Author Seeks Publishers – The scenarios

At home, Feng is the stats guy. The stereotype is true: Chinese are good with numbers—or at least, “my” Chinese is. I’ve seen him analyzing MLB stats for hours to develop optimal fantasy baseball strategies, a task you couldn’t even pay me to carry out if I had the slightest idea what these numbers meant in the first place. He can make sense of data, calculate ROI, estimate value and back it up with fancy Excel sheets and percentages. I think numbers inform most of his decisions, while mine are mostly instinctive or based on human psychology.

I wish I had hard data on hand to figure out if I stand a chance. Like, how many manuscripts do publishers receive every day? How many are sound proposal? How many make a convincing pitch? How many writers can actually produce a readable, marketable and enjoyable story?

I know for a fact many people want to write a book but don’t have the opportunity or the time to do it. And I’ve also heard that many writers try to pitch their books before they’re completed or even before they start writing the story—I doubt publishers take them seriously, unless they are already famous or have lived through a truly unique experience.

There is this guy who works at Starbucks all day. You can’t miss him—he brings a laptop and an old-fashioned keyboard and spreads his stuff over a couple of tables—yes, he is one of these annoying customers, the kind you curse when you are standing around with your own drink, looking for a seat.

I had the misfortune of taking the chair in front of him one morning when the shop was full and he told me all about his book for an excruciating twenty minutes. From what I understood, he found the secret to successful investing and is writing about his unique knowledge without any background in economics whatsoever—he just “feels the money.” I guess money doesn’t reciprocate the feeling because he can’t be bothered to buy a drink most days…

Alright, I’m being petty. But let’s get pettier: I hope I pitched my book better than he pitched his.

I can’t do stats or calculate probabilities. I don’t know the market and above all, numbers make no sense to me.

Instead, I write stories in my head.

So far, I have three scenarios.

First, there is the French scenario. After being rejected for years and years but still deeply and passionately in love with writing, as artists are, and broke, as artists usually are, I write a letter begging the European Union to subsidize my book project. Because no one actually reads my letter (it arrives on a Friday afternoon and public servants are planning their weekend), someone grants me the money.

However, the EU realizes its mistake after seeing the title on the galleys—mon dieu, c’est de l’anglais! Indeed, following Brexit, France successfully lobbied the rest of the European Union for a complete ban on English and the comeback of French as the language of the civilized world. As a former French citizen who writes in English, I’m charged with treason. My French passport is destroyed and I am deported back to Canada.

Then, there is the American scenario. After collecting rejection letters and final debt collection notices for years, I decide to give up on my dream and embrace a minimum-wage job once again. One night, I dump the manuscript in a recycling bin.

However, that same night, a publisher from Hollywood walks around the neighbourhood, desperate for some material to read while sipping a coffee at Tim Hortons. Intrigued by the thick stack of paper in my blue bin, she picks up a few pages and immediately falls in love with the story. She knocks on my door, flies me to Los Angeles, books me into a five-star hotel and I become rich and famous for a year before being shamed by the media over a minor scandal months later—the usual highs and lows of fame in North America.

And then, just in case you found the previous two scenarios a bit far-fetched (no, really?), there is the realistic, unmarketable option: absolutely nothing happens. I never hear back from my query letter or at best, I get a standard rejection letter and life goes on.

The lucky bamboo is sprouting two tiny branches.

I’ll take it as a sign I still stand a chance.