The other night, my youngest daughter, aged 2 years 11 months, woke up in the middle of the night and called me. "Dad! Daaaaaaaaaaad!"

Her waking up in the middle of the night and calling me is not an unusual occurrence. But on this occasion the reason was. In fact, it was a never-before-used reason. She wanted to make a wee in the toilet.

Younger daughter was out of daytime nappies much earlier than older daughter. In fact, dare I say, she was positively precocious about it. But she still wears them at night. Normally what I would expect to happen around nighttime weaning is she will indicate, in her own subtle way (for example by having a screaming fit that the neighbours down the road can hear), that she wants to start sleeping without a nappy. Then we will put a potty next to her bed and explain that when she wants to wee she should get out of bed and do it in the potty, and after a month or so of us waking up twice a night to change her wet sheets, she will get the hang of it.

But no, not our daughter. On the evidence of the other night, she is going to skip the potty stage and go straight to the "please leave a light on in the bathroom so I can go to the toilet in the middle of the night" stage. Oh my wonderful, advanced daughter, who is going to save us so much money now that we don't have to buy nappies anymore. Oh my brilliant genius daughter, who is going to do her bit for the environment by no longer contributing to the stinky undecomposable heaps of nappies in seventeen hundred billion landfills. Oh my pride and joy of a daughter, who is going to get not one or two but as many stickers on her star chart as she likes.

Anyway, she sat on the loo for a few minutes but there was no wee, so the nappy went back on and we both went back to bed. 

 

What is WAB, you ask?

WAB is an acronym.

What is an acronym, you ask?

An acronym, according to my big, beloved Penguin dictionary, which my beloved sisters gave me for my birthday one year, at my request, which is only something a writer geek would do, is: "a word formed from the initial letters of other words". You know, like AIDS. Or MILF. Or NARFY (although I've always wondered about the spelling of that one, because it's not strictly accurate. I mean where does the "R" come from? And where's the A from "fuck All"? Come to think of it, shouldn't there strictly speaking be a T in MILF? It should be MILTF. Which doesn't roll as nicely off the tongue. But if you're an acronym purist, that's what it should be. I'm not sure if ANC is a real acronym, because it's not really a word, even though it's formed from the initial letters of other words. The ANC is a lot of things these days, but acronym is probably not one of them. I don't think DNA (National Dyslexic Association) is an acronym either, for the same reason.

But back to WAB, which is Work Avoidance Behaviour, which is what I am engaging in right now. It is 10:30 in the morning. I got into the office just after 9. I have a job I have to get out by tomorrow. But so far I have checked emails, deleted emails (which is something I like to do from time to time, so that I only have 499 mails in my inbox, instead of 506), made coffee, read the news, and read several other blogs. I also, before writing this, checked my site traffic and saw that 4 people visited my site yesterday, although I think 3 of them were me.

WAB isn't all bad, though. I read some funny things while engaging in my WAB this morning. Right now, you too can have several very good (and short) reads at this blog: http://middlegoat.blogspot.com/

Then, after I read that, I got an email which had a link, which I will give you soon. But first I want to talk about advertising. Which, even though it supports me and my family, I often dislike. But sometimes do quite like it. I like it most when it unwittingly gives the world something it did not intend to. For example, I do not think Diesel thought they would be giving people like me such a happy feeling inside when they produced their ad. Or at least, not in the way they thought they would.

Now here is the link for you to enjoy: http://www.illegaladvertising.com/post/5387171174/fuck-everything-about-them 

I have Jono to thank for it. Thank you Jono. I promise you'll still get your copy tomorrow. I'm going to get to it now. Ish.

It's been recommended to me by two people not to accept the contribution-based offers I've received and am tempted by. Two people who know more about the publishing industry than me. I know this about them because they are both published writers.

The rationale contradicts and nullifies my motivation for paying someone some money to publish my book, which is: I get one book published, and then I can say I'm a published writer, and then publishers are more open to my writing. Not so, apparently. What will happen is publishers will ask who published me, and I will say "publisher X", and they will know that publisher X asks writers to pay for the publication, and instead of inviting me in for coffee and a chat they will turn their noses up at me and think I am not a serious writer. Which I don't want. Because, as anyone who knows me will testify, I am serious, and I am a writer.

So thanks to published writer friend A and published writer friend B for the kind and generous advice. I appreciate it. Although, of course, it means I now depend entirely on the dozen or so publishers who have not yet responded. Which is not looking good, judging by the many negative responses received thus far. I will, in the meantime, have to find joy in other places and by other means, such as music from the '80s.

Speaking of which, if you recognise the pic above and can tell me which song and band it came from, I will personally give you a signed copy of my book. When it's published, of course.
 

 

Not much to report, really. Just keeping count. Although those are two quite nice "NO" pics I found, don't you think?

 

 

So April brought me four rejection letters. Not good. I mean I guess it's better than no response at all. At least I know where I stand. But i think I now have more rejections than chances left. I am still waiting to hear from about a dozen British publishers. They generally do promise to respond, even if it takes a while. Not like American publishers, who generally say they can take 6 months or longer to respond, and they will only get back to you if they are interested. So you kind of send them stuff as if putting it out into the ether. Then you forget about it, and if anything comes back it's a bonus.

But back to the concrete rejections. It's hard not to feel a little despondent. Now the chances of an offer diminish progressively more rapidly, as each of the few last chances come back negative. I hesitate to type that word - "negative" - because it's not what you're supposed to do. You're supposed to abide by the law of attraction - what you put out there is what comes back. Think positive. Create your reality. Think it into being. Visualise yourself at book signings. That sort of thing. I started out that way. Really. I was pretty confident. Now? Not so much.

