Now that my agent hopes have been dashed, smashed and trashed once again, I have decided to approach the one publisher who actually publishes work not dissimiliar to mine and who accepts unagented queries. Why haven't I done this before? Good question. This publisher has always been the ace up my sleeve, a kind of holding in reserve in case all else failed, and now, I think, with the rejections nearing 50, that all else has failed. Quite frankly, it will be terribly depressing to keep going until I have a 115 rejections. Besides, I only have so much filing space.
Now said publishing company will receive a new query written directly to them, not just a first sentence or two , but the entire query. I am also going to do a new synopsis. The first three chapters will have to hold their own. Maybe they will be tempting enough. Can't do anything about that.
I still have a few queries out, but they are all to uber agents who probably won't respond. It's been over 2 months for most of them. The rudeness/incompetence of this business is unmatched by any other. The customer is not king, but dreck, with the standard response of "sorry to treat you like dreck, but yada yada."
I have a colleague with a track record whose recent book was turned down about every publisher. Finally she placed it with a minor publisher, and it has received starred reviews from everyone. I have the hunch that the people who publish fiction have become like the movie industry, throwing expensive darts at the board while waving a rubber chicken at it. And dancing 3 times in a circle.
They should have deserted Shelter Island and gone out to the playa for the weekend to release the brain cells that respond to creativity. Where? Burning Man of Course. The New York Times has fantastic photos.
Follow this link. It's better than the yellow brick road.