Disacknowledgments, or To All of Those Who Didn’t Believe in Me: F*** Off
January 3, 2019 § 53 Comments
By Christina Consolino
They say it takes a village to grow a child, and I’d argue that it takes a village to grow a manuscript too. That village is made up of a diverse cast of characters, all of whom play an integral role in seeing a book come to life. Those people should be acknowledged, but since I’ve never been one to dwell on the positive . . .
The literary agents: For rejecting my work over the years. I’d love to mention each of you by name, but I’m only here to disparage a select few. My most memorable rejection arrived from BB, who used the remarkable wording: “Not for nus.” (That’s right. A typo from a literary agent. I wouldn’t want my book handled by someone who couldn’t use spell check anyway, right?) Just know that you—nameless or not—have made me better than I was before. Better . . . stronger . . . faster.
The editors: For reading my manuscript from top to bottom and sending me feedback that made so little sense, it quickly became apparent that you’d either switched my manuscript with someone else’s, or you’d been reading my manuscript while watching Better Call Saul. I have neither a stripper pole nor a mosque in this narrative.
The informal teachers: For scoffing at my projects. “That premise will never fly,” one said. (He didn’t think sparkly vampires would, either.) Another piped in, “How can you write a manuscript and raise four kids at the same time?” (Ever heard of Danielle Steele?) And, “What training do you have to write a book?” (I’m pretty sure that some of the most well-respected authors don’t have degrees in creative writing.) Every time you uttered a phrase like that, I straightened my spine. And now? With the completion of this book, I’m sending you the biggest fucking bird I can muster.
The numerous agencies and organizations I contacted: For not returning my calls when I asked for help with research. The doctor and dentist and hygienist who blew me and my laptop off after having offered to speak with me? I’ve killed you off and told all my friends about you. The therapist who never followed-up with me? Dead too. You had one job to do. One job.
The alpha readers: For dropping the ball, even though you said, “Yes, I’ll read the manuscript.” You neither read it nor provided any feedback as to why you didn’t (or couldn’t) read it. You’ve opened my eyes to the ways of the world and taught me to choose wisely when it comes to readers. The true readers will indeed, bring life, and the false? They will take it from you.
The so-called literary citizens: For never sharing my work, ever (even though I share yours). Despite your congratulatory comments, your “Thanks for being a fabulous literary citizen!” emails, your tiny fucking heart and thumbs up emojis when I post something. It’s been a real pleasure knowing that you have not and will not share my work. Your lack of response has taught me what the real world is all about: me. (Well, you, really.) It’s clear that the “Me generation” is alive and well, even in the literary world.
The colleagues: For never taking me seriously. “That’s a cute hobby you have there,” she said. And this zinger from an old boss: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing trying to write a book?” he said. “You’re a fucking science teacher!” (I know what you’re thinking: what boss would use an F-bomb at work? That one. But he also got fired for “fraternizing” with his boss. Wink, wink.)
The librarian: For your lack of encouragement or support and for stating that I’d never find a home for my manuscript in this world, then tearing it from my hands and tossing it into the trash. Only later did a friend find it in the employee restroom, annotated from cover to cover, although the acknowledgments had been used as some makeshift toilet paper. Little did that librarian know that the scene would make it into the final draft of my current work-in-progress.
The veterinarian: For healing my old, cantankerous cat, the one who always pushed the delete button on my keyboard and scratched at the draft, ate the draft, and then vomited the draft. Without you, dear doctor, I’d be cat-less, but I’d have more intact manuscripts in hand. (You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.)
My dog: For taking the manuscript between her jaws, running out the door, and burying it behind the compost pile. Her valiant actions prompted me to begin anew, thus finding my true, authentic voice, again leading me to be better . . . stronger . . . faster.
My children: For not being able to stay awake—not one of them!—while I read the draft aloud. (If you don’t actually hear the words, my dear progeny, they cannot count toward any reading minutes.)
And last but not least, my husband, the true love of my life: For not reading my work because women-centered narratives are “not his thing,” despite finding him glued to movies on the Lifetime channel. Asshole.
___
Christina Consolino is the co-author of Historic Photos of University of Michigan and has had work featured in HuffPost, Short Fiction Break, Flights: The Literary Journal of Sinclair Community College, Tribe Magazine, and Literary Mama, where she serves as Senior and Profiles Editor. She also serves on the board of the Antioch Writers’ Workshop at University of Dayton and as a writing instructor at a local writing center. Along with writing and editing, Christina currently teaches Anatomy and Physiology at Sinclair Community College.
I can add a corker. One beta reader with time and a dog on his hands who convinced me my book was headed for stardom, serialisation, block buster future (so received each and every chapter) but who provided me with statistical probabilities, or improbabilities on each piece of serendipity ( the book was about enchantments) and then sent me his corrected genealogy of my entire family (it is also a memoir!)
Total destruct! Now crawling up from a prone position.
Wow. That sure takes the cake!
Wow! I would like to read your manuscript, I’m curious why you experienced so much negativity.
I gathered anecdotes across many years, and to be honest, I’d like to know why I had so much negativity as well! If I weigh the number of folks who have been positive against those who have been negative, the positive win out–thankfully. But, those negative comments festered for a while and thus, this piece. Thanks for reading.
Damn, Christina. You need new friends, and pets, and husbands, and doctors. This blog might help you there, but of course they won’t read it.
Ha! You are right. (But, I’ll keep the husband I think. He may have failed here, but most of the time, he’s pretty decent.)
I think I love you, and I will volunteer to read anything you want – and respond quickly. If any of it is half as true and funny as this, I am all in. I have a husband who not only doesn’t read my work but doesn’t understand that Creative Nonfiction doesn’t have at least some made-up stuff in it. Otherwise, it would just be nonfiction, which is boring. Ugh. We can’t fix stupid…
Perhaps “Creative” does not require “some made up stuff” to be engaging? My creative nonfiction is entirely true and factual, and I would like to think it was not boring, at least to the editors who published it.
