The Elder Statesman

Remember this name, Martha Jean Daley. You should remember it because I would expect in a few years there will be books on the market emblazoned with Martha Jean Daley’s name in larger type than that of the title of the book. That happens when an author’s name is more important to selling the book than a measly title.

But she’s not there yet.

Martha Jean lives in Ramona, Calif. She has already written two books and has a third one in production. Like all writers she needs an agent, but agents don’t like unpublished authors because the agent makes a living by taking a percentage of the gross book sales. For an unpublished writer that means spending money and time getting a new author’s works published.

Writer’s chaf under this "what came first, the chicken or the egg?" mentality, but it is very much a fact of life and every author had to suffer through this defeatism before becoming successful. That is why there are many great American novels languishing in some desk drawer, including one or two of mine.

Martha Jean got an agent interested, but one of the requirements was that she get a professional critique on the 404 page manuscript.

Since I have written 17 books, plus spent years teaching writing courses to college students, I guess I am someone who could provide the agent with a professional critique.

Martha Jean thought of me because I have known her since she was in high school with my two daughters in California. I didn’t know what to expect when a package arrived with Martha Jean’s bulky manuscript. But it only took me a few minutes of reading Martha Jean’s manuscript to know she was a born writer.

Even so, the editor’s credo required me to make changes in the manuscript, minor as they were, like misplaced commas, overuse of the semi-colon, repetitious statements, overuse of clichés, misplaced modifers and dialogue that sounded more like a speech than a conversation. In one incident, this eagle eyed editor discovered her protagonist was going to a fancy dress art show in San Francisco dressed only in earrings.

Hey, that is what editor’s are for.

This long distance editing required that I send my suggested corrections in increments to Martha Jean. She supplied me with pre-paid flat-rate postage for Priority Mail. I had the first 12 or so chapters ready to send, so I packaged them in one of the pre-paid flat-rate envelopes along with written explanations of why I felt the changes were necesary. Package in hand I went to the Roseburg post office. The customer line was all the way out into the lobby, but after all it was a pre-paid envelope, so I just dropped it in the mail slot.

Boomerang. The next day my postal lady returned it to me. Across the front of the Priority Mail envelope was this message:

"We regret that your mail is being returned to you because of heightened security measures. All domestic mail, weighing 16 ounces or over, that bears stamps and all international and military APO/FPO mail weighing 16 ounces or over, MUST be presented to a retail clerk at a post office. Postage that is affixed to this returned mail may be used for re-mailing the item."

Poor little Martha Jean had no idea her sweet protagonist, Keelie, would present a terrorist threat to the post office. Neither did I for that matter. Keelie had already survived a fall from the topmost perch of a Ferris Wheel at a county fair near her grandmother’s home in Idaho and was still recovering as Martha Jean’s story built momentum and I sent her along to get dressed for the evening in more than her earrings.

When I took the flat-rate, pre-paid package back to the post office and stood in line to reach a retail clerk, I made sure she showed me some identification to make sure she was a  real postal employee. Am I angry at the post office? No. I love the post office. I am angry at Osama Bin Laden.

(Bill Duncan can be reached by writing to P.O. Box 812, Roseburg, OR 97470)