Badass on submission

Or: how not to despair, maybe

Dear friends,

Please pardon the crassness of this issue’s title. There’s a reason for it.

I've been in a writing group, The Salt and Radish Writers, since 2008. For years in the Before Times we met at the same restaurant every two weeks. At first I had a very young child, and these evenings out were a reprieve from motherhood and domesticity, a chance to eat delicious food I did not cook, a dose of friendship, and a literary infusion all at once. I held them sacred. We took our time over our food and drinks, and eventually whipped out the manuscript we were discussing, and launched into our critique, papers strewn across the table.

One day our server lingered after taking our dessert order.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but what are you doing?" she asked.

"We are discussing our books."

Her eyes widened. One of us was quick to explain.

"Well, our manuscripts. None of us are published."

"Oh wow! You're authors?"

The look of admiration on her face was unmistakable. We didn't deserve it. We squirmed.

"No. We don't have books out yet. We're just writers."

And she stared at us and shook her head. "Well, so what? You're still badass!"

And we all laughed and concurred. We are badass. (It was particularly funny to me because I was writing literary historical fiction set in 16th century India, and the word "badass" was just so far from any of the words I was using in connection with my writing.)

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

I try to remind myself of that often. Sometimes it's easier than others.

About ten days ago my agent sent my manuscript—my second book, the one I worked on for years and years and that some of you may be wondering if it really exists—on submission to a slew of editors at publishing houses. This is a part of the process that most people who aren't writers themselves usually don't know about. The agonizing wait as one hopes that some editor somewhere will fall in love with one's book AND manage to convince the house's whole editorial team AND publicity team that this is a book that not only SHOULD be published, but that they WILL publish. That's at least four levels of IF. Such a tiny percentage of manuscripts even make it to this stage of having a chance at those IFs. (For those of you currently in the throes of waiting for college acceptances for your kids, you'll recognize a bit of the feeling here, except that for the most part you know you will hear back by April 1. Or some specific date.)

As I requested, maybe because I'm a glutton for punishment but mostly because for me the not-knowing is worse than the knowing, my agent is forwarding me the comments from the editors who have chosen to "pass" on the manuscript. (This is a euphemism for "rejected." Like “passed away” instead of died. As if they just waved a soft hand over the manuscript and it drifted peacefully away.) The good thing? They all start with a paragraph of praise. Which gives me hope that at least one of the many editors who still have the manuscript in hand will fall in love with the whole thing. But what a process!

"The novel was so well-written and well-researched; the time period truly breathes on each page. Etienne is endearing, and his predicament feels unusual and yet universal at the same time."

"I found the history behind the story fascinating. I know so little about the years India was under British rule and influence, and Anjuli (sic) Mitter Duva's novel made me want to know more. I like the way she presented the history as being complex and nuanced without doing the obvious thing of making one side seem good and the other evil. And I knew nothing about kothas and their traditions, and I found that aspect of the story also really intriguing."

"Thanks for sending BETWEEN LIGHT AND EARTH! I really responded to the way Anjali Mitter Duva conjures the tensions animating this pivotal moment in Indian history, and I loved that the novel focuses so intently on the social, religious, cultural and political differences thriving in India in the 1850s before British colonial power reached its zenith. Etienne’s grief, conflicted sense of identity, and uncertainty about the future of his family and his country really moved me—I’m glad to have read."

And then, the dreaded "But I'm going to have to pass."

Photo by Adam Birkett on Unsplash

It's all subjective, of course. Not everyone is going to love this book. Not everyone will have an editorial vision for it. But with all those I-love-this-and-I-love-thats about it, what happened to an editor taking on a project that they feel is almost there, and working with the author? I'm ready to work with an editor! I'm friendly. I listen. I'm collaborative. Really I am.

A 12 year old in my midst, themself an avid writer, when hearing of this situation, expressed their outrage like so: "What? Isn't it their job to edit? That's like calling a plumber to fix a toilet and the plumber says oh, that's a beautiful toilet, what a great color, and such a comfortable seat, but I'm going to have to pass (I’m going to have to PASS—hee hee!) because the handle is leaking." That did get a laugh out of me.

Photo by Lāsma Artmane on Unsplash

I get it. Editors are overwhelmed and underpaid. There's a huge backlog of manuscripts. There are assumptions about what "the market" wants—that's you, readers—and the financial bottom line (BOTTOM line—see what I did there?) of the publisher to consider. But still. It smarts. Because I know my book is good, and I know many readers will enjoy it.

(Some of you, the "market," kindly filled out the Galiot Press reader habit survey, and we'll be sharing some of those results over on the Galiot Substack shortly.)

So what to do? Well, as you know, one thing to do is to take matters into my own hands and start a publishing company. (You can here me talk about that here.) The other is to, well, keep writing. Which sometimes seems like insanity.

A dear friend recently sent four chapters to her editor, four chapters of a book she loves and is excited about, and couldn't wait for her editor to say YES to. And then the editor said no. She said it was too dark. (It's not dark! It's charming! Humorous! What is wrong with her?) She said she was not interested, it wouldn't further my friend's career. My friend, an excellent writer, briefly wondered if she should give up.  (Thankfully that’s not what she’s doing.)

This stuff is hard. So if you know some writers, check in with them sometimes, and let them know you think they are badass, whether their work has been published or not.

And now I'm going to take out my drum pad and sticks for a few minutes and find relief in being such a novice that I have zero expectations for myself.