And this speaks to the subjectivity that is writing, right? Entirely true and factual is not all boring–I’ve read many examples where this is the case. In my case, I’ve used my examples as a spring board. I can’t imagine sustaining this “voice” over the course of something longer. Thank you for reading.
Ah, thank you. I’ve been teaching my husband that while I really do appreciate his support, I also value what he has to say, and therefore, if he’d read something of mine, he’d be helping me. We started with this piece: he read it, gave me feedback, and applauded it’s acceptance. Good luck!
As they don’t say: getting it published is the best revenge. Hilarious diatribe and a treat to read.
It felt good to write it. Thank you.
That was extraordinarily cathartic to read. Thank you!
Thank you for reading. Glad you enjoyed it.
Who knew all those negatives could result in something so good all on their own?! Thank you for starting my day off with a smile…and a knowing nod or two.
Thank you for reading and sharing. I know you know how this goes!
Thank you, thank you, thank you! I had a hideous writing experience in 2018 and you have captured the sentiments of the year beautifully. You made me laugh!
I can’t ask for anything better than knowing that I made someone laugh. Thanks for reading!
Ouch. May I add the friend who read less than 30 pages and advised I cut half of them and start over to rewrite a novel into a YA book?
Oh no. I’m sorry. I’m sure we could have volume upon volume of disacknowledgments if we wanted to . . .
Laughing aloud in my office at the end of that! Sooo sorry you went through all that. I also published this year and gave a few copies to FRIENDS who didn’t read my book either — and it’s only 20K words!! (sigh!)
Seems like many of us have similar stories. Strength in numbers! Thanks for reading.
I love the bold and it is beautifully said!
I’m rarely bold, but I think I might try it again. Thank you.
I read a lot of book proposals from literary agents, and you’d be astounded how many of them have typos. . . .
I believe it! Thanks for reading.
I have just finished my first book, and have only received rejections from literary agents thus far. I have recruited only a few readers which have delivered, but I am curious how you recruit yours? I absolutely loved reading this, and while it screams negative experiences, I found it inspiring and motivating. Keep at it! We just got to remind ourselves there are people out there who will appreciate our work AND us!
Knowing that you found this inspiring and motivating does wonders for me. Thanks for reading!
Wow. I’m rubbing my hands gleefully before putting one up for a high five. You have said everything I thought I was too proper to say, even though I have thought them all. You are my new inspiration.
You are just too kind, but thank you. It took me years to find the guts to put these anecdotes together. May you not take as long to say what you need to say!
Laughing because this is just too painfully true. If you need a reader, know that I’m here for you (and I follow through).
Thanks, Jeanne! And I might take you up on that. I have a novel that I am revising, yet again, and you might be the perfect reader for it.
Wow, Christina … after our talk last night, this was a treat to read today. I can totally relate to some of it … having been written off in the pecking order because I self-published my memoir. Too bad the publishing world is as heartless as the political world seems to be, today … maybe because it, too, is political. You have a lot of cheerleaders here. Keep writing!!
Thanks, Linda! You’re one of the best cheerleaders around. Great to see you last night, although next time, I hope it’s for a happier occasion.
Wow, way to tell your truth and say it like it is.
Thanks. It took some time to have the guts to write it, but I’m glad I did.
How did your people respond — your kids, your husband?
[…] On a not-unrelated note: Christina Consolino’s “Disacknowledgments, or To All of Those Who Didn’t Believe in Me: F*** Off.” […]
Thanks for sharing!
I love this post. You have written what I attempted to write. The only character who may be forgivable would be the dog–our dogs will listen to my reading but never have anything positive to say about it. Thanks and here’s my poor effort: https://authorchucksmith.wordpress.com/2018/11/29/rejection-letters/
Dog’s definitely can be forgiven! And nice post.
Priceless! You’ve inspired me in ways you can’t know but they are not about writing necessarily. Well done! (Did ‘nus’ mean “not us”?) Modern language is so tricky today.
Always glad to know that I can be an inspiration. As for the “nus,” I do think it was a typo, since the agent wrote, “Not for nus,” but what do I know? But yes, modern language is tricky, and I often have no idea what some folks are trying to say.
SO THERE, all you numb-nutts! I guess she showed YOU! HA!
Thanks for reading!
Truly an inspiration! Doing it for yourself with intentions of helping the common good. A superwoman unrecognized in a world drowning in chatter.
Your comment just made my morning. Thank you.
[…] I did. I collected all my negative experiences and put them together into this little piece, that Brevity decided was worthy of publishing. (Full disclosure: it’s profane; don’t […]
Crikey! I’m just starting out. Fair warning. Thank you. Feeling better already about my 3 rejection emails and those agents that never bothered to reply. Also useful to be warned about suspect editors. I’m beginning to understand that unless you’ve written a book yourself you can’t appreciate the dedication, time, sacrifices and angst involved. When I first plucked up courage to ‘out’ myself as a new author, I overheard someone say, ‘I’d love to have the time to dabble in bits of things like her.’ Hmmm……..
That all sounds familiar. But you’ll find so many positive people and influences along the way. Good luck to you!
Thank you.
Don’t let the bastards get you down, Christina. And I’m with you on the “supposed” literary citizens thing … I have a few of those in my life as well. Why must they be so jealous of our talent? Sigh. (Only halfway kidding). Also, long live Literary Mama! They gave me my first published essay. Love.
[…] I did. I collected all my negative experiences and put them together into this little piece, that Brevity decided was worthy of publishing. (Full disclosure: it’s profane; don’t […]