Dear Publishing world...@#$% you.
As many of you don't know, my uncle stores shit in my garage. Today/this morning while waiting for the laundry to be done, to go to bed, I stumbled across a box of books. Now, if you know me, you know that books are like alcohol sprinkled crack rocks mixed with drunk teenage girls to a alcohol-sprinkled crack-addicted drunken drunken-teenage girl molester. If you get my meaning.
However, while perusing this particular box of books, at the very end, the very bottom of the 'row' of the way my eye fell upon it, I found this Scottish East Coast Potteries 1750-1860. And then, in trying to look that up, I found this Definitive guide to British Ceramic figurines, 1750-1860. And so, I would like to say to the publishing world, @#$% you. I thought it was hard to get published.
I thought books had to...creative. I am going to write a book called "Varieties of green tea, from Tennessee, pre-Statehood, that grew in a western valley, with a southern sun, 1875-1899" "What kind of badger-cod-boiling bollocks is this? That tea/figurine/color of drying paint/growing grass was obviously not introduced until 1771. YOU @#$%ING FRAUD."
Using these books as criteria, I should be able to successfully publish a book about 'random trash photographed on street, late fall 1986/early winter 1987' or possibly "Watching colors of paint dry, 1945-1946; a flip book". Now, I'm not saying crapstuff like this doesn't need to be published. I'm just saying...it sets the bar pretty damn low, compared to even the worst crap that could be created by some human being pouring their heart out onto a typewriter/messenger bird/Chinese prison sandpaper toilet paper for five years, in the hopes of being published and loved.
"His tale was trite and the characters were shallow and ill-defined, we were forced to reject him." "You published "Tear dropped shaped christmas ornaments of the welsh islands, north of harod's wall, 1841-1842" Are you smoking something? It's more 'overdone' than the 97th black and white photograph of YetAnotherTeaPot? Really?"
That's all I'm saying. Now if only I can figure out a way to drag a real conflict out of my characters in this story. Just...the serving spoons from the first 3 months of the french revolution can't seem to meld with the vision I have of the real heart of how the tea table covers were. The story isn't coming together at all...
K.
However, while perusing this particular box of books, at the very end, the very bottom of the 'row' of the way my eye fell upon it, I found this Scottish East Coast Potteries 1750-1860. And then, in trying to look that up, I found this Definitive guide to British Ceramic figurines, 1750-1860. And so, I would like to say to the publishing world, @#$% you. I thought it was hard to get published.
I thought books had to...creative. I am going to write a book called "Varieties of green tea, from Tennessee, pre-Statehood, that grew in a western valley, with a southern sun, 1875-1899" "What kind of badger-cod-boiling bollocks is this? That tea/figurine/color of drying paint/growing grass was obviously not introduced until 1771. YOU @#$%ING FRAUD."
Using these books as criteria, I should be able to successfully publish a book about 'random trash photographed on street, late fall 1986/early winter 1987' or possibly "Watching colors of paint dry, 1945-1946; a flip book". Now, I'm not saying crapstuff like this doesn't need to be published. I'm just saying...it sets the bar pretty damn low, compared to even the worst crap that could be created by some human being pouring their heart out onto a typewriter/messenger bird/Chinese prison sandpaper toilet paper for five years, in the hopes of being published and loved.
"His tale was trite and the characters were shallow and ill-defined, we were forced to reject him." "You published "Tear dropped shaped christmas ornaments of the welsh islands, north of harod's wall, 1841-1842" Are you smoking something? It's more 'overdone' than the 97th black and white photograph of YetAnotherTeaPot? Really?"
That's all I'm saying. Now if only I can figure out a way to drag a real conflict out of my characters in this story. Just...the serving spoons from the first 3 months of the french revolution can't seem to meld with the vision I have of the real heart of how the tea table covers were. The story isn't coming together at all...
K.