The dark hole of publishing

This is a metaphorical feeling of trying to get a novel published.

So, you've decided to write a book. You're first step is to determine what you want to write about. One non-fiction author told me she could never write fiction as it takes too much creativity. I'm not an expert on anything so writing anything but fiction is a lie.

Either way suppose you have finished the manuscript and you think you are ready to publish. This is where the real fun starts. Now it is up to you to sell the book. Right, I said sell the book. Sure the whole reason you decided to write the book is because you wanted to hide in your house in your underwear and you never ever wanted to sell anything. Now you have to figure out how to sell your idea. You have to grab the attention of people you really don't want to be associated with - agents. Oh, you could go directly to the publisher but it is much harder to get launched if you do that.

So, like a date, you dress up in your fanciest clothing (write the best query letter and synopsis you can) and you ring the doorbell to the publishing world. Here is what happens:

It is dark.

Really, really dark. So dark you can't even think about seeing the hand in front of your face. You look intently into the crevasse and still there is no light, none, not a glimmer. That darkness is the void you have of hope you had when you opened the door; there isn't any.

But you are brave and you step inside. You trip. You reach down feel around on the floor and you find piles of rejections everywhere. The piles are so high you can barely walk. You push and push and push and eventually you come to an opening in the pile and a light far far off in the distance. You approach it in the dark and find a chain link fence in front of you. You cannot scale it and carry your letters and manuscript with you. So you make little balls with your query letters and you toss them past the fence. They ignite in mid air and disappear before hitting the ground, but the light in the distance gets a little brighter. So you do it again and again and again.

You've done this dozens of times and you find that you are tired.

You trudge through the piles of papers back to the open door and you leave. You'll come back another day.

You go home and you rewrite your query letter and you return to the door. You repeat the steps and still the light has not reached you so you go back home and rewrite again.

Another day you are there at the door and this time you can see the light from the doorway. You enter and it is cool. You think that is strange but you still go inside. Once inside you begin to shiver and you know something is wrong. Your intrigue has the best of you so you continue. You reach the light. You hand the light your query and nothing happens. You hand the light your synopsis and nothing happens. You hand the light your unedited manuscript and an envelope and it hands you a box. You carry that box out of the room to your home. You open the box and there before you is your published book. You feel exuberant. You feel alive and you feel accomplished. Then you reach into your wallet and it is empty. Then you realize you paid to have your books published or well, printed. That's all that has happened is your books were printed.

You have wasted your opportunity so you return to your computer and you write another manuscript. A year has passed and you have given your book to one hundred people and you've written another book. Now when you go back to the door you can tell the publishing world this is your second manuscript.

You open the door expecting the lights to be bright and everywhere. You expect that the offers to publish will overwhelm you. What you really see is darkness again. You enter the room like before and the piles have gotten more difficult to get through. You come to the clearing and you repeat the throwing activity. Frustrated and dejected you see the cool light. You have a choice. You can go to that light or you can rewrite your query and start over.

You decide to go home. Once you're at home you look for help. You find experts to help you sell your book. You hate the idea of selling, only scoundrels sell. People without real thought are salesmen and now you have to sell. You listen to the experts and you write a great query letter. You rush back to the door and you throw it past the fence. Now the lights are brighter and you feel warmth. They are coming closer and you keep throwing until one catches it opens the fence and lets you in.

You are in. Finally you have made it. You are inside.

What happens next? I dunno, I'm still at the fence.