I have an article that refused to die. We all have at least one. You know the type of thing I mean, the writing that every member of your family loves unreservedly. The piece that your friends said proved that not only could you write, but that you were (funny, clever, wise, sophisticated, intelligent - insert your word of choice). So why are most editors too insensitive to recognise the genius that created this undoubted work of art?
Maybe they can't help it, poor things. Snowed under as they are by unsolicited submissions, perhaps we should allow them a moment of compassion. OK, that's it; they've had their moment.
My article (the brilliant one) was written nearly a year ago, as an assignment for the Writers Bureau Course that I was then partway through. The brief was to write an amusing piece about everyday life, naming the intended publication, and keeping the word count to that required by said magazine. As with all the Writers Bureau assignments it was very professional. I live in France, so it seemed natural to write a humorous article on the difficulties of conversing in a foreign tongue with a London accent that simply refuses to bend itself to French vowels.
It was one of the easiest pieces that I have ever written because I was able simply to draw from experience. I had a wealth of my own anecdotes, as well as those of friends and acquaintances; the difficulty was in deciding what to leave out, rather than searching for material to put in. My husband loved it, but then he is my biggest (only) fan, so I awaited my tutor's verdict before showing the piece to anyone else. Genuinely funny was his response, send it off immediately, not only have you written a superb article but you have targeted the right publication. With words of encouragement like his, how could I fail?
I duly submitted the piece, and waited anxiously for the editor to tell me which issue would have the privilege of containing my masterpiece. Three months passed before I plucked up the courage to enquire whether the editor was interested. Another month went by without a reply to that letter, and then another. I sent a further letter asking if a decision had yet been made. The response was devastating after I'd waited for so long - thanks but no thanks.
Fortunately there were other publications to try, but my confidence in the piece was severely dented. I read it again, trying to be objective. I still found it amusing, not as much as before, but then when you've read a piece so
many times that you know it off by heart it is difficult not to see the punch lines coming.
I sent it to every family member with whom I was on even remotely friendly terms. The reaction was the same from each of them, very funny. One of them did ask if I'd actually written it myself or pinched it from someone else. But she is the cousin that I always want to push into the wedding cake, or drown in the font, whenever there is a family
gathering, so I didn't take her comments personally (honestly).
I submitted the piece to another magazine, and it was rejected. And yet another magazine, again it was rejected. By this stage I couldn't read the article without loathing myself for having written it in the first place. It wasn't
funny - it was boring. How could I expect an editor to love it when I hated it so passionately? Embarrassed, I shoved the file out of sight and out of mind.
A few months ago month I was doing some housekeeping on my computer and the revolting piece jumped back into my consciousness. A little voice in my head said to give it one more try. The publication I chose accepted submissions by email, so what did I have to lose? It wouldn't even cost postage and International Reply Coupons.
As I clicked on the ‘send’ button, I had already decided to give the editor at least three months before following up. If I even bothered to follow up on what was, most probably, a waste of my time and hers.
Less than a week later I received her response in my inbox. "What a wonderful article," she'd written. "We are going to use it in our Parlez-vous section in the September issue. It had everyone in the office laughing out loud.
Thank you for sending it." Her email had me laughing out loud as well, and dancing a jig up and down the hall.
What was it that made this editor love the piece, when none of the others had? Who knows, and quite frankly who cares? If you have an article that you love, that deep inside you know is one of the best things that you have written, then NEVER give up. Out there somewhere is a home for your pride and joy. It is simply a question of perseverance.
Oh yes, and developing a thick skin.
© Lorraine Mace 2003
