I’m Sorry the Llamas Ate Your Ice Cream

I sat down to work on my query letter, today.

It’s a relaxing pass time that guarantees I will never run short of stomach acid. Well, I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it would be so much easier just to send all the nice publishing people a nice Husker-themed gift box. (Here’s an extravagant box of scarlet and cream llamas. Now, publish my book.) On the other hand, it does focus my thinking, and it has a nice tendency to remind me that someday… someday, I’m actually going to need a query letter again.

So I grabbed my steno-pad and pen, sat down to write, and….

Realized exactly how political a pair of pants can be.


Maybe my novel was political all along, and I just never noticed. Maybe it wasn’t, and then the world changed around it. I don’t know. I don’t particularly want to write message-oriented anything. I want to write nice, escapist fiction, with rockets and aliens. Okay, and some not-so-nice escapist fiction with serial killers and psychopaths. But no sermons. No themes. No meanings.

Stories that are just stories.

I thought I had a cigar that was just a cigar, dammit.

The first line of my query letter (version 32.6 B) is: Thousands of immigrants and refugees…

It’s a really good line. It’s a big part of the story. And there we are. Five yards of fabric to make one pair of pants.

Anybody have any idea how to package a llama?



  1. Reply

    Garh! I hate it when I write perfectly harmless entertainment, and then the world changes and suddenly it has meaning. Very inconsiderate.

    For the llama, I would suggest cling film and duct tape.

    • Reply

      I’m going to send along a 4H kid, too. It’s amazing how many people New York City allows to be literary agents without passing a test over the principles of animal husbandry.

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