Each and every example here is absolutely true. Take these six stories as a warning if you truly never want an agent! All
names and identifying titles have been omitted to protect the guilty. Punctuation and spelling left as is in all its horrible glory.
1. The Demanding Approach
"Dear Agent,
As announced in my email from July 13, I send to you today the short email-version of my Book: The XXXXXXXX-Xxxxx. Pleas make a
printout of the 9 pages and read it. This Book will easily sell 1 million copies worldwide! Please make a decision, if you want to have it.
I want to close the Publishing contract as soon as possible. You can send me your offer by Fax or by Email."
(Oh yeah, that's going to make me just rush out and sign you up!)
2. The Tantrum
(The following is a classic. I used to try and help writers by taking the time to give them some feedback. For some reason because it
was by e-mail, writers had no compunction in throwing a fit of temper and sending me this like this:)
"Dear agent:
Thank you for reviewing my work. Fortunately your comments show that you know nothing about literary fiction and that you did not
read my manuscript, so I am pleased with your rejection. I did read your boiler plate comments; unfortunately they reveal more about
your lack of attention to my manuscript than about the manuscript itself!"
(Thanks, you're so sweet.)
3. The Arrogant Asshole
(Here's a cutie. This guy has the flashiest website, the best PR, and most intriguing query letter. Unfortunately, it seems the bigger
the 'sell', the worse the writing. This was his response to our rejection.)
"You sound like you need to spend a few more years in play school and grow up, Lizzy -- you don't know what in hell you're talking
about. How old are, 16, 19 20…"
(He queried again about a year later and when again rejected, he wrote this to my colleague:)
"What kind of asshole are you son, you must still be in short pants. Time to grow up…"
(He really is obsessed with age, isn't he…?)
4. The Badger
(This writer kept e-mailing us to ask the status of his manuscript. That's not necessarily a problem, except he began writing a week
after we received his work and continued to follow up every couple of days! I politely asked him to be patient.)
"I'm not impatient. I'm a self educated dyslexic who waited 43 years to write. I didn't get where I am today for someone to be rude
toward my efforts Damn you and your establishment!"
(If I had a dollar for every time I've been damned…)
5. The Racist
(On a more serious and rather sad note, even racism was claimed by a rejected writer.)
"I knew none of the literary agents I queried would be interested in my work, even though many of them specified that they accepted
'ethnic fiction'. Well, it does not matter -- I have an agent (have had this agent, from the Xxxxx Xxxx/Xxxxx Xxxxx since before
Christmas), and she understands the needs, problems, and racism affecting Black American Writers today. Not only that, but my first
novel, Xxxxxxxx xx Xxxx, was published last month. I believe Ms. Xxxxx-Xxxxx will get my novel, XXXX, into the hands of Editors who will
read the work and realize what a bestseller they hold in their pale hands, and I know that my novel will make lots of money for this
agency, as well as the publisher who is fortunate -- and wise-- enough to accept it. I have decided to remain true to my race and not
change things to please the Head Honchos. I thank you for your response, and I am glad you aren't my agent. I would probably have
to rewrite my entire novel and make it about some white chick if you were."
(I had my colleague and best friend, an African-American, answer that one. We hadn't asked her to change a thing.)
6. The Psycho
(If you're offended by foul language and distasteful subjects, scroll down past this one. This psycho's attitude displays how bad it can
be out there.)
"Dear expert, my sincere and honest feelings for you are pity. To think that you are someone who dares to make judgement on the
statements of your peers and betters. You sad pathetic little bitch. Oh dear, someone said the word 'fuck' to you. How do you expect
to ever get in touch with any serious thinker alive today when you can not accept the word 'fuck'. I bet you're a little uptight frigid
whore whose never seen a good size dick in her life. You are a little parasite who feeds off the stock of the creative types of this
world. I wish your mother had had an abortion and saved the world the waste of space that your pathetic ugly little body occupies. Get
out of my sight you fucking little slag. I bet you're ugly aren't you."
