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By Purdy, Director of Publicity

Michael Manner and I were English majors at Plattsburgh State before the days of email, before the days of the fax. Indeed, the modern technology of the time was floppy disk computers, and the CD was quickly replacing the cassette tape. Manner and I have kept in touch through the years and when we are together we often argue and bicker like a married couple about love, fear, greed, envy, lust, hypocrisy, music, cats v. dogs, words et al. I think the only thing we ever seem to agree on is that chocolate milk is the greatest invention ever. But enough about me, Manner is a freelance computer consultant living with his mangy, blind cat in Williamsburg Brooklyn, NY. His love of poetry dates back to when dinosaurs roamed the earth and he first heard the words “ugga bugga” uttered by a passing Neanderthal woman. He’s been writing verse since the Iron Age and one day hopes to be cited in the OED. His fave comic book hero is Batman. Despite all this I think is is a truly talented poet and have asked him to post some poems on this blog. You be his judge.

The Counsel

Not just when I’m alone (all one),
but during sunset on the beach - for instance.

As if the counsel is innate within us all -

avoiding the full appreciation
of perfection’s instant -

is profligate.

A sophisticated regret flows
towards the absence of her hand,
or my arms around her waist,

any waist really,

Because the light,
the sky’s nacred shell, and the mythology of the ocean
and its depths
will be gone in minutes.

And the memory, without having tangible reference, will be as subtle as the ache.

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"... the story just didn't come together in a way I had hoped it would.”

This could sure be more specific. It could mean that your resolution didn't resolve what the editor felt was the real conflict; it could mean that the strong elements of your writing weren't applied evenly in the manuscript. It could mean almost anything.

"Unfortunately, although I enjoyed this I’m afraid it feels a little too familiar. We are publishing a book that is similar called [title] this summer and I’m afraid this isn't quite unique enough for us to publish as aggressively as we’d like.”

This probably means just what it sounds like. Publishers have to try hard to keep their books different enough from each other so that bookbuyers can't say, 'oh, I don't need that book, I have your other book about that.'

"It's a fun idea and I especially enjoyed some of the moments between mc and mc, but I’m afraid it’s not right for our list right now.”

Praising the idea rather than the writing is usually a sign that the writing wasn't something the editor wanted to praise.

"You have sweet faces and a good family unit and theme at the core but at least for me the text still needs to be refined. I like the style and the feeling but not the story at hand."

This is a nice way of saying, "start over."

"Very clever, but not right for us. Good luck!"

This means nothing.

Here's one that puzzles me ... In a couple of cases, I've received several encouraging, complimentary rejections on my picture book manuscripts from one
editor. By the third or so letter, the editor will say sorry we can't publish this and ask if I have "anything longer." I don't.
I do, however, have other picture book manuscripts. Judging from their catalogs, these editors are publishing their share of picture books (and often from new authors). Should I move on to another editor at the same house? Or is that rude when someone has put the time into sending personal rejections? Clearly, these editors are sending me a hint but I'm not sure what to do with it.

There are pros and cons to having a semi-personal relationship with editors. It may get you a pass to send email submissions; it may get you personal rejections. But after a certain number of trys and misses, it's going to mean your submissions are met with rolled eyes and sighing. It's probably time to try another editor.

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further twists on the magic decoder ring:

"Thank you for sending, not quite right for us." But a hand written note that said, "The energy in your writing is fantastic, please do send othermanuscripts our way!"

Was somebody's name on that letter? If not, I'd worry that this is the work on an intern. I personalize my rejections in the actual typewritten part of letters.

The nonfiction manuscript referenced below provides an explanation and discussion of the (very well-known and well-supported) scientific conclusion that the elements in our body, carbon, iron, etc. originated in supernovae. (I've written several books about supernovae.)
Tell me the manuscript is too dry (it isn't). Tell me it might be difficult to illustrate (it might be). Tell me it's not a subject that interests you (that's fair). But don't
tell me it's "too controversial." Trust me. There's no controversy except among the scientific illiterate. Sheesh!

Oh, what bullshit. Shame on that editor.
It's true that certain states have enough hopelessly backwards people that the school bookclubs cannot offer books that talk about evolution, witchcraft, and other things that are no threat to thinking people. And if this editor has that in mind, and worries that your book will have very little audience outside of said bookclubs, that's reasonable. But saying the topic is too controversial implies that there's some legitimacy to the "controversy." Moreover, hasn't she seen Stars Beneath Your Bed: The Surprising Story of Dust?

"As you know, we have a small nonfiction program and our nonfiction tends to be more straightforward than this disguised-as-a-picture-book
style."

I like nonfiction picture books. But if she doesn't, well, ok.

"I was interested to see this.."

This means nothing. Nothing at all.

"Thank you for your query letter. Unfortunately, from your description, we do not think that your book would be a likely prospect for our list." But I didn't send a query letter. I sent a manuscript.

Ah, whoops. Shrug this off; it's the sort of mistake that does happen sometimes in the course of trying to get through as many manuscripts as we have to. I would assume that your manuscript was read, though--you just got the wrong rejection letter.

