Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dear ______ _________,
I have chosen to respond to your rejection letter for one simple reason: I believe in my book, Jack Defeats Ron 100-64, far too much to roll over and gutlessly accept defeat from the bookstore I have grown to revere as King. You, Barnes and Noble, are Mecca for physical, tangible literature and my book is a superior achievement in just that— physical literature. I do not type that and grin snidely, quite the opposite in fact. Making large, bombastic claims about my book is supremely uncomfortable for me. I despise self-promotion and swallow in fear each time I solicit a bookstore or magazine (which I have been doing constantly). This being said, I believe my claim. I believe every damn word.
Poetry is dying. Poetry is being administered morphine intravenously every half hour on the dot. It is no longer cool, no longer respected and no longer given proper attention… all for good reason! “Poets” decide they want to be poets before one line is inked to page. It’s a title. A title that, in certain groups, catapults you into desired obscurity where women want to sleep with you because you’re outwardly emotional and men give you nods of approval because you put it out there mannn. Poetry doesn’t sell because current poetry is horseshit, not because it’s an unprofitable niche of art. Jack Defeats Ron 100-64 can sell because it has the moxie to lure a fan base and the honesty to intrigue a community of people who always wanted to be part of contemporary writing. I have full confidence my book has the power to resurge a brittle breed of minds. Give JDR the chance to become a national phenomenon.
Initially I planned on disrespectfully revealing my immediate (and sustaining) anger towards your seemingly template, paint-by-numbers rejection, but this passive aggressive sentence satisfies my quench. A chip on my shoulder will motivate me, but allowing you to see that chip is a mistake. I have shown you a slice of it in this paragraph, slice being the keyword. I will continue to nurse my chip and do so in order to achieve all I feel I deserve. And I know I deserve to be on bookshelves in Barnes and Noble stores across the United States.
We both know another rejection will be nothing but a scratch, so why not grant me access to the machine now? All I’m asking for is a chance. Thank you kindly. Long live the printed word.