Friday, October 7, 2011

"Oh, My Move?"

There's a story of why championship chess has a time limit.  Apparently, in the 19th century, there was a match between international grandmasters, and one one of them had been sitting there for eleven hours, waiting for his opponent to decide on his move.  Finally, he looks over the table with a quizzical expression, and his opponent says, "Oh, my move?"

I have been disappointed at the lack of success by my literary agent, and had given up on the idea of having My Brother Ron published by a trade publisher.  Now I find out that he has been waiting for some paperwork from me that I know that I sent him--but as with anything email, if it is really important, send it return receipt--because there's no guarantee that it will arrive.

This happened to me once before, with my very first book: a publisher said that they wanted to publish it; I wrote back, accepting their proposal.  Six months later, I called them up to discover that my Snail Mail had not arrived.

1 comment:

  1. Your snail mail was probably lost in the junk mail.

    When the First Class postal rates were last increased by 2 cents, bulk mail rates went DOWN!

    If Congress would simply increase the bulk mail rate, we would get less of what we *don't* want, and the USPS would be able to deliver what we *do* want with the budget and people it has.

    No wonder there's no chance of that happening.