Best of Luck, Jeff Babbage!

Best of Luck, Jeff Babbage!

by Dustin M. Weber

Published by Dustin M. Weber at Smashwords

Cover Art: MyEcoverMaker

Copyright © 2011 Dustin M. Weber

All rights reserved.

NOTE: This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to anyone else by any means in any form (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, etc.). If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each additional reader. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, brands, incidents, media, and contact information mentioned are either products of the author’s own imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarities or resemblances to persons either living or deceased and/or brands either active or inactive are purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to every author out there who has yet to be published, traditionally or otherwise. Trust me, I know how you feel, as I’ve been there myself. Do yourselves a favor, though, and don’t give up. There is a market out there for your book and an avenue along which you can publish your work. All you have to do is keep searching for each of these things, and you’ll surely find them.

This book is also dedicated, as always, to my parents for giving me the best life they could with what they had and for always believing in me at everything I did, even in those instances where I didn’t quite believe in myself. Thank you both for being there for me when the going got tough and for kicking me in the butt when I needed it. You guys are the best!

---Dustin

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

Chapter 1

"What is wrong with you?!"

The question rang through my head like a gunshot. It was no secret that Mr. Fresker was furious with me, although I had no idea why. All I had been doing so far all morning was reading more incoming queries from my inbox, most of which I hadn’t even responded to, and while I really wanted to answer more of them, it looked as though such a thing would have had to wait until later as my boss glowered at me with wrathful eyes.

Well? he demanded. What have you to say for yourself?

I honestly had no clue what he was talking about. I wanted to tell him just that, too, but I found myself paralyzed with fear, unable to blink, much less speak. Fresker, meanwhile, massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers while his assistant Gertrude stood off to the side at his desk and scowled at me through her horn-rimmed glasses.

Look, Babbage, he groaned, you’ve been told since your first day working for us that we don’t tolerate our employees using the phrase ‘best of luck’ when rejecting prospective clients’ work, and yet you did anyhow.

Huh? Best of luck? I honestly didn’t remember using that phrase ever when turning down anyone. Soon enough, however, I found my heartbeat slow back down and myself able to function again on the whole, and as I licked my lips nervously, I piped up about the situation.

Um, sir? I asked. Which client are you talking about exactly?

One Mr. Daryl Snidegrass, Gertrude snapped as she strolled into view and picked up a manila envelope off Fresker’s desk. You recently rejected his most recent submission to us last week, and as the result of your little act of insubordination, we received the following email.

She then opened the folder and from it handed me the topmost sheet of paper. I took it from her hands and read it thoroughly to discover that sure enough, it was indeed an angry letter from an author named Daryl Snidegrass, who had submitted a query earlier on in the month that I had at long last managed to read a mere week ago. Now, I don’t remember the exact words that Mr. Snidegrass used in his retort against me turning down his work for representation, but I can verily recall the vehement tone of voice that he had used throughout the entire paragraph-and-a-half of his letter and how he had basically lectured me on how to do my own job—a job that I had been doing for a good three years, too, might I add. He especially made a point about how out of line he thought I was in using such sterile terms as at this time and, of course, best of luck when addressing him and how even though I was under no obligation to represent his work to publishers, I still apparently had no business being so overtly and outrageously picky.After all, according to him, Beggars can’t be choosers, or at least they shouldn’t, and for me to have had the attitude he claimed that I had had somehow proved to him that I only cared about making money and not about representing an original, well-written book for the masses to read and enjoy. In short, the guy basically accused me of being a conceited, excuse-making, money-grubbing literary snob just like most other literary agents. However, I really didn’t understand why until I read my reply to his original query, which was included at the very bottom of the email:

Thank you for forwarding your query to me. Unfortunately, though the basic premise of your book seems intriguing, I am afraid that I will have to pass on it, as it does not suit my preferences at this time. Therefore, I recommend you try other agents, as I am sure that there is one out there who will be more sufficiently enthusiastic about your work. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck on your literary endeavors.

Best,

Jeff Babbage

Once I had finally finished reading the email, Gertrude snatched it from my hands and placed it back into the manila envelope, sneering at me the whole while. Fresker, too, eyeballed me with contempt as he leaned across his desk at me and sighed.

You see what we’re talking about now, I hope, he remarked. He then straightened himself up and said, Listen here. I’m not saying you have to represent every single book that you receive a query for. That would be unrealistic of us to expect from you or anyone else. However, we have warned you once before about letting authors down easily when you choose not to accept their manuscripts, and once again, you’ve chosen to ignore us.

