My First Rejection

I feel like Pinocchio, gleefully jumping up and down and jubilantly exulting, "I'm a real author now!"

After checking the mirror to confirm that my proboscis has retained its pre-exultation dimensions, I would like to reaffirm the veracity of my initial statement.

The more pedantic among you are probably chomping at the metaphorical bit (or perhaps literal bit if you're a pedantic, B&D bottom) and screaming, "Boy! Not author, boy! Pinocchio was excited about being a real boy!" I am too. I love being a boy. Even though I'm well along the path to dotage, I still swell with an enormous enthusiasm for my boyishness -- especially when my boyishness is enthusiastically swelling to enormousness. But that's a story for another day. I'm not here to write "The Penis Monologues", even though I am an author. I took wooden puppet Pinocchio, pulped him up, turned him into paper and printed up a book called "Anal Sex Haiku, Lascivious Limericks & Other Drivel". In fact, I printed up many books -- boxes and boxes of them -- and now my mission to divest myself of them.

Although I'm a relative newcomer to the publishing industry, I have noticed, over the years, that books are often sold in stores. Pairing this keen observation with my literary superabundance, and applying deductive reasoning of Sherlock Holmesian proportions, I determined that one potential solution to my problem was to get my book into stores. [I know, it seems so obvious once you've heard the answer but, believe you me, it appeared to be a Brobdingnagian quandary whilst I was struggling with it.]

Now, there are some problems with getting my books into stores. First, my book has neither an ISBN number nor a UPC bar code on the back cover. Both of these are impediments to retail success. Second, displaying my book is not conducive to a "family-friendly" retail environment. Although I believe that, given the opportunity, it could be quite successful with a niche audience, it's not the sort of book you can put in the front window or place prominently in end cap display racks.

Unless you're a store that caters to adult audiences. That's why S3 - Safe Sex Store seemed like a perfect fit. In addition to condoms, dildos, vibrators and other assorted sexual paraphernalia, they sell all manner of sex-related books. So, with all of the confidence befitting a clueless, rank amateur, I swaggered into S3 last Friday, confident that I was delivering them the hottest item of the holiday season. I left a copy of my book with the clerk and was told to return in one week for a decision.

Today, I got my answer: "No."

In particular, the owner felt that my book did not fit with the theme of her store: sexual health and education. The Safe Sex Store is a Serious Sex Store, and a book of sexual humor has no place in that milieu. So it goes. Honestly, it was the nicest possible rejection that I could have hoped for; it was delivered courteously, apologetically and for a reason that made sense. I harbor no ill will towards them. I hope you go to their website and check them out if you ever make it to downtown Ann Arbor.

Still, I got my first rejection. I'm paying my dues. I'm becoming a real author.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
December 8, 2007