an only slightly bitter rant about publishers

After the sweltering heat of last week, today there's sun and a chill breeze. The city is still; I'm hearing birds like never before, exotic new trills, wish I knew what song belongs to which bird. The Gardiner Expressway is closed this weekend for repairs, and Bayview is closed for "Open Streets Toronto," so I took a long quiet bike ride almost down to the lake, surrounded by bikers, walkers, runners, skateboarders ... a vision of what this city could be if they ended their worship of the bloody car. It's so quiet and the air so sweet, it's hard to believe this is the heart of a metropolis.

I have started a chronicle I'm calling The Journey to a Book, about my efforts to get this memoir published, to share with students and any CNFC colleagues who might be interested. So I made a list, just of what I remember of my efforts over the last two years to get the book into the world.

Since 2015 I have worked with 5 editors, 4 of whom I paid, including a copy-editor at the end. (Rosemary, dear friend, read and commented for free.) After thousands in expenses and many drafts, in  2018 I started to try to find a publisher.

I contacted 4 agents, 2 of whom are friends, all of whom said no.
Over a year and a half, I sent either a query letter or a full submission, which is a convoluted lengthy process as they all want something different, to 20 publishers, big and small. Sometimes submissions, written specifically for a certain press, are many pages long.
I received a no, eventually, sometimes after months, from 10 of them.
I received a maybe from 2, one finally saying no, the other nothing.
I heard nothing, not even an acknowledgement of receipt of my query or submission, from the 8 others.

Fellow writer Judy urged me to be patient; "This is an important book, surely someone will want it," she said. @#$# that, I replied, though more politely. Enough. I understand that publishing is in dire straights, especially now after Covid. The one publisher who got back to me promptly to say, "I like your book" and express interest in publishing it, took five days to think about it and finally tell me the pandemic has so crushed his business, he can't take on any new projects.

So this list is why I'm going with a hybrid publisher who's a respected editor. I will pay for the process, have artistic control, receive much of the royalties if there are any, and most of all, will hold the book in my hands before I die.

As for much more important matters: the protests continue, as they should, and my family is doing its part.

screenshots

Oh this is needed today! Every article spot on. Thank you, universe. Ah - just tried to post it but can't, so here's a screenshot. Hope you can find the whole NYT parody - it's hilarious (all but headlines in Latin. Click to enlarge.)

And this - heartbreaking, as Anna's kids get ready for the demise of their beloved cat Naan. "I love you a lot Naan. We all do Naan but I love you the most. You are moving on to a batr place."

And this - a screenshot of me yesterday, on Zoom, about to start the class and admiring my new long hair. Ten students, eight beautiful stories in nearly 3 hours - Zoom works.

Okay, time to get busy - did the Zoom line dancing class with Gina - at the end of this pandemic, I will be a skilled line dancer! Then a mutual support Zoom meeting with Judy, she reading my stuff and I reading hers, priceless. Now a quick piano practice, especially because my tenant Robin has gone to the office today - he has been home for 10 weeks, and I'm shy to make noise on the piano when he's here. But today he's not and I can pound to my heart's delight. And then, lots and lots of work. It's hot. The garden is joyful. And I'm not bad myself.

"Being Canadian" and "Mrs. America"

Another long silent day punctuated by contact: Robin my upstairs tenant, a hello and a chat; a phone call with a writing student wanting direction with her memoir; a chat with another wanting to buy the writing book; tonight, a Zoom class. Plus email and text messages, replies to this blog, all the Likes on FB and Twitter - for people sitting alone at home, we sure are dealing with a lot of voices.

The rain is just beginning. I went down the street first thing to get more plants from Jay's and got them in just in time. What a gorgeous smell. Today's garden joy: the delicate puffball magnificence of allium.

Sadness across town: Naan, Anna's beloved cat, has cancer and is scheduled to meet her maker on Saturday. She's a marvellous creature who has had a great life, coming in and out the window, being fed and petted by neighbours as well as her own family, and putting up with a remarkable amount of roughhousing from two small boys until they went too far and got a quick swipe of the claws. Anna wrote, "We're feeding her all her favourite things: eggs and ham last night, smoked salmon this morning, fried chicken for dinner; tomorrow she'll get her own can of tuna and some butter for dessert. I haven't told the kids yet."

I don't envy her that. I remember going through it with several cats here, especially Snoozie, our beloved Persian; Anna liked to dress up the poor creature and push her around in her doll carriage. Ten years later a vet came and administered the injection while I held her in my arms. Oh these pets whom we love so. My mother said, after the death of her beloved beagle Tippy, that she would never get another dog, the loss hurt too much.

Last night I watched the amusing documentary Being Canadian - Canuck comedian Robert Cohen who lives in L.A. crossing Canada to understand this country better. He interviewed many well-known Canadian comics, and one question dealt with was: Why does Canada produce so many world-class comedians? You could ask that question, and many have, about Jews, and I put it down to the same issue: when you're dealing with bullies, you learn to be funny. Canadians are powerless outsiders, living beside the biggest bully in the world. Make 'em laugh is one way to survive.

