PROFIT, DIFFICULT, BOOK
23 Sep 30 Sep 07 Oct
She remembered the day well. And even now that remembering made her stomach churn and depression settle on her like a heavy blanket of failure. She had been sitting in the publisher's office putting, her best foot forward, as she pitched the just-completed book.
She thought it was good. It had witchcraft, spells, potions, magical creatures, villains, and unlikely heroes, what else could a good book need?
The book had been written under very difficult circumstances. Her social life had fallen to pieces, her finances were practically non-existent, and it was a daily fight to stave off the ever-threatening depression that was always very close to overwhelming her.
"It's just not very good is it?" The smug bastard had said, looking snidely superior as if he could give sage advice to God himself. "The wording is childish, the characters are overdeveloped if anything, and the whole premise of the story are absurdly far-fetched. In this publishing house, the objective is to print books that will stand a better-than-average chance of making a profit. This drivel wouldn't stand a chance."
She barely made it out the front door of the building before she burst into tears. She had denials from other publishers before, but none that had so brutally gutted her like a fish. She had leaned against the building until she could regain her composure, ignoring the glances and outright stares that were sent her way. Steeling herself against the urge to just give up the effort, she checked her list of publishers that had her transcript, deciding to continue trying to have her book accepted.
This day was entirely different. She had decided that she would pay one more visit to that pompous windbag of a publisher. She still felt a bit of nerves trying to unsettle her stomach but nothing would deprive her of this meeting. She felt no remorse at the little subterfuge of pretending to pitch another book as a means of getting the appointment.
As she was shown into the prick's office and sat down, the light of recognition came on in his eyes. "Oh," he said in a tone that made it clear he would rather be having a root canal, "I would have thought that you would have understood at our first meeting that you are just not capable of producing an acceptable book. Yet, here you are again. Well, what are you wasting my time with today?"
A little timidly she said, "Do you happen to have a current Best Seller's list?"
"Of course I do! This is a publishing house, isn't it? I might suggest you read a few of the works on this list so you might begin to get a sprinkling of an idea of what a book worth publishing looks like."
Undeterred she said, "Do you see the book that is Number One on that list?"
"I am not blind Madam, and this book has been at the top of that list for quite some time now. If I remember correctly it is close to the same genre as your feeble attempt."
She stood up, steel now in her voice, and said, "I am J K Rowling. The book on the top of that list is the book you rejected so cruelly. It has already generated a profit, quite a profit at that, and I have signed agreements to pen more books in this story you dubbed drivel. With publishers like you, it is a miracle you can make the rent on this drab office."
With that said, she dropped a copy of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" on his desk. Inside the front cover, she had written "you are a cruel blithering idiot", but there was no signature. She wouldn't give him that. Then she quite calmly tipped the cup of tea from his desk onto his lap, turned, and walked out with a very contented smile.