Dec 05, 2016
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Steve Heisler

Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

Daytime Video Gaming

I want to be an expert. I’ve been thinking abstractly about my career, and have realized that the only way to move forward is to get my name out there, to demonstrate my expertise.

SH breakaway
Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

Breakaway Pants

I went through a wide range of emotions when I found out this book, a secret desire of mine, was going on without me. Wait. That’s not exactly true, I just skipped to the end of the grieving process, so to speak, and found acceptance. This was happening, and there was nothing at all I could do about it.

group hug
Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

Group Hug!

It always feels slimy when the business side of writing creeps into the craft itself. I’m a writer specifically because I don’t want to deal with the business side of things; if I did, I’d be a lit agent or a publisher or a real estate magnate or President Barack Obama.

SE black and white
Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

The Black And White Cookie Game

If I finish 800 words, I go for a walk to the bakery down the street, purchase a black and white cookie (my favorite), and then I eat it on the walk back. Repeat as necessary until I have a strong aversion to black and white cookies, and I move on to black and white tar heroin.

Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

Just Say No

I started this column with the intent to chronicle my experience trying to break into the mainstream publishing business. Well, guys, this may be my last column, because…I got a book deal!

buttress blue big
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My book about buttresses is going to be the best book ever

When I think of indie publishing, I think of a motivated group of people who empower idea-generators to share those ideas with the world—a relatively new phenomenon. When I think of mainstream publishing, I think of a secret cabal of Illuminati who wear long flowing robes made of Kindle Fires who control our thoughts.

SH Third braid girl big
Reject Me, I’m A Writer  |  

The Mystery of the Third Braid & the Realistic Christian Fart Machine

My lit agent and I have a booty-text style of relationship. If she wants something from me, I snap off my Minnesota Timberwolves breakaway pants, throw on an un-ripped T-shirt and do/go and/or call where/what and/or who she wants, even if I have to take the G train!

Reject Me. I'm an Author.  |  

Park Slope Sushi

It’s my hope that this column provides some insight into the world of mainstream publishing—and if it’s a cautionary tale, all the better. But really, I’m looking for permanence, and what makes a better book than the potential for no book at all?