(Image by Alexander Grey, via Unsplash)
Some while ago, I wrote a funny little piece about the uniquely inert literary genre of the rejection letter. I’ll copy it here.
Thank you so much for querying our agency and for giving me the opportunity to review your manuscript. After reading your letter I’m afraid I just wasn’t hooked enough to want to ask for more. But this is a highly subjective business and another agent might feel differently.
•••
As an agent with an established list, I’m very selective about requesting more material at this time. For that reason, I’ll need to pass on your manuscript. I wish you all the best of luck with your future queries.
•••
Publishing is a long game, keep writing and persevering. I wish you nothing but the greatest success. Best of luck and success in finding the perfect advocate for your work.
•••
Thank you so much for your submission. I received 68 of them before lunch today, and literally have to clear them with a wheelbarrow before I can get back to work. Ugh! Best of luck!
•••
Our agency is migrating to a new submittals portal, and I have to clear the cache in the old one before the changeover can be completed. So thank you for your submission of February 2014. No.
•••
Don’t you read my blog? I HATE writers! Maybe someone wants your needy, misshapen beast, but it isn’t me. I wish you success as you move forward with blah blah blah whatever.
•••
I’m sure that we did meet at Bread Loaf last summer, but I only went in order to try to poach Lauren (Gravy Train) Groff from her current agent. The rest of you were pretty indistinguishable, and she wouldn’t budge. Wasted trip.
•••
Regardless of what my bio says on our agency website, I’m not currently accepting new clients. Yeah, that’s it…
•••
Although your proposed novel is indeed very close to the request I’d posted on Manuscript WishList (“How about a work of literary fiction set at an elephant rescue park in Thailand, through the eyes of the people trying change the treatment of animals?”), your manuscript isn’t the way I’d do it. #MSWL #notquitewhatImeant
•••
I have to go in for a dental hygiene appointment this afternoon, and I’m kind of freaking about it, so I’m afraid that I couldn’t give your manuscript the attention it no doubt deserves.
•••
Swipe left.
•••
Do you seriously not understand how hard my job is? And you bring me this?
•••
I have reviewed your first pages, and I’m very eager to read the entirety of your manuscript… psych!!
•••
Although your proposal is indeed interesting, a quick Google Image search has shown that you are not nearly photogenic enough to be a contemporary author. Your work seems better suited to a prior era, one that existed before author photos and Instagram. Another agent may, of course, feel differently, but it’s doubtful.
•••
As I’m sure you know, roughly three-quarters of literary fiction sells two thousand or fewer copies. And fifteen percent of nothing remains, alas, nothing. My daughter’s riding lessons lead me to require something with greater market potential. I would, however, encourage you to purchase at full list price one of the numerous books published by the authors that I do represent.
•••
It’s not you, it’s me.
•••
I’ve decided to become monogamous, and to focus my attentions on a single client. Karl-Ove and I have been very happy together.
And in an unintended irony, I received the following from The New Yorker today in response to that piece:
Dear Submitter, We’re sorry to say that your piece wasn’t right for us. Thank you for allowing us to consider your work.
These are Q-Tip letters, the single idea NO wrapped in a little ball of protective cotton. I swear that agents and editors and HR offices all go to the same weekend workshop to learn how to say nothing whatsoever. (Probably get continuing education credits, too.)
Don’t pretend. Don’t be passive-aggressive. Just say no.
Herb Childress 