The eleven people who bought my first novel, Notes on an Orange Burial, may recall it was about a struggling and rather unstable poet (is there any other kind?) named Jona Gold. While most readers and reviewers found the title a tad ambiguous and, ironically, not very poetic, most laughed out loud at least once while reading the book (and not just at the typos). In fact, Notes on an Orange Burial won the award for 'Funniest Novel about a Struggling and Rather Unstable Poet Named Jona Gold.' Not to brag.
I’ve been so busy promoting my latest novel, I’ve inadvertently abandoned my firstborn book. As a sort of apology to my baby, I’m featuring in this post what nine of the eleven people who read Notes on an Orange Burial said was their favorite part – or parts, really. Throughout the novel, Jona receives several rejection letters from publishers who aren’t interested in his manuscript of postmodern poetry. However, the rejection letters do not appear as the publishers wrote them, but rather as the delusional Jona interprets them. And trust me, the power of a poet’s selective perception’ is mighty.
So without further ado, here are Jona’s rejection letters (pulled straight from the novel), as perceived by the peculiar poet himself:
Dear Mr. Gold,
Thank you very much for the recent submission of your poetry chapbook, Notes on an Orange Burial. While we appreciate the effort that went into your work, we will not be able to accept it for publication at this time. Please do not be overly discouraged by this news as we are a rather unimportant publishing company that, more often than not, is unable to distinguish between an inspired piece of verse and a barroom limerick featuring scatological leitmotifs. I cannot over-emphasize enough the insignificance of our opinion, and hope that you realize how talented you truly are.
We at BlackStone recommend that you do not rip up this rejection letter in anger. We feel it would be much wiser for you to wait until you are offered the post of U.S. Poet Laureate some day in the not too distant future, and to then urinate directly on this letter in front of close friends and family at your acceptance celebration.
Once again, thank you for thinking of BlackStone Publishers. And please remember, our entire editorial staff is inbred.
Regards,
Robert Gluck
Senior Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
We at Rain and Shadow Press would like to thank you for submitting your book of verse, Notes on an Orange Burial, for publication consideration. Unfortunately, we find that the work exhibits stunning innovation in both subject matter and technique and therefore does not fit in well with the trite, unimaginative verse we have prided ourselves on publishing for what feels like decades.
Perhaps if your work had featured a half-dozen hackneyed pieces on love and life’s meaning, or if your father had been a famous drunken bard who had unprotected sex with our founder at some fabled cocktail party, we could consider passing your book on to the second phase of the acceptance process. As things stand, we have consciously chosen to be among the scores of other publishing houses that will collectively slash their wrists upon learning they could have signed one of the finest poets of our time.
We wish you the best of luck in your writing endeavors, and look forward to you buying our company some day and then two days later selling it to a powerful crack magnate out of spite.
Sincerely,
Susan Babcock
Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
Why somebody of your unparalleled poetic caliber would even consider submitting such an important volume to such a struggling and second-rate publishing house is baffling. Myself and the other fading editor here figure you must have addressed your manuscript to us in error while under the influence of some powerful dental anesthetic or children’s breakfast cereal.
In any event, we are very respectfully declining to publish the soon-to-be classic Notes on an Orange Burial, as we would rather not have to deal with the paralyzing sense of loss that would inevitably result when one of the elite and mighty publishing houses swoops down and steals you away from us.
However, if by chance you have an accident or a sudden stroke that causes your dazzling writing skills to diminish, feel free to submit your future work to Blue Canon. Until then, please refrain from so egregiously lowering your standards and teasing us. We do have feelings, despite what the poetry we publish may suggest.
Sincerely,
Jacob Houseman
Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
Let me start by saying that, each day at SubVersive Press, we all form a circle around your manuscript to toss flowers, precious stones, rare coins, and assorted dark Belgian chocolates on top of it.
Unfortunately, nobody here is prepared to make the dramatic change in lifestyle that would be required if we were to publish such a groundbreaking volume. You see, our house has always prided itself on being scrappy and a little rough around the edges. By publishing Notes On An Orange Burial (notice how we’ve capitalized even the preposition and article in your title out of reverence), we would be thrust into the industry limelight overnight and, as a result, would no doubt begin to receive visits from important figures who would expect us to wear shoes in the office.
We realize the fame and prestige we are forfeiting, but we feel it is the right thing to do to maintain our company’s distinct culture. You will be happy to know, however, that we have designated August 26th (the date we received your stunning submission) as annual “Orange Burial Day.” Starting next year, we will celebrate this day by adorning our offices with rotting fruit and giving a prize to the employee who brings in the most majestic animal carcass.
Yours Truly,
Elizabeth Brooks
Publisher
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Mr. Gold:
We are very much impressed by the dynamic scope and skill demonstrated in many of your poems, but we feel your true power and mystique as a poet won’t be fully marketable to the reading public until after your death. Myself and the other editors here are aware you are quite a young man, and you may not die for decades to come, which is why we would like to suggest suicide as a viable option. We can think of no better or more legal way to help speed up the publishing process and your resultant entrance into the annals of literary fame.
To be clear, we merely are suggesting suicide; we are by no means requiring it, nor are we trying to force the idea upon you. We certainly would never have even made the suggestion if we thought you weren't already prone to an overdose or self-asphyxiation (based on your countless allusions to and images of decay, drowning, wilting, and rain).
We do realize by taking your life before your book is published, you will never get to see the book in print nor help to choose the cover art. If it is any consolation, the joy and sense of purpose you would no doubt feel if you were to get to see your first book of poems published would more than likely have a detrimental effect on your artistically nihilistic perspective and, thus, render you unable to write anything other than love poems or scripts for coffee commercials. So, as we hope you will come to realize, yours is a rather clear case of better off dead.
Warm regards,
Henry Fasserman
Editor in Chief
--------------------------------------------------
If you dare to learn more about Jona and/or Notes on an Orange Burial, you can do so here.
I’ve been so busy promoting my latest novel, I’ve inadvertently abandoned my firstborn book. As a sort of apology to my baby, I’m featuring in this post what nine of the eleven people who read Notes on an Orange Burial said was their favorite part – or parts, really. Throughout the novel, Jona receives several rejection letters from publishers who aren’t interested in his manuscript of postmodern poetry. However, the rejection letters do not appear as the publishers wrote them, but rather as the delusional Jona interprets them. And trust me, the power of a poet’s selective perception’ is mighty.
So without further ado, here are Jona’s rejection letters (pulled straight from the novel), as perceived by the peculiar poet himself:
Dear Mr. Gold,
Thank you very much for the recent submission of your poetry chapbook, Notes on an Orange Burial. While we appreciate the effort that went into your work, we will not be able to accept it for publication at this time. Please do not be overly discouraged by this news as we are a rather unimportant publishing company that, more often than not, is unable to distinguish between an inspired piece of verse and a barroom limerick featuring scatological leitmotifs. I cannot over-emphasize enough the insignificance of our opinion, and hope that you realize how talented you truly are.
We at BlackStone recommend that you do not rip up this rejection letter in anger. We feel it would be much wiser for you to wait until you are offered the post of U.S. Poet Laureate some day in the not too distant future, and to then urinate directly on this letter in front of close friends and family at your acceptance celebration.
Once again, thank you for thinking of BlackStone Publishers. And please remember, our entire editorial staff is inbred.
Regards,
Robert Gluck
Senior Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
We at Rain and Shadow Press would like to thank you for submitting your book of verse, Notes on an Orange Burial, for publication consideration. Unfortunately, we find that the work exhibits stunning innovation in both subject matter and technique and therefore does not fit in well with the trite, unimaginative verse we have prided ourselves on publishing for what feels like decades.
Perhaps if your work had featured a half-dozen hackneyed pieces on love and life’s meaning, or if your father had been a famous drunken bard who had unprotected sex with our founder at some fabled cocktail party, we could consider passing your book on to the second phase of the acceptance process. As things stand, we have consciously chosen to be among the scores of other publishing houses that will collectively slash their wrists upon learning they could have signed one of the finest poets of our time.
We wish you the best of luck in your writing endeavors, and look forward to you buying our company some day and then two days later selling it to a powerful crack magnate out of spite.
Sincerely,
Susan Babcock
Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
Why somebody of your unparalleled poetic caliber would even consider submitting such an important volume to such a struggling and second-rate publishing house is baffling. Myself and the other fading editor here figure you must have addressed your manuscript to us in error while under the influence of some powerful dental anesthetic or children’s breakfast cereal.
In any event, we are very respectfully declining to publish the soon-to-be classic Notes on an Orange Burial, as we would rather not have to deal with the paralyzing sense of loss that would inevitably result when one of the elite and mighty publishing houses swoops down and steals you away from us.
However, if by chance you have an accident or a sudden stroke that causes your dazzling writing skills to diminish, feel free to submit your future work to Blue Canon. Until then, please refrain from so egregiously lowering your standards and teasing us. We do have feelings, despite what the poetry we publish may suggest.
Sincerely,
Jacob Houseman
Editor
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Jona,
Let me start by saying that, each day at SubVersive Press, we all form a circle around your manuscript to toss flowers, precious stones, rare coins, and assorted dark Belgian chocolates on top of it.
Unfortunately, nobody here is prepared to make the dramatic change in lifestyle that would be required if we were to publish such a groundbreaking volume. You see, our house has always prided itself on being scrappy and a little rough around the edges. By publishing Notes On An Orange Burial (notice how we’ve capitalized even the preposition and article in your title out of reverence), we would be thrust into the industry limelight overnight and, as a result, would no doubt begin to receive visits from important figures who would expect us to wear shoes in the office.
We realize the fame and prestige we are forfeiting, but we feel it is the right thing to do to maintain our company’s distinct culture. You will be happy to know, however, that we have designated August 26th (the date we received your stunning submission) as annual “Orange Burial Day.” Starting next year, we will celebrate this day by adorning our offices with rotting fruit and giving a prize to the employee who brings in the most majestic animal carcass.
Yours Truly,
Elizabeth Brooks
Publisher
---------------------------------------------------
Dear Mr. Gold:
We are very much impressed by the dynamic scope and skill demonstrated in many of your poems, but we feel your true power and mystique as a poet won’t be fully marketable to the reading public until after your death. Myself and the other editors here are aware you are quite a young man, and you may not die for decades to come, which is why we would like to suggest suicide as a viable option. We can think of no better or more legal way to help speed up the publishing process and your resultant entrance into the annals of literary fame.
To be clear, we merely are suggesting suicide; we are by no means requiring it, nor are we trying to force the idea upon you. We certainly would never have even made the suggestion if we thought you weren't already prone to an overdose or self-asphyxiation (based on your countless allusions to and images of decay, drowning, wilting, and rain).
We do realize by taking your life before your book is published, you will never get to see the book in print nor help to choose the cover art. If it is any consolation, the joy and sense of purpose you would no doubt feel if you were to get to see your first book of poems published would more than likely have a detrimental effect on your artistically nihilistic perspective and, thus, render you unable to write anything other than love poems or scripts for coffee commercials. So, as we hope you will come to realize, yours is a rather clear case of better off dead.
Warm regards,
Henry Fasserman
Editor in Chief
--------------------------------------------------
If you dare to learn more about Jona and/or Notes on an Orange Burial, you can do so here.
