Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

When I started writing, after retirement in 1994, the first obstacle I had to overcome was lack of self-confidence. Everything I had heard and read about getting published indicated that the likelihood of doing so quickly was remote.

After I had read everything on this subject I could find and talked to as many published authors as possible, I felt there was only one way to test my wings—submit a story. A book, of course, was far beyond my capabilities, but I could do a passable job on short stories, articles and columns, and that’s what I did.

After selecting target magazines and studying their guidelines, I submitted the three best pieces I could manage then checked the mail box daily for what seemed an eternity. As I learned later, magazine publishers and editors receive literally hundreds of submissions each month, and quickly weed out any that fail to meet their guidelines, or don’t “hook” them with the opening paragraph.

This is the reason most writers get either a form letter rejecting their submission, or in some cases, no reply at all. Nothing personal, we’re assured by the publisher, just a case of supply exceeding demand.

In recent months, though, I detected a distinct difference in the responses I got. Overall, they had a more civil tone—some with a hand-written note from the editor. A few which (dare I say it?) bordered on warm and friendly. I thought at first that it was a nationwide movement in the publishing industry inspired by guilt, but have since decided that it’s just a natural evolutionary development Here are a few examples:

Green Prints, a gardening magazine in North Carolina, which had previously bought my tongue-in-cheek story, "Gardening for Golfers," responding to a recent submission:
“Hi, Hugh. Good to hear from you,” the publisher’s hand-written note on my cover letter said. “I knew you were the ‘golfing guy’ as soon as I saw the envelope. Your new story is warm and gentle and pleasantly fun. You come across as an affable fellow. But there’s not enough ‘story’ here. I need stories.”
Sorry, Pat

From Hopeful Tails, a pet anthology being published by John Wiley & Sons Publishers, Hoboken, N.J.:

“Dear Hugh. Thank you so much for your submission to ‘Hopeful Tails‘. We received thousands of submissions. With so many excellent entries, such as yours, we had to make some tough choices, about which could not be included in the book.
Sincerely yours, John Wiley & Sons

From Tiny Lights Publications in Petaluma, Calif.:

“Dear Hugh. I know you’ve been told that writers need thick skins. Write your truth, send it out, and if an editor sends it back, shrug off your disappointment and try again. On the other hand, good writing comes from your willingness to be vulnerable, to peel back the layers of resistance, to offer up your heart, pulsing and defenseless, on a silver platter.”

“Offer up my heart, pulsing and defenseless, on a silver platter?” I thought. The last person I heard talk like that was the surgeon just before my last open heart surgery.

And from the editor-in-chief of American Heritage on my story "The Crash at Crush," a staged train collision at Waco, Texas in the early 1900s:

"Dear Mr. Neeld: I’ve heard of this spectacle (In deed, I believe Scott Joplin wrote a rag named after it.) We are, I’m sorry to say, working with a swollen inventory of articles awaiting publication. I very much enjoyed your spirited account of that memorable day at the short-lived town of Crush, but in the end I’m afraid I must defer to that inventory I complained about. I’m sorry, and I appreciate your having given me the opportunity to read this, Richard Snow.

True, they were all rejections, but what nice ones. I was reminded of an experience I had one time which was somewhat similar and fostered some of the same feelings.

In the early 1950s, I took a job selling advertising for a radio station in Muskogee, Oklahoma. The account list I was given contained a furniture store; the biggest one in the market. They advertised heavily in the newspaper, but had never used radio. After several tries, I got an appointment to see Mr. Brown, the owner. Upon my arrival, Mr. Brown’s secretary, notified him and I was told to go right in. Mr. Brown met me at the door and welcomed me with a warm handshake.

His arm around my shoulders, he slowly started walking me across the huge office. As we walked he asked if I was married, had any children, where I had gone to school and if I played golf. He then thanked me profusely for taking the time to stop by and get acquainted. By then, we were at a door on the opposite side of his office, which he opened and with a pat on the back ushered me out into a hall. I took the elevator down, and was in my car on the way back to the station, feeling a warm glow of well-being, when I realized what had happened.

In the final analysis, a rejection is a rejection, but there’s a lot to be said for civility. As for Mr. Brown, had he ever gotten out of the furniture business, he would have made a good publisher.

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A question to ponder: Is the trouble with the rat race that there’s no finish line?

putterhugh@suddenlink.net

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Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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