(Nice guy! His query letter was this: "I'm fucking bored--let's sell my work." Just the kind of person I've waited my whole life to work
with.)
names and identifying titles have been omitted to protect the guilty. Punctuation and spelling left as is in all its horrible glory.
1. The Demanding Approach
"Dear Agent,
As announced in my email from July 13, I send to you today the short email-version of my Book: The XXXXXXXX-Xxxxx. Pleas make a
printout of the 9 pages and read it. This Book will easily sell 1 million copies worldwide! Please make a decision, if you want to have it.
I want to close the Publishing contract as soon as possible. You can send me your offer by Fax or by Email."
(Oh yeah, that's going to make me just rush out and sign you up!)
2. The Tantrum
(The following is a classic. I used to try and help writers by taking the time to give them some feedback. For some reason because it
was by e-mail, writers had no compunction in throwing a fit of temper and sending me this like this:)
"Dear agent:
Thank you for reviewing my work. Fortunately your comments show that you know nothing about literary fiction and that you did not
read my manuscript, so I am pleased with your rejection. I did read your boiler plate comments; unfortunately they reveal more about
your lack of attention to my manuscript than about the manuscript itself!"
(Thanks, you're so sweet.)
3. The Arrogant Asshole
(Here's a cutie. This guy has the flashiest website, the best PR, and most intriguing query letter. Unfortunately, it seems the bigger
the 'sell', the worse the writing. This was his response to our rejection.)
"You sound like you need to spend a few more years in play school and grow up, Lizzy -- you don't know what in hell you're talking
about. How old are, 16, 19 20…"
(He queried again about a year later and when again rejected, he wrote this to my colleague:)
"What kind of asshole are you son, you must still be in short pants. Time to grow up…"
(He really is obsessed with age, isn't he…?)
4. The Badger
(This writer kept e-mailing us to ask the status of his manuscript. That's not necessarily a problem, except he began writing a week
after we received his work and continued to follow up every couple of days! I politely asked him to be patient.)
"I'm not impatient. I'm a self educated dyslexic who waited 43 years to write. I didn't get where I am today for someone to be rude
toward my efforts Damn you and your establishment!"
(If I had a dollar for every time I've been damned…)
5. The Racist
(On a more serious and rather sad note, even racism was claimed by a rejected writer.)
"I knew none of the literary agents I queried would be interested in my work, even though many of them specified that they accepted
'ethnic fiction'. Well, it does not matter -- I have an agent (have had this agent, from the Xxxxx Xxxx/Xxxxx Xxxxx since before
Christmas), and she understands the needs, problems, and racism affecting Black American Writers today. Not only that, but my first
novel, Xxxxxxxx xx Xxxx, was published last month. I believe Ms. Xxxxx-Xxxxx will get my novel, XXXX, into the hands of Editors who will
read the work and realize what a bestseller they hold in their pale hands, and I know that my novel will make lots of money for this
agency, as well as the publisher who is fortunate -- and wise-- enough to accept it. I have decided to remain true to my race and not
change things to please the Head Honchos. I thank you for your response, and I am glad you aren't my agent. I would probably have
to rewrite my entire novel and make it about some white chick if you were."
(I had my colleague and best friend, an African-American, answer that one. We hadn't asked her to change a thing.)
6. The Psycho
(If you're offended by foul language and distasteful subjects, scroll down past this one. This psycho's attitude displays how bad it can
be out there.)
"Dear expert, my sincere and honest feelings for you are pity. To think that you are someone who dares to make judgement on the
statements of your peers and betters. You sad pathetic little bitch. Oh dear, someone said the word 'fuck' to you. How do you expect
to ever get in touch with any serious thinker alive today when you can not accept the word 'fuck'. I bet you're a little uptight frigid
whore whose never seen a good size dick in her life. You are a little parasite who feeds off the stock of the creative types of this
world. I wish your mother had had an abortion and saved the world the waste of space that your pathetic ugly little body occupies. Get
out of my sight you fucking little slag. I bet you're ugly aren't you."
(Nice guy! His query letter was this: "I'm fucking bored--let's sell my work." Just the kind of person I've waited my whole life to work
with.)
