So I was all ready to write a bitter account of a writer's daily battle with far-away faceless editors who control you like some sick puppet master.
I had written an article, researched it, edited it, proofed it and had someone else check it out - Helen Harper - then came the part of sending it out.
I drew up a list of editors and publications and went about punting it via email. Oh the horror when I realised I'd sent it to various sections of the Guardian without attaching the article! Schoolboy error. Basic stuff. Really, really embarrassing.
How many of those editors immediately deleted any correspondence from me after that?
Then the waiting.
And waiting.
Then the first reply.
Rejection.
The process of watching your inbox reminds me of Luc Besson's The 5th Element when Korben Dallas (Bruce Willis) is told by the floating Chinese take-away host that he has mail. Korben wearily says he's not interested. The Chinese man very brightly says he should read it. Korben tells him to read it. The Chinese man opens it and exclaims: You're fired!
Most of the rest of the editors hadn't even replied. So I awoke early this morning, sometime around 4am, and couldn't get back to sleep. I shuffled into my slippers and pulled on the dressing gown and fingerless gloves. I had to do something. I came to the computer ready to post about the depressing position of being a writer.
The mailbox said I had a message from the South China Morning Post.
Click.
YOU'RE FIRED!!!
Actually it said they would be running the piece this weekend.
Huzzah.
Onto the next thing, and the next series of rejections.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment