Thursday, July 22, 2010

What Form Rejection Means to Me

Our friend the Rejectionist has done it again. She gave her minions an essay topic, and, as a good lemming, I follow directions. Behold, my essay:


What Form Rejection Means to Me

an essay by Lucy Woodhull

In considering the question at hand, it is important to understand what a form rejection is. Let us dissect the phrase "form rejection." First, we have "form," from the Latin "impersonalus," which has the double meaning of, "piss off, fuckwit" and "don't quittus your day jobbus." Next, "rejection," which derives from the Old English word "crusheth," specifically in relation to dreams. As we can learn from this etymology, a form rejection is one person's way of stomping upon the lofty dreams of another, often with great and resounding malice mixed with a dash of fun.

Upon reflection, I have reflected that form rejections suck. How can we, as writers, foil them? I have developed a multi-tiered approach for the obliteration of form rejections:

1. Don't send one to me.

Awesome, huh? I don't give a crap about the rest of you unwashed masses who probably should just resign yourself to being waiters for the rest of your life. But I have TALENT! GREAT AND LITERARY TALENT. This essay is about what form rejections mean to me... I don't care about the rest of you.

I shall direct the rest of my deranged tirade brilliant thoughts to the agents/ editors of the world and explain why I should never, ever get a form rejection.

A. I am awesome. Here's a chart outlining why, in case you don't already know.

Why Lucy is Da Bomb:



B. My book will totes make you four million American dollars, at least.

C: I'm excellent with the grammar and shit. You'll bearley have to edit my brilliant prose.

D. I can wiggle my ears.

E. I should never really get a rejection at all. If you send me back a letter that's not an immediate contract offer, it should read something like "Lucy, this book is so wonderful. Is it possible for you to fit even MORE wonderfulness into it?" and I will be all "Of course, smart and esteemed agent/editor! My Tank of Wonderfulness will never be empty."

In conclusion, I would like to compare my literary style to J.K. Rowling, Ernest Hemingway, Muriel Hemingway, and Oprah. I will outsell Stephenie Meyers, and the dudes who wrote the Bible. In interviews, I will be wittier than Jon Stewart, and prettier than Angelina Jolie. The movies made from my books will be fawned over by the likes of Roger Ebert, the Academy, and The Denver Post. When you sign me with your agency/ publishing house, you'll surely be given impromptu awards from your colleagues with titles like "Agent of the Epoch," or "Sexy Publishing Badass." You will own a yacht and two helicopters. It is highly likely that you will be elected "Emperor of the Earth." I guarantee all these things!

So, what do these insightful words mean? "What Form Rejection means to Me" is exactly nothing. I reject the notion.

I also reject a large portion of your "reality," which is obviously rigged.

* * *

(I hope this goes without saying, but I would like to note that the above is a joke. I have nothing but respect for the agents/ editors/ other writers of the world. Please send me not only one form rejection, but many, over and over again!)

11 comments:

  1. I like option E. I can see using it as a toast at weddings: "...and may your Tank of Wonderfulness never spring a leak!"

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  2. So what? You can sign the score of Mamma Mia? I can sign the integral of "Grease" and "Moulin Rouge" in soprano and falsetto. My musicals > Yout musicals. THAT BON JOVI CD IS MINE!

    Oh and great post! If I ever meet you someday we should Karaoke "Wanted Dead Or Alive"

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  3. FUCK

    *talks in imaginary radio* FALLING OVER TO PLAN B, FALLING OVER TO PLAN B

    No, but I can sing.....

    Sunshine, lollipops, rainbows everything...wonderful is what I feel as we're together!

    P.S. You're so blogrolled.

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  4. ::weeps:: WHAT HAPPENED TO MY COMMENT?? Summary: LOVE this.

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  5. I love this too. The best thing about the UNcontest is reading everyone's post. If we should cross paths in some Big Publishing House someday, I'd be honored to have you sign my copy of your book. (Or my copy of my book.)

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  6. Oh, Lucy. Your sense of humor is rivaled only by your great taste in snack foods! This was delicious. Behold your newest subscriber. (Well, probably not anymore, by the time this comment loads, but it's the thought that counts, eh?)

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  7. Joanne, I'll sign anything. Give me the racing form!

    Annika, I'm blushing! Thanks :)

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  8. Great post, but, ummm, you spelled "hedgehog" wrong in your response above to fairyhedgehog. As Long Island's premier hedgehog breeder - "Top quality hand-tamed hoglets, straight from our home to yours!" - I am highly offended by that.

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  9. Man, forget this writing novels, you made me want to start a career in angenteering (or agenting?) so I can be known as "Sexy Publishing Badass".

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  10. Dibs on "Sexy Homemaker Badass!"

    And apology accepted, no saline footbath necessary. No, really. Lucy, I'm serious, stop crying on my feet, you're freaking me out!

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