I was speaking of ageism on a John Shirley thread and told this story:
When I was 16 I wrote a story called “Not Buzzard” and sent it, my very first submission ever, to ESQUIRE, being naive. A week or so later I’m outside shoveling snow and my aunt calls me in for a phone call from “some woman”. She was British, and Rust Hills’s assistant. They liked my story and wanted to publish it and wanted to chat a bit for a bio sketch. Again, remember how naive I am then. We were getting along fine, making literary references to our favorite writers and so on, when she asked my age, and I said, stupidly, 16. Silence. Then hemming and hawing and a quick bail-out. All veddy polite and Bridditch. So I thought whoa, I’m gonna have a story in ESQUIRE.
A few days later I got a single-spaced 10-pitch typed two-sided letter from Rust Hills. I remember the phrase, “…at your age your experience doesn’t amount to a hill of beans…” and “…our readers are in their forties and businessmen…” and so on. Boiled down to, great story, we really love it, would love to publish it, BUT, you’re too fucking young, we can’t risk it. Since then, most of my published stories represent dozens and sometimes hundreds of rejections that said, “great stuff, we love it, BUT…” They usually phrase it as “…not a good fit for us…” I take this to mean, “…it’s not the extruded fiction product we prefer…”
I’m 55 now, and have gone from too young to too old? WTF? I’ve published many short stories, some erotic mystery novels, and much else, but not yet managed to push a serious novel into print, my biggest obstacle having been myself. I’ve generally not submitted much over the years due to poverty, chronic illnesses, and depression, etc.
Still in there swinging though, so again: WTF?
Probably shouldn’t display this, but again, WTF? It’s just the flat truth. If the truth hurts you, it’s time to hang it up.
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