How Not to Communicate with Publishers

How Not to Communicate with Publishers

In my time I’ve done a lot of writing courses and gone to a lot of writing seminars/festivals/workshops. I’m not just saying that to brag, I’m going somewhere with this. Because of this extensive training I have become a bit of an expert on what publishers don’t want. Me, would be a simple yet hilarious answer, and however crushingly truthful it might be, it would not help any of you good folk. So below I have collected all the insights I have had revealed unto me by publishing house reps and published authors alike.

How Not to Approach a Publishing House Representative

1. NO GLITTER! Don’t put it in envelopes, don’t glitter bomb them in passing, don’t offer them glitter lip gloss. These people fucking hate glitter. No surprise really, glitter is the herpes of the craft world. I have three kids and I can tell you, that once you get that stuff on you then you may very well never get rid of it. I have probably accidentally glitter bombed countless people because I can never guarantee that my hands are glitter free. If you want to get published do not come into contact with young children or parents of young children, they are riddled with glitter.
2. In addition to the whole no glitter thing, I would suggest that strip-o-grams, fat-o-grams, kiss-o-grams, or indeed any kind of o-grams are well out. I’ve never heard publishers despair at length over them as they do over craft herpes, but I suspect they wouldn’t like them much either.
3. Do not write – “Well, well, well, as if this isn’t your lucky day. I’m about to give you Dan Brown mixed with J. K. Rowling with a side of Stephen King and a spicy E. L. James sauce drizzled over the top. If you pass on this little puppy I’ve got in my hot little hands you will literally kill yourself. That’s a scary thought, but you will. That’s how good this script is.”
4. Do not say – “Yo, bitch, stop being such a lefty, leso, femmo, right winged, Nazi, bitch and read my script. You might not like it because you’re such an uptight frigid slut, but other people will love it. Then we can roll about in a hot tub full of money together. Call me, you’ll thank me for it later.”

How Not to Deal with Rejection

1. Do not say – “Fuck you, fuck your sales team, fuck the marketing department, and fuck the work experience kid. Seriously, fuck you all. I hope you get sent a chain status update on Facebook that you get cancer if you don’t pass on.”
2. Do not email – “You are an idiot. I am going to be the biggest thing ever and you have missed out. I’m going to make J .K. Rowling look like a destitute hooker begging for favours in Gateshead, and you’re going to miss out. Suck on it losers.”
3. Do not voice message – “I never liked you anyway, so get lost. You smell like a butt.”
4. Do not write – “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I got rejected by even you. You’re like the arse end of publishing. I only submitted to you because I’ve been rejected more times than Danny DeVito at a sex party. If I can’t get anywhere with you I may as well load a shotgun with deep fried chicken and shoot it directly into my mouth.”

Suggestions on How to Deal with Publishers

1. Oh, I don’t know, maybe treat them like they’re hard working individuals, with a busy job, and respect their privacy. Don’t try to corner them in the bathroom/elevator/shower.
2. Submit your manuscript using the submission guidelines provided on the Publishing Companies Website. If they ask for a 200-300 word synopsis, give them one that is 200-300 words. If they ask for the first three chapters, give them the first three chapters… If they ask for glitter give it to them, if they haven’t just leave it at home.
3. Make sure you edit your work before sending it. As much as everybody loves a good mystery and discovering the exact meaning of your manuscript because not one word is spelt correctly, and the tense is constantly shifting, does seem fun, publishers are busy people so maybe just keep it simple.
4. Deal with rejection with some dignity. By that I mean, cry, eat a lot of cake, bitch about it to your friends, and then send a polite “thank you for your rejection” letter.

I hope that helps. Cost me many, many, lots of dollars to learn this. Don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you. Me, eradicating craft herpes from the publishing world will be thanks enough.

Literary Refugees: the Speculative Fiction Haven

Recently I was at a writing course and one of my fellow students told a sad tale of how she loved writing and had chosen to do a Creative Writing degree only to find that her tutors were rejecting her work simply because it was Speculative Fiction and they preferred Literary Fiction. She was seriously losing her confidence and her passion. As a teacher I found this devastating that teachers, tutors, lecturers, professors could have such a negative effect on someone’s hopes and dreams. What was worse, the person who had traumatised this girl was actually an ex collegue of mine. The horror, the horror. I in part felt personally responsible, because it wasn’t just some random person demeaning the genre but someone I had quite enjoyed having cups of tea with. And so I decided that I could not sit idly by. I decided that in personally must take action. With this motivation I decided to start the Literary Refugee group on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/556083947785347/) and I roped my friend Cassandra Page in with me. I had met her at A Touch of Magic by Kate Forsyth at the New South Wales Writers’ Centre. This group is to be a place where you can proudly declare that you want to write about wizards and or aliens. You can say you don’t just appreciate fairy tales but you love them, you can say magic happens, you can say the future is the best setting. Heck you can say and do whatever you like and I hope you find solace with like-minded people. Speculative Fiction writers, you are loved, you are adored, I am you. You have a home! I hope you join me.

