Empty

Yesterday I received an empty envelope in the mail with one-dollar-two-cents postage attached. I recognized my own handwriting on the return address immediately, but there was nothing inside the envelope . . . not even anthrax spores. What should have been inside the envelope? One of my manuscripts.

Now, this phenomenon is not unusual for a writer . . . it happens all the time. An editor reads a manuscript, rejects it, and then ships back the empty envelope with return address and postage affixed. But to the writer, it's disheartening. I would actually prefer a form rejection letter over an empty envelope or, in lieu of that, hate mail.

I wish editors would be more forthright with their feelings. If they didn't like my work, why not tell me? How about saying something like:

Dear Mr. Alleycat:

You call this good writing? You think this is funny? You actually think we're going to publish this crap? Obviously you are high on something, or you were sniffing diesel fuel when you wrote this. Are you feeling well? Are you constipated?

That's why were are returning your envelope . . . empty. Your material is just so bad, we had to burn it. And please, don't send us anything else. It's a waste of your time . . . and ours. We have better things to do around here--like signing big name authors to large contracts, or searching for politicians who can't write, but would put their name on a book cover if we can find a ghost writer. We don't have time for the likes of you.

Anyway . . . have a great day!

Sincerely,

The Editors

(PS--tomorrow I'm going to buy a new box of envelopes and start the whole sordid process over again.)