Dear Agent
The
'frigid'
agent
'frigid'
agent
| With Joslyn Mays at Baycon San Jose, CA |
| Molly 'assistant editor' |
| Dunluce Castle Northern Ireland |
| With Max Grodenchik at Tacoma con, Washington |
| With Larry Niven and Jay Lake at Radcon, WA |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Scroll down page to continue reading Chapter One |
| TIME TWIST continued |
2.
“Nothing,” she murmured and consulted her wristwatch. “Time for my train.”
Getting up, she gave Bill’s shoulder a squeeze and slipped on her black leather jacket. Weaving her way through the crowd, a crescendo of
raucous laughter forced her to quicken her step toward the double doors, which had Elephant and Castle engraved on the glass. She passed
through them to the quiet hallway.
The odd-looking man she’d seen stood with his back to her blocking the exit. Oblivious to Catriona, he mumbled while his fingers worked at a
small black device in his palm.
Catriona tried to brush past him. Suddenly the hallway blurred and broke into a thousand jigsaw pieces. The man stood out in relief against the
maelstrom, his bright blue eyes wide in shock.
Then he and the hallway dissolved into nothing.
*
2261
Captain T’alak’s tail lashed to and fro as he waited for General B’alarg to acknowledge him. He resented his superior officer summoning him to
Military Headquarters as though he were a Terran slave rather than the head of an Imperial House. B’alarg did not deserve respect - he was no
more than a sycophant, the son of a common laborer who had bribed his way into the Komodoan Realm Fleet. But the war had changed Fleet
hierarchy; they needed soldiers regardless of class and status.
The general ignored him and studied the holographic viewscreen on his desk. T’alak noted the image displayed a human male’s profile, the skin
pale and devoid of scales. His tail twitched and swished, broadcasting his impatience. Forcing it to be still, T’alak glanced round B’alarg’s office.
The furnishings showed standard Komodoan Fleet interior design: polished gray stone and dark metal. Water coursed down the walls, eddying in
different shapes and textures. Water-sculpture flowed in every Komodoan structure, a necessity as well as an art form. Without it, a Komodoan
would suffer severe dehydration. T’alak inhaled, enjoying the sulphurous green-hued condensation from the ornate sculpture. Sulphur dominated
the planet Komodoa, enriching the oceans and flowing through Komodoans’ veins, making their blood oxidize green.
T’alak’s glance fell on an antique revolving globe of the planet Earth, which stood to the right of B’alarg’s desk. He sneered when he noticed the
war god B’llumni’s destruction mantra attached to its stand. Only an upstart like B’alarg would believe in such ancient nonsense from the spirit
world. Or perhaps a human, with their alien notions of devils and hells in the netherworld. T’alak suspected that was why humans feared them most;
Komodoans’ faces bore a decidedly saturnine look with a scaly pattern tracing the forehead.
B’alarg broke into his reverie. “Captain, sit.” He pointed at one of the backless chairs in front of his desk.
T’alak dropped onto the chair, his tail twitching at B’alarg’s patronizing manner. Studying the general’s face, T’alak saw the coarseness of his
heritage. Most Komodoans looked similar – thick dark hair, and scales on foreheads, hands, and tails. But B’alarg’s hands were brutishly large;
his broad tail crude and unrefined. The skin on his face looked loose, hanging in folds.
T’alak wondered if B’alarg’s morph could be imminent – an unpleasant bi-yearly process for Komodoans where they shed the outer skin. His tail
tightened at the memory of his own recent morph. A painful, messy, and humiliating business. General B’alarg would need to arrange his absence
if it were due; he would not want T’alak to see him weak. Or worse still, if the timing meant T’alak would be forced to assist with the morph
“How can I be of service, honored General?” he inquired formally.
"The L’umina is needed for a sensitive mission.”
T’alak’s tail stiffened with interest. The L’umina was his ship, named in honor of the war god, B’llumni. “I am yours to command, honored one.”
B’alarg’s forked tongue flickered between his lips as he spoke, the cause of the sibilant esses in Komodoan speech. “A patriot working under
cover in enemy territory is bringing back data, vital to the ascension of the Realm.”
