Rejection Redux

The third time better be a charm because, let me tell you, the second time wasn't that fucking charming.

Do I sound bitter? I'm sorry, I don't mean to. My dudgeon is neither high nor even sincere... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

As you may recall, I recently published my first book, "Anal Sex Haiku, Lascivious Limericks & Other Drivel". As a first-time author, I'm still quite a naïve in the ways of the publishing world. However, through the years, I've noticed that many successful authors sell their books in stores and I thought that attempting to get in on a piece of that action would be a perspicacious and, perhaps, profitable tactic.

On December 1, I was a supplicant at downtown Ann Arbor's S3 - Safe Sex Store, begging them to do my commercial dirty work for me. On December 8, they gave me my first rejection. Undaunted, I walked across town to the Shaman Drum Bookshop and offered them the opportunity to be my first retail outlet. Shaman Drum has been an Ann Arbor institution since 1980. They're an independent bookstore that claims to be community-oriented -- proven, in part, by their willingness to carry the work of local authors. With that in mind, I handed a copy of my book over to one of their buyers for evaluation and started waiting for the verdict.

Two months passed. Reset your mental calendar to February 12.

As a result of inflexible work schedules, my muse and I had to celebrate Valentine's Day (1) two days early. After our dinner and movie date, I checked my answering machine. My lone message was from a woman calling on behalf of Shaman Drum. It said:

This message is for D.I. Prime. We found your book detestable and would never carry this piece of garbage. We could overlook its numerous affronts to aesthetics and morality in the name of profit, but your abuses of meter, rhyme and grammar are unforgivable. Not since the Norman invasion of 1066 has the English language faced such calamitous assault. Not only should you reconsider being an author, you should give your existence on this planet a second thought. Retrieve your offal from our store by close-of-business tomorrow or we shall be forced to burn it.

Okay, I paraphrased slightly. The actual message didn't include any invective or give a reason. It just said, "No. Come get it." (Also paraphrased, but slightly more accurate.) And thus was I handed my second rejection. Apparently, my book was inconsistent with Shaman Drum's website-stated mission of "providing our community with a quality selection of titles to nourish and enrich the spirit."

So it goes. As I said, I'm not bitter. I still managed to fork my Valen-tines. But, since they didn't give a reason for the rejection, I'm not giving them a link; you can Google them if you care to. With that bit of petulance, I've exorcised my pique and I forgive them. It's time to move on to the next store and the next rejection.

After all, the third time's a charm.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
February 17, 2008

(1) Yes, it's a deplorable "Hallmark holiday" but, when celebrated properly, it includes sex and chocolate so I find it nigh impossible to abstain. For what it's worth, I vainly attempt to burnish my iconoclastic stature by heaping scorn and contempt upon Sweetest Day, the corporate contrivance of mid-October.