Have you been wondering why your
novel, so unique, so original, has so far failed to ignite
the interest of any acquisitions editor, or an agent charged
with supplying editors with new books? What reason for
rejection haven’t you heard? “It’s not
dark enough!” “It’s too dark!”
“It has too much dialogue!” “Your characters
are not plausible; I’ve never met anyone like them!”
“If you changed your math-teacher serial killer
into a hot teenage vampire, we might have a real winner
on our hands!” “It might be offensive to some
people!” Or, the most popular: “We just don’t
think we can sell your novel to the broadest possible
audience!”
Watch this movie:
Not just the trailer: the whole
movie. It's a mediocre comedy at best, but it will give
you an excellent primer on the state of publishing today.
It will tell you everything you need to know about the
industry that refuses to recognize your genius.
All this editorial bellyaching
takes place under pressure from publishers demanding surefire moneymakers that can sell millions
of copies. Of course, publishers have rents to pay, and
square footage in those New York skyscrapers does not
come cheap. So, editors are understandably afraid to take
chances on new, as yet unproven authors, or works that
can’t be easily labeled as “Dan Brown meets
Twilight.” Moreover, no book is allowed through
which doesn’t fit into editors’ personal notions
of life, the universe, and everything — notions
which, conveniently prepackaged, can be acquired at your
local newsstand for the price of a copy of the New
York Times. Yet, in a fit of creativity, some of them
have found a way to make their publishers a little extra
money by persuading
authors to pay for rejection. These are the people
who decide what America will and won’t get to read.
If you have come up against these barriers, and have
exhausted all your chances of securing a contract with
a major publisher, ENC Press may be one option. We don't
measure the worth of a novel by its salability in today's
market, where books are being peddled
in bulk at Wal-Mart, like so many T-shirts. We seek
out perceptive, irreverent books — intelligent and
iconoclastic works that have something lasting to say
about human condition, tip a few sacred cows, and make
us laugh. And then we keep our titles in print because
we think they are brilliant, regardless of their performance
in the marketplace.
So, if you can’t get your novel published, may
we see it? If it’s sharp, relevant, and entertaining,
if it’s too genre-busting and not touchy-feely enough
for daytime TV, if it’ll make us all feel like we’re
not alone in getting the obvious, then we don’t
care if you’ve never had anything published before,
officially or unofficially. We want to know about it.
We get to take chances because we don’t answer to
anyone but ourselves — and because we like to.
