The long and misleading adventure of The Doors of Time.
First, I want to thank all you interested parties reading this for your patience with me in supplying news about The Doors of Time since I pulled it down. I've been avoiding answering requests and questions about it for so long because I didn't know what I was allowed to say without jeopardising my chances. But, as the whole thing just fell through and I'm once again at square one, I thought it time to tell you what the hell's been happening.
About 21 months ago I decided I was ready to try and get it out there in the world. Question was, how? So I followed the Aerogramme Writer's Studio on FB and picked out every competition and publishing opportunity they mentioned that fit. (I really recommend that site/FB page, if you're looking for publishing opportunities.) I entered every competition, sent it to every publisher that was accepting unsolicited submissions, basically threw it wherever it might get read (after making sure the story having been posted online didn't break their particular rules).
On May 1st 2015 I got an email. Telling me they were happy to announce that my story had been shortlisted for an international book prize in Scotland.
After staring at my laptop screen for about five minutes I promptly freaked the fuck out.
Now, shortlisted meant I was in the top ten of approx. 500 applicants. Which, wow. Was pretty damn amazing. There was an official announcement in various media outlets, and a published pdf with introductions to the authors and containing the first few chapters of each story, available for download on Amazon. (My name is on Amazon! How weird is that?) The top three would then be invited to attend the award ceremony in October.
I did not make the top three.
Disappointing, but still. Being in the top ten of 500 fucking applicants for an international book prize? (And the only one from a country where English is not the main language.) That's a fucking great accomplishment. Go me! Only problem was, there's no book deal unless you're in the top three.
Yeah.
Now, doesn't matter the story was shortlisted for a Very Important Prize, no publisher over here is gonna publish a book written in English. They just don't. I could translate it, then perhaps they'd consider it. I tried to translate it myself and realised 1) it was gonna take for fucking ever because it's 700+ pages and 2) it's really, really hard. Or I'm not very good at it. Either way I was quite at a loss what to do. It was like someone had handed me a huge ice cream but first tied my hands so I couldn't grab and stuff it in my face, like I wanted to. Or, you know, every time I walk into a bakery (Fuck you, celiac). Suffice to say, there was a lot of pouting.
But then I got an email from a publishing agent in one of the oldest and biggest companies in England. Oh my God! She had seen the shortlist, she loved Icelandic literature, she would love to read my story and, if she liked it, represent me. I freaked out again, wrote her an email gushing very unprofessionally about how happy I was that she had contacted me and sent her the manuscript. Then sat down to wait.
And that's where I've been at these last 15 months. I contacted her a few times, she was always apologetic, said it was next on her reading list, then nothing happened. Until finally I sent her an email two weeks ago, asking her for advice on where I could turn next since it didn't look like this was going to happen with her. At which point she apparently panicked (her words), read through half the manuscript overnight (again her words) but unfortunately felt that it was "a little bit overwritten, and didn’t quite grab me in the way that I would have hoped" (exactly her words). She expressed her regrets about the bad news, apologised again for the late response and finally advised me to look through The Writers' and Artists' Yearbook for agents.
I was pretty much already expecting a negative response so even if I was of course hugely disappointed, I didn't burst into tears, scream "Fuck you!" and throw my laptop out the window, like I possibly would have done 15 months ago. (Maybe. Well, I would have cried. I can't really afford the whole throwing-laptop-out-the-window drama.) Instead I just mumbled "Fuck" quietly to myself, took a deep breath and wished mr Felis was home to cuddle me.
So that's where I'm at now. After waiting for 15 months I'm back at square one and, frankly, feeling very discouraged. Trying to remind myself of how awesome it was being in the top 10 of 500 manuscripts sent in from all over the world to one of the biggest book prize contests in Europe, but instead just feeling like getting this thing published is never, ever going to happen. I know I could always publish it myself as an ebook or through an ebook publisher, some of you have offered to help me go that route if I wish, for which I am very, very grateful. But I just really wanted it to be a "real" book that I could see in the bookshelves of bookshops and libraries, you know? Something to hold in my hand and brag about when I'm drunk at parties. Or, if all else fails, bang stupid people over the head with. (It is, after all, 700+ pages and there are so many stupid people in the world.)