No, I haven’t, I protested. I was a lot more personal with that guy than a lot of other people would have been. You remember Andrea, don’t you? She came right out and told the one author she had replied to that she didn’t like his work, and you flat out fired her in front of the rest of us over it.

Yes, we did, Fresker admitted, but don’t think for one second that we relished in having to do so. Believe it or not, it hurt us to make an example out of her more than it hurt her. Even so, she lacked all sense of tact and sensitivity when she replied to that author, and it had not been her only offense. Sadly, she is not the only one who has failed to learn from her mistakes.

I scoffed in disbelief. What are you talking about? I complained. I was tactful with this Snidegrass guy. Seriously, I—

Babbage… Fresker interrupted exasperatedly, …no, you weren’t. You could have done a much better job than you did.

Huh?

Well, to begin with, I hoped you had noticed when you read your letter that you neglected to include a salutation in the very beginning. I’m quite certain that Mr. Snidegrass would have much appreciated it if you had only opened with a line like ‘Dear Mr. Snidegrass’ or even a generic ‘Dear author instead of diving right into the body of your response. These are clients that you’re dealing with, after all, not friends or family members or even coworkers. You’d be surprised at how a little politeness can take you when it comes to dealing with people you don’t yet know.

But what if I tick him off by addressing him the wrong way?

That makes no difference, Fresker insisted. Any which way would have been more professional than simply jumping right into things and force-feeding him the news. In addition to that, as I may have alluded to before, changes have been made in terms of which phrases are acceptable to use when turning down an author’s work. Now, you may find these changes to be a little unreasonable, but it is still your responsibility to respect and adhere to them.

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath as I prepared myself for the absurd control freak mentality that my employer was going to spew at me at the moment. I probably should have tried to hide my annoyance, but Fresker apparently ignored my reaction, for he kept lecturing away at me.

First of all, he said, telling an author that you’re going to pass on his or her manuscript is a dismissive action and shows that you are being outright picky rather than simply discerning. People don’t take kindly to that kind of attitude at all.

Yeah, but—

Secondly…the AAR has forbidden the use of such terms as ‘at this time’ and especially ‘best of luck’ because they have become cliché and impersonal over the years, and as such, they have been encouraging us all to come up with different, less redundant terms. As ridiculous as this may seem to you, Babbage, we still honestly believe that you are intelligent enough to think of some new terms to replace the ones we are educating you about.

I shook my head with frustration. Listen, I insisted, I know what you are trying to tell me, but with all due respect, don’t you think that these new rules that you’re telling me about cater a tad too much towards the interest of potential clients than they do to us? I mean, come on! A rejection is a rejection, no matter what words one uses.

Hmph! Gertrude scoffed. Try explaining that to the increased number of authors who have been writing us angry letters because agents like you keep feeding them the same words over and over again. There’s only so much a person can take when it comes to reading nearly the exact same rejection letter from any number of completely different literary agencies in reaction to a query about his or her book. It can quite literally drive one crazy.

I raised my eyebrows in confusion–and perhaps a little bit of apprehension as well—at the words that had just come out of her mouth. Hopefully she didn’t mean what I had thought she meant. Either way, I was relieved when Fresker stepped in and cut her off before she could elaborate on the matter.

Alright, Gertrude, that’ll be all, he ordered. Then he turned to me and said, See here, Babbage, it’ll do you more good than harm to just do as we suggest from now on. We can’t afford to have any more complaints filed against us just because our agents can’t adjust to new procedures. You’ve already had one strike against you for the first time you’ve failed to listen to us, and now you’ve just earned your second. On that note, we have no choice but to suspend you without pay for a week.

I felt my face flush red and my eyes bulge out of their sockets as I hear the news. For a moment, all I could do was sputter and stammer like a buffoon, but at last I was able to spew out, A week!?

Oh, come now, Babbage! You’ve violated the rules, so now you have to be an adult and accept the consequences.

A full week? I repeated, not listening. And without pay?

You keep arguing with us, and you’ll be out for a full month, Gertrude added testily.

Now I was angry, and I quite readily let the old hag know about it as I got in her face and started screaming at her.

"Shut up, you withered old crone! I hollered. Try minding your own business for once!"

Alright! That’s enough! Fresker ordered as he got in my face and backed me off. You don’t go around throwing tantrums like that in my office, you understand?

Stop treating me like a child!

Stop acting like one, and maybe I will!

Well, then, just let me do my job and quit telling me not to do what I’ve been doing here for the past three years!

Weren’t you listening to me this whole time we’ve been talking? We can’t let you use those phrases anymore! The AAR has deemed them derogatory!

"Kiss my ass!"

