Dear Ms. Editor-in-Bitchiness...

As I mentioned before I have been getting plenty of rejection letters from publishers whom I queried about my manuscript for Behind the Walls. And now I have used "queried" in a sentence because that, kiddies, is the word of the day. Now you try it!

Anyway, yesterday I made it to my parents' house to find yet another rejection waiting for me. I had them forwarded here because some publishers say it takes them up to six months to reply to a query and since I had been harboring plans to move out of my podunk little town soon, I figured it would be safer to let my parents field the incoming letters. My point being, most of the publishers I've heard back from have said my book sounds fantastic but the economy has kicked them in the junk and they can't afford to take on any new manuscripts. One publisher even hand wrote a message about how cool my book sounded but he couldn't afford to market it properly.

But this last letter... WOW. I opened it up and it was a page long so I thought, "SCORE!" Yeah, not so much. This woman ripped into me because apparently she only publishes fiction. Whoops. She starts going on about how not only was my letter misdirected, but I wasted her and my time. Ms. Hoity Toity Editor Pants goes on to say how it's obvious that I'm "spraying around a bunch of query bullets, hoping to hit a target". Um, yeah. Duh. I want a publisher. But I'm also thinking in my head, "Hey lady, you try getting together over 80 query letters at 4:00 in the afternoon after teaching special ed all day AND staying after with two of the most energetic, yet simultaneously lazy kids in the universe and see if you can manage it without making ONE LOUSY MISTAKE!" Then I'd slap her. And pinch her.

The second paragraph of her letter starts preaching to me about how I should look into New England based presses and historical presses. Look, I may have sent out one misdirected query letter but that doesn't mean I have the functional IQ of a wet sponge. I've already sent out queries to those presses and guess what? Those are the presses that are writing back and saying that the Bush administration has sapped them of their will to live and therefore they can't consider my project.

In conclusion, let me just thank Ms. Holier than Though Editor Lady for giving me such sage, and fabulous advice. Next time I want to publish something I've written, maybe I'll just take it to Staples and have them make 5 bajillion copies and I'll sell them out in front of Starbucks. At least that way I can get a latte with my criticism.

"S-N-E-R-R-F-L-E"

My mother is greatly enjoying having my cat in the house for the holidays and keeps telling me she thinks he needs more catnip. I reminded her that he had imbibed quite enough already, and as I would rather not see my cat have a weed induced seizure, I cut him off after he snorted half the container. Then my mother pointed out that Riley kept sticking his head in the bag that all his toys and things are in. "He obviously wants more Katherine," she said. I scoffed and said, "Well he also knows his treats are in there." What does she say? "I think if he knew that, he would have already snerrfled them right up. Don't you?" Snerrfle.

I just got back from Walgreens with my mother where I bought eyeshadow, eyeliner, and shaving gel after a lengthy debate about what colors I should be wearing now that I've dyed my hair yet again. My mother walks away and I find her, of all places, in the toy aisle. She is staring, open mouthed, at a kid arguing with his father about Tek Deck skateboard toys. This kid is thoroughly convinced that one set of Tek Decks is better than the other, even though the other actually says, in big bold letters, TEK DECK right on the package, and the kid is arguing VERY loudly with his father. The father is doing little to discourage his son from yelling and flapping in the middle of the toy aisle and the kid keeps getting closer and closer to backing into my mother whose arm is still in a brace after having had surgery. So of course, I very tactfully, and oh so quietly yell, "If I were him I'd take the Tek Decks off the shelf and beat the kid with it."

While we're standing in the checkout line there are these two obviously Eastern European teenagers standing behind us wearing shorts and SLIPPERS on this crisp winter evening, one of them trying to explain to his friend in his limited English how much he loves mint M&M's. Now I definitely can't mock their accents here on my blog, but needless to say I was peeing myself trying not to laugh.

Now I'm home, sitting on the couch, itching like a bastard because I was stupid and ate pizza for dinner. Guess who forgot she's allergic to tomatoes...

Happy Turkey Day

Poor Riley officially hates riding in the car. He also hates my parents' house. I'm fairly certain he's under the couch, since I heard thumping coming from under there but I can't be sure.

