as an MS Word attachment? Thank you."

It took me all of about nine seconds, and multiple confirming emails from my friends/family, to say, "YES. I NEED AN EDITOR." And that's exactly what I've done. I've gone and hired myself an editor. While part of me is anxious that it's officially been one week since the agent above requested the full manuscript and I've not sent it to her, I am confident that holding it for 2 weeks, so it can be in its most polished condition, is a much better decision then sending her something not entirely complete.

Of course, I wish I could go back and send Robyn, the first agent who requested my material, the revised manuscript (and I may do that if I don't hear from her before the revision is complete), but I think this is a wise decision on my part. After Jenni the editor works her magic, I will feel absolutely confident that what I am sending out is in its most perfect condition.

Here's to letting the professionals do their thing.
(And the agent who's tough words actually motivated me to make my book better)

Side note: I thanked that editor and asked if I could resubmit after revision. Her response: "Of course. I'd be happy to see it."