And that's it. The story of the book deal that never was. Just thought I'd let you know.
Ps. Now what?
About 21 months ago I decided I was ready to try and get it out there in the world. Question was, how? So I followed the Aerogramme Writer's Studio on FB and picked out every competition and publishing opportunity they mentioned that fit. (I really recommend that site/FB page, if you're looking for publishing opportunities.) I entered every competition, sent it to every publisher that was accepting unsolicited submissions, basically threw it wherever it might get read (after making sure the story having been posted online didn't break their particular rules).
On May 1st 2015 I got an email. Telling me they were happy to announce that my story had been shortlisted for an international book prize in Scotland.
After staring at my laptop screen for about five minutes I promptly freaked the fuck out.
Now, shortlisted meant I was in the top ten of approx. 500 applicants. Which, wow. Was pretty damn amazing. There was an official announcement in various media outlets, and a published pdf with introductions to the authors and containing the first few chapters of each story, available for download on Amazon. (My name is on Amazon! How weird is that?) The top three would then be invited to attend the award ceremony in October.
I did not make the top three.
Disappointing, but still. Being in the top ten of 500 fucking applicants for an international book prize? (And the only one from a country where English is not the main language.) That's a fucking great accomplishment. Go me! Only problem was, there's no book deal unless you're in the top three.
Yeah.
Now, doesn't matter the story was shortlisted for a Very Important Prize, no publisher over here is gonna publish a book written in English. They just don't. I could translate it, then perhaps they'd consider it. I tried to translate it myself and realised 1) it was gonna take for fucking ever because it's 700+ pages and 2) it's really, really hard. Or I'm not very good at it. Either way I was quite at a loss what to do. It was like someone had handed me a huge ice cream but first tied my hands so I couldn't grab and stuff it in my face, like I wanted to. Or, you know, every time I walk into a bakery (Fuck you, celiac). Suffice to say, there was a lot of pouting.
But then I got an email from a publishing agent in one of the oldest and biggest companies in England. Oh my God! She had seen the shortlist, she loved Icelandic literature, she would love to read my story and, if she liked it, represent me. I freaked out again, wrote her an email gushing very unprofessionally about how happy I was that she had contacted me and sent her the manuscript. Then sat down to wait.
And that's where I've been at these last 15 months. I contacted her a few times, she was always apologetic, said it was next on her reading list, then nothing happened. Until finally I sent her an email two weeks ago, asking her for advice on where I could turn next since it didn't look like this was going to happen with her. At which point she apparently panicked (her words), read through half the manuscript overnight (again her words) but unfortunately felt that it was "a little bit overwritten, and didn’t quite grab me in the way that I would have hoped" (exactly her words). She expressed her regrets about the bad news, apologised again for the late response and finally advised me to look through The Writers' and Artists' Yearbook for agents.
I was pretty much already expecting a negative response so even if I was of course hugely disappointed, I didn't burst into tears, scream "Fuck you!" and throw my laptop out the window, like I possibly would have done 15 months ago. (Maybe. Well, I would have cried. I can't really afford the whole throwing-laptop-out-the-window drama.) Instead I just mumbled "Fuck" quietly to myself, took a deep breath and wished mr Felis was home to cuddle me.
So that's where I'm at now. After waiting for 15 months I'm back at square one and, frankly, feeling very discouraged. Trying to remind myself of how awesome it was being in the top 10 of 500 manuscripts sent in from all over the world to one of the biggest book prize contests in Europe, but instead just feeling like getting this thing published is never, ever going to happen. I know I could always publish it myself as an ebook or through an ebook publisher, some of you have offered to help me go that route if I wish, for which I am very, very grateful. But I just really wanted it to be a "real" book that I could see in the bookshelves of bookshops and libraries, you know? Something to hold in my hand and brag about when I'm drunk at parties. Or, if all else fails, bang stupid people over the head with. (It is, after all, 700+ pages and there are so many stupid people in the world.)
And that's it. The story of the book deal that never was. Just thought I'd let you know.
Ps. Now what?