In the past few weeks, we have submitted the heteropocalypse text to 13 publishers and 41 literary agents. Ten replied with rejection form letters, one said we should consider it a rejection if we don’t hear back in two weeks, and only one wrote an actual rejection letter. We cast a wide net, figuring that the sensibilities required to appreciate or want to see this particular text flourish are not the ones that a person tends to confess in their literary agent’s bio and list of interests.
If you throw fifty used condoms around, you’re bound to hit at least one cum guzzling slut. Likewise, we hope one of the many submissions or query letters we sent out will have found fertile ground. As of yet, this has not come to pass.
As much as someone (or thirteen someones, as the case may be) lowers their expectations and prepared for the worst, rejection and waiting do take their toll upon the psyche. We struggle and question both our prospects and our faith. Defeat feels like a constant companion, one who feeds upon our souls and grows inevitably as we diminish. Nevertheless, whenever we return to the text itself, whether in translation of the bizarre language we are channelling, or in seminary reflection and study, or simply casual reading and editing, we come away impressed and troubled in equal measure. We continue to believe in this project.
Whether we find our freak literary agent or editor or we resort to self publishing, we will usher this text into this world.
As the Romans say, Sempre Avanti! — Always Forward!
