The wise ones say that when you are launching something new out
into the world, the ratio of rejections to acceptances is 100 to 1. That's 100
rejection letters we have to rack up before we should even begin to hope for any returned love. My husband, a playwright, is
probably up to fifty or sixty rejections for his scripts.
I am up to three. Oh, jeez.
The current plan for getting the Giant Evolution Timeline
into the hands of everyone who wants one -- and I still get plenty of requests
-- is to find a book publisher for it. A real publisher, the kind with logos
and sales channels and marketing budgets and official stuff like that.
But lately I've learned some curious things about the
children's book industry. For example, there is no such thing as a publisher
with sales channels and marketing budgets and official stuff like that. Those
days are gone. And that most publishers will only consider manuscripts that
they requested directly or that come from a literary agent. Also that most
publishers don't like author-illustrators. They want the author to provide the
text only and then they pair it with the illustrator of their choice.
Often the author and illustrator never meet.*
So I'm gamely shoving all that aside and looking for an
agent. So far I've approached three, carefully following the bizarrely detailed
instructions for how to send a Query Letter.** One sent a form rejection, one
sent a personalized rejection that showed she did read it, and one sent a
lovely, warm, thoughtful rejection that I will cherish forever.
Ah, me. I'll just keep sending these letters out. Why? Because a girl's gotta get to
100 rejections somehow.
*This is a depressing, chilly, and unpleasant truth that
should never be revealed to children. Think of your favorite picture books. How
perfectly intertwined are the words and the pictures! The author and
illustrator must be old friends who love each other dearly and have shared many
a glass of wine! But no. They are in an arranged marriage shaped by
market forces. Perhaps they hate each other. Oh, no, please don't tell the
children.
** Little did I know the sheer cosmic importance of The
Query Letter. It has to be The Cheery Letter, never The Bleary, Weary, or Dreary
Letter. Sometimes mine come out as The Beery Letter, which is not good. But I
digress.