Then I watched the next episode of Mrs. America, which is extremely well done, about the early years of the feminist movement and the rise of right-wing anti-feminists, starring the fabulous Cate Blanchett as Phyllis Schlafly and Rose Byrne as Gloria Steinem. It's very fair, not demonizing the appalling Schlafly even as it shows her narrow-minded nastiness as she uses lies and propaganda - and members of the Klan - to further her cause, and her hypocrisy as she fights for women to stay in the home while she herself is out campaigning, leaving her own home and children in the hands of her Black maids. It's painful to watch the birth of the Tea Party, and I may have to stop; in the end, Schlafly and her minions defeated the ERA. But not the feminist movement. A fascinating docu-drama.

Lots of rain now, a gentle, welcome sound, the heavenly scent of growth and green. Onward.

Cynthia Nixon in the heat

Just watched this marvellous 9 minute playlet starring Cynthia Nixon, had a great laugh, and emerged more glad than ever that I am not suffering through this pandemic in a small apartment with a spouse.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYrCp5pDxJ/

It was unbelievably hot today, and I think of parents in apartments with children - no splash pads are open, no pools, no playgrounds. Brutal. Cathy, who's a nurse, said she thinks the mental health issues we'll have to deal with later will be as devastating as the physical effects of the virus.

I will not turn on my A.C. in May, that's ridiculous, and the fan stored in the basement now does not work. So it was just sitting around being hot for much of the day. I did make a suicidal run to get a few groceries - line up, mask on, rush about, get out! - and for the first time in months to Shoppers, to mail my writing books to Lani who is giving them to three would-be writers of her acquaintance. That's a friend for you.

Importantly, Anna came with her friend and did more heroic clearing out downstairs. It's now starting to resemble a habitable apartment. A lot of stuff needs to be trucked out, maybe on the weekend, and then it can be cleaned and the repairs can begin. My shoulders lift a bit more.

But there was a big disappointment about the manuscript today - a vague hope I'd had that in the end was for naught. Nothing new there.

And another disappointment from my longtime hairdresser Ingrid. Ingrid and I have been through a lot together over decades; I was thrilled when she and her new partner moved their business to Cabbagetown and then bought a house up the street. It took me 3 minutes by bike to get to my hair appointments. I just wrote to ask if I could be on the list for when she came back to work, and she said she's closing the salon, at least until there's a vaccine. I will miss them both a great deal. And I will be hairy for some time, until I find someone else.

At day's end, the big treat was to welcome Monique and Cathy for rosé at the bottom of my garden. It's cool and shady back there, and quiet, and they told me it's the most magical place in all Toronto. The cardinal even dropped in for a bit.

Wish I could end on a cheery note. Hmmm. Nope, I got nothin'. Sorry.

Oh yes, there is something cheery, for me at least - I'm not sick. Anna bought me a thermometer, and I'm fine. A bit of a summer cold. Maybe I'll live till my 70th birthday, which is coming right up. Impossible as that is to believe.

Good People: Mark Sakimoto

Oh joy! My friend Marisha came today; she has cleaned my house and kept me sane for at least 15 years but has not been here since February. She was due to come in March when ... well, you know. I've managed to keep the dustballs from taking over, but barely, and today, there she was, six feet away and smiling. Her family is well. Her husband the truck driver is not driving long distances so is home more; she groaned, and we laughed.

At the same time, a miracle - my daughter appeared with her old friend who used to live with her family in my basement apartment, and they started to sort and clean. When they left, 3 hours later, there was a giant pile of toys and clothes in front of the house which we hope people will cart away; you can't donate to charities right now, they're all closed, but people around here do a good job of carting. There's a ton more to be done so they're back tomorrow, but the process has at last, at very long last, begun. See the writer's shoulders loosen slightly. My girl really came through.

So I cleaned with Marisha and kept an eye on downstairs, and then I started the "Marketing for creatives" course that I signed up for through the CNFC website. It says you should really consider keeping a blog. As they say on The Simpsons: Okeley dokeley.

Oh, and I'm better but not 100%. It must be a summer cold, a little bug with a bit of throat and body ache, but of course these days, any twinge leads to sheer terror. OMG THIS IS IT I'M DEAD.

Not. Thank you very much.

Today, extremely hot, and tomorrow, 31 degrees. It's July, and I'm not dead. Yet.

Yesterday I watched more episodes of Good People on CBC Gem, with the handsome talented empathetic Mark Sakimoto exploring our country's great problems and highlighting possible solutions. In my vivid dream last night, I was backstage at a concert with a man I really liked, and it was not - gasp! - Paul McCartney. I think it was Mark Sakimoto. Now going to watch more episodes. We'll see what tonight's dreams bring.