Sometimes I regret growing up in Missouri where I was relentlessly taught to be nice.
It means that when I’m sitting across the table from a would-be writer at a writers’ conference who’s pitching me the most outlandish novel (you name it)/memoir-about-being-abducted-by-aliens/nonfiction-project-I-don’t-even-remotely-represent, I haven’t the heart to say that it stinks or “are you on drugs,” or even politely, “no thank you.”
Stomp on their dream why don’t you.
The nice person in me will take the coward’s way out and do the rejection by letter/email because it’s just easier. (And trust me, I’m not the only agent who falls into this trap.)
Oh to be a brusque New Yorker or to be able to channel Miss Snark for five minutes. (As an aside, I bet she’s a real sweet gal in person; it’s a whole different ball game when you get to remain anonymous). I might actually save the writers some postage.
Which is why I started this blog. I’m finally going to talk about what’s on my mind. Nicely of course! (Some habits are hard to break.)
To indulge in some polite rants so maybe, just maybe, I’ll get up my gumption to say what needs to be said to a writer in person.
And if not, I’ll actually get to say it on my blog. Feel like I’m growing…