Showing posts with label Robert Galbraith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Galbraith. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 10, 2021

EPIC FAIL

 Wed--Kwei

Stephen King’s home in Bangor, Maine (Shutterstock/Nagel Photography)


I'm barely recovering from the trauma of last week, so, for totally selfish reasons designed to help myself feel better, I'm going to quote some favorite rejection letters to world-renowned authors who became the best/richest/most successful writers of all time.

Of course, though, now that I've piqued your curiosity, I must explain my “trauma." After I received my editor's notes on my next novel, LAST SEEN IN LAPAZ, which was originally planned to come out June 22, 2022, the more I read, the more I realized that in its present form, this work is a piece of crap. Horrible continuation errors, timeline issues, waaay too much backstory and not enough investigation, fuzzy characters--I needn't go on. The bottom line is that it's a train wreck/dumpster fire/whichever metaphor you wish to use.

The good news is that I've fixed a little bit of it, the bad news is that it's going to take a while to fix the rest, so much that the pub date will be pushed to early 2023. I am now even more in awe of writers (some of them in this group too) who produce a book or more a year. Do they submit an almost-perfect first draft, challenging Hemingway's declaration that "the first draft of anything is shit?" What's wrong with me, then? Self-critical as I am, I’m still beating myself up, which needs to stop at some point.

Famous rejection letters

On now to those rejection letters. I took sections of the complete letters from Literary Hub, where longer letters are quoted instead of the usual one-liners, some of which are made up.

1. Robert Galbraith

Thank you very much for giving us the opportunity to consider with interest. However, I regret that we have reluctantly come to the conclusion that we could not publish it with commercial success.

2. From Donald A. Wollheim at Ace Books to Stephen King, upon receipt of Carrie:

We are not interested in science fiction which deals with negative utopias. They do not sell.

3. To Gustave Flaubert after showing of Madame Bovary to the managing editor of the Revue de Paris:

You have buried your novel underneath a heap of details which are well done but utterly superfluous; they hide the essentials, and must be removed—an easy task. We shall have it done under our supervision by someone who is experienced and clever; not a word will be added to your manuscript, it will merely be cut down; the job will cost you about a hundred francs, which will be deducted from your cheque, and you will have published something really good, instead of something imperfect and padded.

4. To Marcel Proust, 1912, upon receipt of Swann’s Way:

My dear fellow, I may perhaps be dead from the neck up, but rack my brains as I may I can’t see why a chap should need thirty pages to describe how he turns over in bed. I clutched my head.

(Apparently, Proust sent back a blistering letter)

5. To Ernest Hemingway (he of above quote)

If I may be frank — you certainly are in your prose — I found your efforts to be both tedious and offensive. You really are a man’s man, aren’t you? I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you had penned this entire story locked up at the club, ink in one hand, brandy in the other. Your bombastic, dipsomaniac, where-to-now characters had me reaching for my own glass of brandy.

(He might have been right about the brandy in one hand--or whatever Hemingway drank)

6. To H.G. Wells on The War of the Worlds:

An endless nightmare. I think the verdict would be ‘Oh don’t read that horrid book. 

I have my own memorable rejection, although it was a verbal one by phone call to a UK literary agent after submitting my first novel, WIFE OF THE GODS. He said, “There are two areas in the world no one wants to read about: Africa and Afghanistan.”

Clearly, he had not foreseen two mega best-selling authors called Khaled Hosseini and Alexander McCall Smith. 




Saturday, July 20, 2013

A Debt of Gratitude to Harry's Mom


The one on the left still rules.

I planned on taking the past week off.  Just play with my grandkids, enjoy Mykonos in July, do nothing but chill.  Not to happen. A request from my publisher for a “brief” contribution to its in-house author website on the subject of “Practical Advice on Setting up a Book Tour or Signing,” took up the weekend (check out the photo of two silver-haired MIEers headlining the post).  I’m really not complaining.  After all, it’s the least I could do now that my publisher has agreed to announce that Jeffrey Siger is actually only a pen name. My real name is Jesus Christ.

No disrespect intended, but that’s just about the only name I can conceive of possibly driving J.K. Rowling off the top of worldwide bestseller lists before Christmas.  Unless you’ve been locked up incommunicado in a cave for the past week, if you’re reading this blog you undoubtedly know that Harry Potter’s creator saw her first crime novel, The Cuckoo’s Calling, published in April under the pen name Robert Galbraith. It received terrific reviews (no surprise there) but sold only 500 copies of 1500 shipped until some lawyer for Ms. Rowling (presumably her soon to be ex-lawyer) told the secret to his wife’s best friend (interesting story possibility there, Ms. Rowling) who leaked it on twitter, leading to the grand denouement in The Sunday Times this week.



It is said that Ms. Rowling is very “disappointed” at the behavior of her attorneys who swear there was no promotional motive whatsoever behind the leak and that their client was thoroughly enjoying her anonymity.  Whatever the case, and I tend to believe Ms. Rowling, mystery authors everywhere owe her a distinct debt of gratitude for several reasons. 

First, for letting the world know what it’s truly like for virtually everyone but she to be a mystery writer: Even if you publish a book that reviewers love, selling it to the public is a whole different thing.   Second (though absolutely not the situation with my publisher), for sticking a big moutza (see my post of two weeks ago) in the face of every publisher who, as a matter of routine, blames the book rather than inept or non-existent promotion for underperforming sales.  And, third, for giving many of us the satisfaction of bragging to the world that, for one small moment in time, our book sales actually out performed J.K. Rowling’s!

Which brings me to the point of all this.

I’ve tried to keep it quiet but Edward Snowden has learned that my new book coming out September 3rd, Mykonos After Midnight, is actually the secret life story of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as told to Princess Diana through Shirley MacLaine. And if you don’t believe me just ask my editor, Edgar Allen Poe.  Order now, before the rush.
 
My chance at my book appearing on the same page as J.K. Rowling's.

 Jeff­—Saturday