T’alak felt a surge of excitement. He had become exasperated with wasting the L’umina in border skirmishes. Perhaps allowing the lower
classes into the Fleet wasn’t a detriment after all.
“Let us transfer to tactical,” hissed B’alarg, rising ponderously to his feet.
He led the way to a gleaming metal doorway between two water-sculptures. He lifted his wrist to speak into his comm bracelet, and the door slid
open to reveal the hub of the Komodoan Realm military tactical center.
T’alak followed him. Here no soothing water flowed. Instead, holographic star charts of mapped space spanned the gray walls. The door slid
behind them with a resounding click. Like all doors on Komodoa, it paused before closing. Faster doors had docked too many precious tails.
B’alarg moved to the far wall. “This,” he pointed to a jagged run of red triangles, “is where you must rendezvous with the agent-”
“In Alliance territory?” interrupted T’alak, unable to suppress his elation. The Alliance: the allegiance between the alien races Leontor and Terran,
governed by Leontor Control.
The Komodoan Realm had been at war with Leontor for almost three hundred centuries. Victory had been imminent until the Leons strengthened
their army with Terran soldiers.
“The Alliance ship Vallo will pass through the rendezvous sector after leaving the science station on the Suzerain asteroid,” hissed B’alarg.
“Retrieve our agent, then with all speed, return to the Realm.”
“And the Vallo?”
General B’alarg’s heavy tail flicked. “Do not engage on any account. Your priority is to get the agent and data back here.”
T’alak’s tail whipped in anger. To be so close to the Alliance Armada flagship, and not confront her in battle? “When do we launch?”
“You will be notified when we confirm the rendezvous.” B’alarg touched a panel and the door slid open.
T’alak bowed, leaving the tactics chamber. His mind whirled. He had a personal debt to settle with the Alliance. Could this be it?
He paused, realizing B’alarg had remained behind. He moved to the general’s globe of Earth and laid his scaled hand on top.
“Soon, you will pay,” he said.
Sending the globe spinning in a cacophony of color, he swept from the office.
*
To order, click on any of the links below:
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
and from
Dragon Moon Press
“Nothing,” she murmured and consulted her wristwatch. “Time for my train.”
Getting up, she gave Bill’s shoulder a squeeze and slipped on her black leather jacket. Weaving her way through the crowd, a crescendo of
raucous laughter forced her to quicken her step toward the double doors, which had Elephant and Castle engraved on the glass. She passed
through them to the quiet hallway.
The odd-looking man she’d seen stood with his back to her blocking the exit. Oblivious to Catriona, he mumbled while his fingers worked at a
small black device in his palm.
Catriona tried to brush past him. Suddenly the hallway blurred and broke into a thousand jigsaw pieces. The man stood out in relief against the
maelstrom, his bright blue eyes wide in shock.
Then he and the hallway dissolved into nothing.
*
2261
Captain T’alak’s tail lashed to and fro as he waited for General B’alarg to acknowledge him. He resented his superior officer summoning him to
Military Headquarters as though he were a Terran slave rather than the head of an Imperial House. B’alarg did not deserve respect - he was no
more than a sycophant, the son of a common laborer who had bribed his way into the Komodoan Realm Fleet. But the war had changed Fleet
hierarchy; they needed soldiers regardless of class and status.
The general ignored him and studied the holographic viewscreen on his desk. T’alak noted the image displayed a human male’s profile, the skin
pale and devoid of scales. His tail twitched and swished, broadcasting his impatience. Forcing it to be still, T’alak glanced round B’alarg’s office.
The furnishings showed standard Komodoan Fleet interior design: polished gray stone and dark metal. Water coursed down the walls, eddying in
different shapes and textures. Water-sculpture flowed in every Komodoan structure, a necessity as well as an art form. Without it, a Komodoan
would suffer severe dehydration. T’alak inhaled, enjoying the sulphurous green-hued condensation from the ornate sculpture. Sulphur dominated
the planet Komodoa, enriching the oceans and flowing through Komodoans’ veins, making their blood oxidize green.