The room then fell nearly silent soon after I had bellowed those last three words. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn that all the activity outside the office had quieted down just as much and that everyone out there who had been working had suddenly turned their attention to the scene we all had just caused. The only sounds I could hear personally were my own heart thumping heavily in my chest and my own hyperventilating as I tried to catch my breath and recollect my thoughts. Of course, there was also this ringing sensation in my head that I just couldn’t get over, even as I rubbed my aching temples. Unfortunately, Fresker cared little about my current state of being, as he merely stood there before me and gazed down his nose at me with his cold gray eyes.

Clean out your desk… he muttered, …and once you’ve done so…leave and don’t ever come back.

I stood and stared at him with disbelief at what he had just commanded me to do. To be honest, I had a hard time accepting what had just happened, but when I finally caught my breath, it dawned on me as to what I had just done to myself, and boy, did I feel stupid! Still, what else could I do? I just got myself canned. Therefore, I took one last deep breath and shuffled my way out of my now former boss’s office so that I could clean out my desk and go home. As I closed the door behind me, though, one question popped into my mind:

What the hell was I going to tell the others?

Chapter 2

After I had cleaned out my desk and driven back to my apartment, I basically spent the rest of the afternoon looking up job openings on the Internet and forwarding my resume to the companies that had open positions for which I was most qualified. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many openings like that—only about four or five at most, in fact—and only two of them had anything to do with my field of expertise. Nevertheless, I submitted my applications and crossed my fingers, hoping that I would hear some good news from at least one prospective employer within the next week or two. Once I had taken care of that, I looked for something constructive to do around the place to get my mind off things and decided to pull the vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet and vacuum the carpets. This actually proved to be a good idea not only because the floors seriously needed cleaning, but also because the noise of the vacuum running was just the kind of thing I needed to help drown out the memories of the previous morning, even if only temporarily. Than again, no matter how hard I tried to block out Fresker lecturing me over my reply to Daryl Snidegrass’s query or my little temper tantrum towards him and his shrewish little secretary, the whole situation continued to bug me. I even used the hose attachment on the cleaner to suck up whatever cobwebs I could find in the corners of each room, and my own mind was still cluttered with the events of the day thus far. Heck, even as I finished the job, I felt the need to get things off my chest and wished I could talk to my roommates about what I had gone through, for even if they ripped me a new one over what I had pulled—Tony more likely than Alex, seeing as he was the most paternal of all three of us—that would have been fine by me, so long as I could just get things out of my system. After all, as much as I hated to admit that the whole affair with Fresker was my fault, I knew inside that I still had to accept the cold, harsh reality of the matter.

Just then, right when I was putting the vacuum away, I could hear footsteps right outside the door followed by the jingling of keys and the clicking of the door itself being unlocked by whomever was standing outside. The door began to reveal my roommate Alex shuffling in, clearly beat from a long day at work. So tired was he, in fact, that he didn’t even notice me standing by the closet door until I called out to him.

Hey, Alex.

Alex at last turned to look at me as he hung up his jacket. Hey, Jeff! he interjected with surprise. What are you doing home so soon?

Well…let’s just say that work let out a little early for me today, I said sheepishly, finding myself too timid to come right out and admit the truth. On that note, I readily changed the subject by saying, So, long day at work, huh?

Yeah, well…what can I say? he replied. Just the same old, same old. Nothing really new.

No kidding!

Hmph! I only wish I was. Stupid job’s getting to be so tedious and repetitive that I’m only screwing up at it just because I’m so bored out of my mind. I mean, really, how much satisfaction can a guy get from stocking the same shelves with the same items over and over again? Then again, having to work around a bunch of rude, clueless shoppers only makes things even more of a chore, and it’s no fun trying to remember every item in my entire department whenever someone asks me where such an item is or how much of it the store has in stock.

I nodded in acknowledgement and replied, Yeah, I guess that’d get pretty dull after a while.

To put it mildly, he returned with a chortle. And, yeah, I guess you can say that at least I get to move around on my job and get a bit of exercise, but still, I’d love it if I could actually use my head for once—kind of like what you do, in a way.

I shrugged my shoulders and chuckled. I suppose, but…eh…don’t think for one second that my job is all sunshine and roses, either. You can’t believe some of the egos I have to go up against and all the bullcrap I have to put up with. In fact, just today…

I suddenly stopped myself in mid sentence as I tired to find the words to what I knew I had to say. Alex eyeballed me all the while in expectation, curious to find out what words would be coming out of my mouth.

Yeah? he asked. What happened?

I threw up my hands in frustration and answered, You know what? Forget it. I might as well tell you the truth: I got the boot today.

Alex’s eyes