The Slush Pile

In non coronavirus related news, I spend all of my free time these days doing tedious things that I hate, such as writing a query letter, searching for agents, and sending pitch letters. I. Fucking. Hate It. It’s basically just waking up every morning and opening your heart up to getting rejected by strangers on the Internet. I know what you’re thinking – that’s what men do for online dating. But, no, no! This is different. This is me, trying to launch a new career. I’m basically doing work, for free, with no guarantee of ever getting paid. I don’t get to go on a dates or hope and pray for the literary equivalent of a hand job. I’m really just starting my day, sending out 20 emails, and knowing that 20 rejections will come back to me over the course of 4-6 weeks.

I tell myself that this is ‘character building’ but I think I already have a lot of character, so why am I doing this to myself. Clearly I’ve succumbed wholly to the delusion that I am the next, great American writer. (Even though, see last post, and what is the point of being American anymore?) Man, I knew I was a masochist, but getting pissed on and choked out during sex is a lot more fun than pouring all this blood, sweat and tears into inevitable rejection. Also, a lot more rewarding.

Anyway, wish me luck, and hopefully in two years I’ll have a physical book that you can thumb through and then not read.

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