by Tom Mach

I just learned something. Did you know you can learn how not to get published by actually trying to get published? I did.

A recent case it point: I completed a novel called Sissy, a story that takes place in Kansas during the Civil War. Historical novels require a lot of research, and I got painful blisters while digging for these facts. I decided to short-circuit some of it by making some assumptions. (You know what they say about "assume"-it's where you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me.") With my novel taking place in Lawrence, Kansas in 1862, I decided to add some greenery to the background, so I "planted" some hickory and elm trees here and there, thinking nothing of it. One lady who read that section of my novel said that my trees "disturbed her"-which meant that I better put in trees such as cottonwood or Osage orange or locust trees, which were more indigenous to the state at that time. Then another reader objected to my mention of unmentionables known as pantry liners. Panties didn't exist back then (they were "drawers"), and neither did liners for those nonexistent garments. (By the way, what did fraternity boys have during those early days-"drawer" raids?)

Which brings me to my point-if you sincerely don't want to get your historical book published, throw in a lot of things that didn't exist back then. You can have fun with this at the same time. Imagine the following scene:

General Useless Grant cussed after his Bic lighter failed him again. He looked up at the "no smoking" sign in McDonald's and shook his head. "Damned EPA wants to take the fun out of everything," he snorted, putting his unlit cigar back into the pocket of his Pierre Cardin shirt. Well, he thought, maybe he ought to check the airline schedule and catch an earlier flight to Virginia. No sense being late to meet with General Bobby Lee. About time that guy surrenders.

(Notice how Grant's and Lee's names were tweaked to ensure non-publishability.)

You accomplish two things when you insert your own assumptions in your story or article. One, the editor will probably show your stuff to his staff and have a good laugh-probably the only amusement he had all day. Two, your rejection will be delightfully quick.

There are all sorts of ways you can substitute your assumptions for facts when you write. It doesn't even have to be a historical piece. In fact, some of the best "loser" awards for non-published writing derives from the use of faulty assumptions in current events. For instance, here's one that won't stand a chance getting published, thanks to the clever use of assumptions by this writer:

John took over the controls of the airplane when the pilot lost his artificial hand. No problem, John thought, as he honked the horn on the steering wheel to let the other planes know he was coming in for an emergency landing. Touching his foot to the brake pedal, John slowed the plane and aimed for the runway. The flight attendant entered with the gin-and-tonic he had ordered earlier. John grabbed it with one hand, took a swallow, and glided the plane in with his free hand. Speaking of hands, the other pilot finally found his hand, screwed it on, and congratulated John on a fine landing. A marching band had already assembled on the field, so when John departed, he waved at his well-wishers and told them all he'd consider running for president next year after all.

Again, you can have fun with this at the same time you assure yourself you won't get published. Just think how happy you'll be then. No worrisome publishing contracts. No editors in your face telling you to rewrite something. No money going into your bank account that you have to pay taxes on. You're free. You're unpublished. And you're happy. Right?

Tom can be reached at:
TomMach62@yahoo.com