"I...was impressed with the creativity of your subject, as well as the caliber of your rhymes. The world's seas are fascinating and the lyrical flow of your poetry really helped them come to life." Well, that's nice. But this manuscript had nothing to do with the "world's seas" and "bringing them to life." You'll just have to trust me on that!

Oh dear. That's just mismanagement. Try submitting to other publishers for a couple months, and give this one a chance to "experience a change of staff."

"I don't think there is enough retail potential..."

You've narrowed your audience down to you and your friends.

"This would not translate well into other languages, which limits the markets to which we can sell a book. "

You're doing something too oblique for most of America. But the French aren't going to go for this.

"While I found some humorous moments, I don't feel this manuscript could compete in a crowded market."

Funny only works as a sole hook if it's really funny, and all the way through.

"This manuscript raises ethical issues."
(Said about a humorous manuscript about hybrid animals.)

Aside from the ligers and mules, people are going to look at this book and think "ick!". Others will picket the bookstores that carry it.

"Could you rewrite and get rid of the metaphors?"
I went through the manuscript several times, but couldn't find any metaphors.

Hmm. This is an interesting one. It might be another screw-up, but in my experience there's another possibility: You don't realize that you've put metaphors in your manuscript. I remember talking to a woman at a conference who had a manuscript about a stray dog (which I read in its entirety). I mentioned that books about homelessness were challenging to sell. She was honestly surprised. She'd never considered that her manuscript was about homelessness.

Sometimes authors get so focused on telling their story that they don't realize that the story is developing subtexts--and sometimes those subtexts are ones the author never realized they had in them. When people talk about stories having a life of their own, they're not kidding.

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"slight"

This is code for "where's the hook?"

On a young PB: "I worry that literal-minded kids will find the dancing somewhat irresponsible."

This is code for "parents don't want to spend money on books they think will directly lead to misbehavior."

"Thank you for sending us your picture book manuscript, which I am returning to you now. I like the story, especially the linking between each response to a gift and the next gift. I can imagine it as a picture book for young children. However [name of company] is not the right publisher for this story. Our picture books tend to be much more substantial and aimed at slightly older children. I wish you success in finding the right publisher for this story and hope that you will keep us on your list of potential publishers for future work.
Here's the deal: I had previously sent her a longer picture book manuscript and received the comment, "this is more what we are looking for, however we need some shorter books for our list, ones which parents and teachers can quickly read to the picture book set." ...And that is why I had a bald spot on the side of my head.

Both of these are code for "This isn't close enough to pare down or beef up into what I want. Maybe if I give you just enough information to confuse you, you'll have a psychotic break."

"As you may have noticed, this is a form rejection. While we would like to give personal responses to each submissions, it is not practical for us to do so at this time. Please keep in mind this is not a statement about the quality of your submission. All this says (and we apologize for not being able to offer more) is this: your particular story is not for our particular publication, at this particular time. Good luck placing your work elsewhere! Being an author is more a journey than a destination, and it's important to keep moving forward."

This is code for "I want to be supportive, but my head is too far up my ass to tell which way is up."

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The magic decoder ring of editor speak begins!

I used to write: 'I'm afraid it's not quite right for our current list.' What I meant was: 'It's not good enough for our list. And it never will be.

It's strange and wonderful to think of other editors reading this blog. I've written "it's not right for our list," and yes, most of the time I meant "it's not good enough." But some of the time I really meant "not right for us"--a topic that we didn't publish, or a theme we already had something similar to (but that was in early enough stages that I didn't want to tell the world about it).

Has pacing problems (boring)
Exhaustive (academic/boring)
Somewhat heavy handed (preachy)
Not without charm (too precious)
Nicely written but ultimately unsatisfying (plotless)
Underdeveloped characters (totally stock)
Nice sense of place (is this about anything?)
Not enough tension (mind-numbingly slow)
Feels familiar (not another)
Entertaining (overwritten)
Too special (it won't sell)

Has pacing problems (where did you leave your story arc?)
Exhaustive (not one but multiple kitchen sinks)
Somewhat heavy handed (the obedience school method of storytelling)
Not without charm (this means nothing from an editor's mouth. Seriously.)
Nicely written but ultimately unsatisfying (too much focus on setting/character, not enough on story)
Underdeveloped characters (what characters?)
Nice sense of place (it's nice you're living in the moment. Some of us want a sense of time passage, though)
Not enough tension (the problem is that there's no problem)
Feels familiar (the feeding-of-baby-birds method of storytelling)
Entertaining (you're funny. But when was the last time you heard a standup comic tell a joke that lasted for 32 pages?)
Too special (I haven't a clue what this means. Who would write this? Crazy editors.)

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I can't tell if my rendition of this 1920 something home or the home itself evokes the memory. I never lived there but have been fascinated for as long as i can remember by this stucco home setting as it does today on a hillside. It represents to me a simpler time I would have loved to visit. So my contribution to this week's theme REMEMBER.
Enjoy.

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