Here is a sentence in the third paragraph of a novel that earned four and a half stars on Amazon: A man in burgundy approaches with such seriousness, the moment feels as if it has been choreographed long ago.
What? I fight my way through this string of words several times, struggling to understand what the author is trying to say. In the end all I can come up with is that it’s simply bad writing.
This book, The Wedding People, by Alison Espach, is also a Jenna Book Club pick (whatever that is) and a New York Times bestseller. The accompanying blurb on Amazon appealed to me: “A propulsive and uncommonly wise novel about one unexpected wedding guest and the surprising people who help her start anew.”
Before The Wedding People was published it was presumably scrutinized by—well, the author, of course; the agent who represented it; and an editor or two at Henry Holt and Company, the publishing company that chose to present it to the reading world. It seems like, out of all those grammatically educated people, someone would’ve caught the error. Yet there it is, right on the first page.
For several years, I’ve been sending query letters to agents—plus, as requested, samples of my work. Every one of them responded immediately with an automatic email politely thanking me for my submission, then telling me that they’re too busy to respond and if I don’t hear from them in three months I should assume they’re not interested. Cold, right? Also, this timetable of theirs is, to say the least, limiting. At this point, I’d estimate that I’ve sought representation from at least twenty agents. The hideous paradox here is that I would never disrespect an agent by sending him or her work containing such a poorly written sentence. What’s even more disgraceful is that the error is on the most prominent page, included in the original writing sample that every professional involved in the project surely studied and approved before sending it on through to publication.
Its presence is an obstacle to further reading, so I race off to show the offending sentence to David, whose response is, “So?” He’s not one to be disturbed by poor grammar.
“I just paid fifteen dollars for this book!” I tell him indignantly. “And the author couldn’t even be bothered to proofread it!”
Poor David. He’s subjected to this rant at least once a week.
Before a novel leaves my computer, I’ve examined each sentence at least ten times; I’ve read the entire book out loud; and I’ve run grammar and spell checks after every minor rewording. This is my work and I am absurdly dedicated to it. Ready for publication, I currently have three novels, five installments of a mystery series that showcases a witty, charming, and intrepid antagonist, and a short story collection, though I can’t imagine there’s much of market for short stories.
The crux of my situation is that I’m not getting any younger. And when I’m no longer here, my computer will be chucked out and my years of work will go with it.
Realizing that I’m not the only frustrated person in this imperfect industry, and possessing a keen disdain toward whiners, I ask—what does a basically optimistic person do when she’s trapped in a flawed system? Seek an alternative, that’s what! One of my sons recently pointed me toward Substack, a platform for writers of every genre—and it’s also for readers who are looking for original voices. I downloaded the app and posted a short story, which has already been read, liked, and commented on by many readers who would otherwise be unaware that I hunch over my keyboard in my back dark room every morning from four-thirty to seven. I will soon post another story. And floating around in my mind is the notion that, in the near future, I will serialize a novel—what fun!
Substack is a magical place that draws both readers and writers into a new realm for the written word. I encourage you to look into it, and while you’re there, check out my site. https://jenwaldo.substack.com/p/roses
This is a list I pulled off of Facebook. See? The Wedding People, right at the top of the list.
