A publisher that I’d met at a party once asked me,
“Would you like my honest opinion on your work?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“It’s worthless,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “Please, tell me anyways.”
So that you never send us another manuscript, let me offer a list of reasons why we’ve rejected ‘Buried Alive,’ your — ahem — so-called book, beginning with its cover:
Regarding the cover art: I’d rather watch dirt being shoveled on my face from the bottom of a dank, lonely grave. Buried Alive is an apt title — as it will be. Your chosen title has been used over 20,000 times. Try something more original like ‘They Cut Down a Tree for This?’
Your author photo: We sincerely hope that the image on the sleeve wasn’t that of your face. I’d hate to see what the bus that hit you looks like.
Regarding your intro: It should have been the outro.
Your plot (?) was weighed down by inane ramblings. I was surprised the book had a spine strong enough to hold all Four-hundred and fifty pages of them.
Only the table of contents made sense.
The phrase ‘The End’ was a welcome touch.
The story: Nauseating. Your novel should have been mailed in a self-addressed, stamped, travel and motion sickness bag — or, better yet, never at all. I’m amazed that the package didn’t set off ‘the Stupid Alarm’ at the Post Office. I placed you pages on the bottom of the Miss Kitty’s litter box. She went in my shoes instead. I’m curious about one thing, when you were a kid and your dog ate your homework, did it die afterward? Your main character’s dull story arc flat-lined seven chapters before he died — probably of boredom. I wanted to scream, “Get a death!”
Your non-dimensional characters are as shallow as your gene pool.
The appendix should be removed — without anesthesia — using a plastic Taco Bell spork.
About you, the Author: I’ve known more interesting manikins — with their clothes on.
Overall quality: My puke just puked.
Name withheld by request
Final Chance Publishing