T’alak’s glance fell on an antique revolving globe of the planet Earth, which stood to the right of B’alarg’s desk. He sneered when he noticed the
war god B’llumni’s destruction mantra attached to its stand. Only an upstart like B’alarg would believe in such ancient nonsense from the spirit
world. Or perhaps a human, with their alien notions of devils and hells in the netherworld. T’alak suspected that was why humans feared them most;
Komodoans’ faces bore a decidedly saturnine look with a scaly pattern tracing the forehead.
B’alarg broke into his reverie. “Captain, sit.” He pointed at one of the backless chairs in front of his desk.
T’alak dropped onto the chair, his tail twitching at B’alarg’s patronizing manner. Studying the general’s face, T’alak saw the coarseness of his
heritage. Most Komodoans looked similar – thick dark hair, and scales on foreheads, hands, and tails. But B’alarg’s hands were brutishly large;
his broad tail crude and unrefined. The skin on his face looked loose, hanging in folds.
T’alak wondered if B’alarg’s morph could be imminent – an unpleasant bi-yearly process for Komodoans where they shed the outer skin. His tail
tightened at the memory of his own recent morph. A painful, messy, and humiliating business. General B’alarg would need to arrange his absence
if it were due; he would not want T’alak to see him weak. Or worse still, if the timing meant T’alak would be forced to assist with the morph
“How can I be of service, honored General?” he inquired formally.
"The L’umina is needed for a sensitive mission.”
T’alak’s tail stiffened with interest. The L’umina was his ship, named in honor of the war god, B’llumni. “I am yours to command, honored one.”
B’alarg’s forked tongue flickered between his lips as he spoke, the cause of the sibilant esses in Komodoan speech. “A patriot working under
cover in enemy territory is bringing back data, vital to the ascension of the Realm.”
T’alak felt a surge of excitement. He had become exasperated with wasting the L’umina in border skirmishes. Perhaps allowing the lower
classes into the Fleet wasn’t a detriment after all.
“Let us transfer to tactical,” hissed B’alarg, rising ponderously to his feet.
He led the way to a gleaming metal doorway between two water-sculptures. He lifted his wrist to speak into his comm bracelet, and the door slid
open to reveal the hub of the Komodoan Realm military tactical center.
T’alak followed him. Here no soothing water flowed. Instead, holographic star charts of mapped space spanned the gray walls. The door slid
behind them with a resounding click. Like all doors on Komodoa, it paused before closing. Faster doors had docked too many precious tails.
B’alarg moved to the far wall. “This,” he pointed to a jagged run of red triangles, “is where you must rendezvous with the agent-”
“In Alliance territory?” interrupted T’alak, unable to suppress his elation. The Alliance: the allegiance between the alien races Leontor and Terran,
governed by Leontor Control.
The Komodoan Realm had been at war with Leontor for almost three hundred centuries. Victory had been imminent until the Leons strengthened
their army with Terran soldiers.
“The Alliance ship Vallo will pass through the rendezvous sector after leaving the science station on the Suzerain asteroid,” hissed B’alarg.
“Retrieve our agent, then with all speed, return to the Realm.”
“And the Vallo?”
General B’alarg’s heavy tail flicked. “Do not engage on any account. Your priority is to get the agent and data back here.”
T’alak’s tail whipped in anger. To be so close to the Alliance Armada flagship, and not confront her in battle? “When do we launch?”
“You will be notified when we confirm the rendezvous.” B’alarg touched a panel and the door slid open.
T’alak bowed, leaving the tactics chamber. His mind whirled. He had a personal debt to settle with the Alliance. Could this be it?
He paused, realizing B’alarg had remained behind. He moved to the general’s globe of Earth and laid his scaled hand on top.
“Soon, you will pay,” he said.
Sending the globe spinning in a cacophony of color, he swept from the office.
*
To order, click on any of the links below:
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
and from
Dragon Moon Press
Time Twist is a book that has something for
everyone. Delight your family, friends, and
lovers with this refreshing, and entertaining
adventure through time and space.
everyone. Delight your family, friends, and
lovers with this refreshing, and entertaining
adventure through time and space.