On the up side, as you'll see from the title of this post, I did get another offer. My fourth "partnership" or "contribution-based" offer. I'm waiting for them to send the contract which has all the details. I think the amount will be similar to Offer 3, which was about £2100, or about R22 000. Which is much, much more attractive than the first 2 "offers", which wanted contributions of nearly £6000 and £9000. As if. £2000 is actually something I can consider. Take some boodle out of the old home loan. Back myself. I looked into self-publishing here in SA and it would have cost about R30 000 upwards to print 500 to 1000 copies. And I wouldn't have had any marketing or distribution resources. So the offer is actually not that bad.

Problem is the 2 houses that have made affordable offers have had some bad press on the www. They've been called nasty names, and had people bad-mouthing them. Maybe not sticks and stones, but it's not pretty. Hoo boy. What's a writer to do? 
 

I thought that, while sitting around, waiting for rejection letters from publishers, I'd tell you about some other rejections I've had, which pre-date the ones mentioned in this blog by some twenty five years. There would be the same number, though, I'm sure. Yes, at least a dozen. They have nothing to do with books, and everything to do with girls.

You see, high school was not a good time for me as far as girls were concerned. I kissed a few girls between the ages of about 13 and 14, and then there was a lean period. A very, very lean period. Not for want of trying, though. I asked quite a lot of girls out. But quite a lot of them said no. 

I still don't know why. Okay, I had braces, but so did most kids that age. Okay, I had zits. I know that can be a thing. Maybe I danced badly. Maybe it's because I was short. Maybe it was a combination. But I think the reality was I was no John Travolta. Especially John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Man, how cool was he? I wish I could have been half as cool as he. Even a quarter. Even a tenth. I was just too shy. And maybe girls like guys to be a little suave. Suave, I think, would have been better than nice.

There was this one girl, who I still see around from time to time. She tells people that we went to a school dance together. I find this odd, since the truth is that I asked her but she said no. Risking a repetition of the humiliation I felt as a teenager, I managed to build up the courage to confront her with what really happened. She said she was sticking to her story. I said "show me the pictures to prove it".

I wonder why she has a different version of events? Is it guilt on her part? Or does our memory just play tricks on us? Perhaps she genuinely remembers us going to a dance together.

I'm glad to say I've moved on. We get on fine and laugh about it now. But to this day, I lack what Travolta had in Saturday Night Fever. I am still a terrible flirt. By which I mean that I am terrible at flirting, not that I flirt uncontrollably. 

Fortunately, it's not a skill that is required of me much these days, as I am happily married and have two young daughters. Which is probably just as well. What sort of model of suave would I be to a son? 
 

A month of mixed reviews, March was. I got 3 more form letters to say thanks but no thanks. I also got 2 more "partnership publishing" offers. i.e. I "contribute" to the costs.

You may have read a previous post about my first offer. The cost was £5700. The 2nd offer was a little higher - £8600. Gulp. Okay, they want to do it in hardcover. But a hundred thousand ronts is a hundred thousand ronts. The amount did include illustrations, which I don't need, but I can't imagine taking that cost away is going to bring the cost down to affordable levels. Offer 3 has not actually come back with an amount, but the precedents are not good.

Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I have to wonder why the 3 offers I've received have all been contribution based. They have been very complimentary and flattering, but the truth is their offers come with conditions and restraints. Do they say yes to everyone? Is it really a risk-sharing strategy or is it pretty good business? There are a lot of would-be writers out there with egos and money to spend. I have only the former. So I will have to wait until I get a full offer or win the lottery. I wonder which is more likely?

 

About ten or eleven years ago, I wrote a story and entered it into SL magazine's short story competition. To my surprise, it came third. The judge was none other than Mr. JM Coetzee. A tough critic, conservative with his praise and a man of few but well-chosen words, his only comment about this story was that it was "told with some poignancy".

Anyway, an old pal, a great support and the author of far more famous blog than mine suggested I put the story in my own blog. Actually, it's hidden in the writing section of this site, but for your convenience, the story is right here. 

Thank you Cindy.


 

Then again, you do get those rejections that make you feel like maybe your work really isn't that bad.

This publisher said they "publish a lot of educational material and picture books are rarely to be found on our lists. However, we strongly recommend that you take this to a more tradey children’s publisher that focuses on picture books as it has heaps of potential and could be snapped up by them!"

Onward ho, then.

 

February 14th to February 17th were not such good days. I got four rejections in those four days. 

I also discovered what the "form" letter is. And I am by now becoming quite familiar with it.

They all start and end a little differently, but somewhere in the middle of one or two or three short paragraphs, you inevitably see the words "not suitable for our list". They usually thank you for submitting your work and sometimes even use the word "decline", as if they somewhat sheepishly have turned down your very kind offer. I can't be sure, but I think there is a chance these form letters may be euphemisms for "your book sucks".

At the other end of the diplomacy spectrum are the blunter one liners, which have no place for euphemism, and which simply say "we will not be considering your book". 

And somewhere in the middle, you get the euphemism that delivers a body blow gently, one that sort of creeps up on you from behind, like this one: "the market is extremely competitive and we are only taking on books we can be 100% enthusiastic about". Again, I can't be sure, but I think there is a fair chance that what this really means is "your book sucks, a lot."

You put yourself on the line, putting your work out there. Apparently JK Rowling got 19 rejections before she found a publisher. I imagine even she must have had a moment or two of doubt.