A while back, Mad Max Perkins opened the space up to writers who wanted to share their experiences in the big bad world of publishing. Some of the Rants were pretty thoughtprovoking, but I gather he got plenty mail that wasn’t.
“Recently I received a number of “Rants”–replies to the Mad Max “Rant this Space” Invitational–and virtually every one of them, to one degree or another, was both self-promotional and self-pitying…”
So Max decided to reply to two of the recent Rants.
“Sorry, but this is self-pitying crap. Yes, you’re right: I did shy away from your subject line–because (even before there was a Mad Max Perkins) I get dozens of unsolicited emails a day from writers wanting me to read their masterpieces. I recognize you’re just trying to get through to somebody–but this ain’t the way to do it. And it’s not because you don’t have an MFA or took “classes from nobodies”: trust me on this, I delete them all without prejudice. [And–personally?–I’ll be much less inclined to give you a open-hearted read if you’ve got an MFA than if you don’t. Not a big fan of the production-line industry responsible for so many More Fucking Artistes…]
If you’re not getting published, it sure ain’t because you’re not part of the “In Crowd.” This conspiracy-theory gobblety-gook is a favored excuse for people who haven’t got the talent or haven’t got the drive, or both. The world is lousy with literary agents; and literary agents only get paid when they make a sale; so they’re a competitive and fast-acting group. From my perspective, there are basically two reasons why a writer doesn’t have an agent: either the writing’s not quite good enough, or the writer hasn’t applied himself seriously–doggedly–to finding one.”
His Whine/Rant II is here.
nilanjana s roy 
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