Those four letters above are pregnant with meaning. We all have one with breath and a beating heart. We will either attempt to hide it or share it depending on our experiences and choices. We love to read about and explore the sordid lives of others, a shameful type of voyeurism we indulge through tabloids, reality television and the occasional memoir. What are we looking for in the misery of others? Is it a distraction that makes us feel superior because we are not quite as fucked up as the person we are reading about or viewing? Or, do we secretly hate those who expose their wounds for all to see/read/hear?
Recently I sent a query to an agent for a book I’m writing. The story could be about any event in my life but I specifically chose this because it has some serious potential to positively affect the lives of battered women and children. I sent my query to a female literary agent because she has a good reputation and of course her bio states that this book is something she actively seeks. I have been down this path before, querying for two other books, sending out dozens of emails to various agencies in both the US and Canada. I sent this particular query Friday, received and automated response and forgot it. However, yesterday she promptly responded requesting clarity to an already very concise query. Her email was depressing but not because it was a rejection (that came the next day) no, it was her complete lack of respect for the content of that query and the suffering that myself and other women have endured that disgusted me. She clearly skimmed over the text then emailed to ask me what format the book was written in when I had addressed that, if she had bothered to read my words. When I replied I cited the paragraph and location, expanding once again on a very clearly written summary of the book with even more background included. Her response? A very terse ‘not interested’ with absolutely no reason given although deep down I do know why and she should be ashamed. When Ms. W from F agency takes her next shopping trip through Walmart, I want her to stop and look at that wall full of faces of women and children and know that her cavalier fuck off email to me was tantamount to spitting in their faces. When your ego is enormous and your courage absent you miss opportunities to do good things for the vulnerable. She fucked up. Nuff said, venting done, over and out.