So, here’s my pitch. Have you suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous literary bigotry? Have you, like Terry Pratchett discovered that stories of imagination tend to upset those without one? Are you fleeing literary persecution from dusty old academics (some in young bodies) who think Speculative Fiction is best left in a cupboard, locked up and unexplored? Then take refuge here, a place that appreciates and upholds Tolkien’s three gifts of escapism, consolation and recovery. Where you can proudly declare that you want to write about a magical talking horse, or a skink like alien that lives in a sulphur rich environment and be supported, encouraged and celebrated. As Tina Fey says, I don’t care if you don’t like me, I’ll start my own group, isolation is what created the X-Men… or something like that. It is time to get your Speculative Fiction on! Join Literary Refugees at https://www.facebook.com/groups/556083947785347/

For those wondering what course was I at, it was History, Mystery and Magic, run by Kate Forsyth at the Australian Writers’ Centre. She’s an unbelievable teacher as well as having published over 25 books. I personally recommend her courses to anyone.

Chloe Prime: Alien Space Vet

Chapter One: The Night Before the Day After

BANG!

Chloe Prime poked her head out above her blankets and eyed her wardrobe suspiciously. Had it just made a noise? She watched and waited for a few minutes. Nothing. Perhaps it had all just been in her imagination. A flight of fancy? She nestled back under her covers.

BANG!

Chloe quickly pulled her covers down again and glared at her wardrobe. Honestly, this was just getting ridiculous. She had to get a goodnight sleep for her first day at her new school tomorrow. This just would not do.

BANG!

Chloe vaulted out of bed and stood in front of her wardrobe in a fighting stance. Her hair reared out from her head in crazy curls, ready for action. Her legs were encased in a metallic exoskeleton, which made her look every bit like a miniature cyborg, with medusa hair, at the ready. If there was a monster in that wardrobe she was going to have at it.

‘I came here for a bedtime story and to kick butt,’ ten year old Chloe challenged her empty cupboard, ‘and I already finished my story.’

Whoosh!

Kent Prime came running into his daughter’s room closely followed by her mother. Chloe turned to see her father staring at her in shock.

‘Monsters, Dad,’ Chloe quickly informed her father. ‘In the cupboard. I’ve got them pinned.’

Kent Prime attempted to move further into Chloe’s room.

‘Get back!’ Chloe yelled. ‘It’s too dangerous! Save Mum.’

Chloe’s father laughed and closed the gap between them, scooping up his daughter.

‘There are no monsters here Little Miss Lady.’

‘Are you nervous about school tomorrow?’ Chloe’s mother asked.

‘What?’ Chloe snorted in surprise. ‘I’m excited about school. I just happen to have a rather serious monster problem to deal with.’

‘I’ll deal with any monsters,’ Chloe’s father said. ‘You just go to bed. Besides you know that they’re more scared of you than you are of them.’

‘But Dad, what if there are ghosts, or fairies… or I heard that sometimes little time travelling pirates come breaking down your…’ Chloe began.

‘No buts, no brownies, no bandits! You need your rest if you’re going to be on the school shuttle on time tomorrow morning,’ Kent Prime tutted his daughter. ‘Besides you know all our wardrobes are double coated with Kevlarized Graphene. Nothing is getting through.’

‘But what about bears? You know… sort of hiding in the cupboard rather than coming through it?’ Chloe was grasping at straws by this stage. She knew she would never win this argument, and she was getting quite tired anyway. Her mother kissed her goodnight.

‘Don’t you worry about any bears, Sweetie,’ Mum said, as she walked out of the room. ‘I’m sure you can just talk your way out of trouble without fighting.’

Chloe shrugged doubtfully but cuddled up to her teddy Sinbad and began dozing off with images of swashbuckling bears, whispering to fairy ghosts, in her head.

TAP TAP TAP

At this point Chloe leapt out of her bed and flung her cupboard open.

SQUEAK!

‘You! What are you doing in there? You know you’re not supposed to come inside.’

Squeak squeak squeak?

‘Oh alright. I’ll see if I can sneak into the kitchen and find you something but then you really must go outside.’

Squeak.

‘Yes, I know mice don’t really love cheese.’

Squeak squeak?

‘No you can’t come. Mum will freak if she sees a mouse in the kitchen.’