This weekend is our ten year high school reunion and I have to say, it took a while but I'm finally looking forward to it. I've decided that I'm going to drink my money's worth at the open bar, slap a smile on my face, and tell a few people how I really feel about them.

One in particular, had the nerve to accuse everyone who wasn't going of being total losers. According to this brilliant specimen of manhood, the reason certain people weren't coming is because they've obviously accomplished nothing over the past ten years. It couldn't possibly be because some of them have moved away and have lives, or children for that matter. No of course not.

All I have to say is, Mark- You're not nearly as f'ing brilliant as you seem to think you are. While you go on spouting off about how wonderful and desirable you are, the rest of us are rolling our eyes and wishing to hell we never agreed to give you a second chance to be nice to us. Yes, you're right. You're a big fish in a little pond. Too bad you have yet to realize that you're actually a bottom feeder. Any guy who goes out on a date with a girl and admits to her that he only asked her to go out because she "got hot" since high school, has his head so far up his ass he has to unzip his fly for a goodnight kiss. Oh, and it's not attractive to ask a girl to dinner, then tell her all about the girl you met that you want to "nail" because she says she's a Rockafeller. Can't wait to see you at the reunion. Better wear a cup pal.

Whacked

No, the title of my blog is not meant to be dirty. I've been on a major book binge the last few weeks. I managed to snake a few mysteries from my mom and I finally scrounged up enough money by selling my articles on AC to actually buy a couple books. I preorded Jen Lancaster's Pretty in Plaid which sadly doesn't come out until May so I then bought Tucker Trash's book which, in spite of being horrifically offended by the majority of its content, I still finished in less than 24 hours. Then I started Jules Asner's new book Whacked, which I found on Jen Lancaster's blog. This book I also finished in less than 24 hours but I have to say, it definitely wasn't what I expected. Now, if you plan on reading this book, you might want to stop right here because it was the ending that really, terribly threw me off.

The main character is Dani who is a writer on a Hollywood show called "Flesh and Bone". It's basically a forensic show and Dani has an addiction to forensic police work. Her boyfriend, Dave, is a producer with a mean streak who is apparently cheating on Dani. She drives by his house and finds a cherry red Mercedes in his driveway. After doing a little detective work, she finds that the Merc belongs to an actress named Chloe who Dave swore was "just a friend". Dani continues snooping and finds that Dave has been calling Chloe much more than he has Dani, causing her to flip out and break up with him.

Now I'm following the story just fine up to this point. Dani goes on a few blind dates and seems to have something going with a retired cop who consults on her show, but she continues to seeth about Dave cheating on her with Chloe. Suddenly her producer is telling her that they've decided to cast Chloe in HER show! Of course Dani is less than pleased and decides to confront Chloe about having slept with Dave. Still with me?

Ok well here's where it falls apart. Dani winds up confronting Chloe not on set, but at her home. She gets so angry that she strangles Chloe and leaves her, dead on her livingroom floor. And does she get caught? NO!!! She winds up getting a raise and buying a new house, then you find that she framed the creepy girl in the office who lurks around, sneering at people!

The story was great. The premise was entertaining. But I feel very much like the ending just...fizzled. Anyone else read this book? Opinions? Share please!

Express elevator to hell... Going down...

Yesterday I started reading Tucker Max's book "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell". Not three pages into it I was already laughing so hard that I just about wet myself. Then I sat back and began to wonder how a womanizing, drunken frat-boy wanna be lawyer player brat managed to get a book published when I'm sitting here with a pile of rejections from publishers that could easily prop up the desk in my bedroom that is missing part of its leg. Then it dawns on me how it is that Tucker Max managed to get some poor unsuspecting shnook at Citadel Press to publish the hideous drivel that pours out of his $450 Montblanc pen and eventually ends up on his website, TuckerMax.com- his daddy is loaded. While yes, most of his stories are pretty damned entertaining, most of them are so hideously offensive and ridiculous, littered with bad grammar that his obviously crap editor didn't catch, and based on the same general plot line of him and his friends trying to score with random chicks in bars, that the book might better serve as a liner for Riley's litter box. All I can say is, Jen Lancaster, you need to find Tucker Max, drag him down and bitch slap him. Then let Maisy at him. He doesn't need his balls. They're probably medical miracles, steeped in STDs anyway!