This tale of trickery sent in by Rob Loughran:

My name is Rob. I'm a cheater.

Hi Rob!

No, I'll confess, but I don't want to rehabilitate. I'm proud of how and why I cheated. For nearly five years I tried to get my book High Steaks published. I read Writer's Digest magazine and attended seminars on marketing your novel and laid out thirty bucks a year for an updated copy of The Writer's Market. And I did what they told me: I wrote a cover letter outlining my publishing credits and bundled it up with the first four chapters of High Steaks; included a synopsis and an SASE for the editor's convenience. I marked down the date, the publisher, and the editor in a submissions journal.

The SASEs returned (anywhere from three months to a year; some are still out there in orbit) with a form rejection slip. I did, however get a bite, and sent in, along with High Hopes, High Steaks. The manuscript returned with a form rejection slip: Not For Us At This Time --The Editors. That's okay, I'd been writing professionally for over twenty years and I know that rejection is part of the game; it bothers me about as much as the speedbumps in the Safeway parking lot.

My wife, not so calm.

Inserted into a colorful torrent of obscenities (she works with truck drivers-"colorful" truck drivers) was the observation that the manuscript had red wine stains and crumbs all over it. "Not for *#!~ us at this #@!~*& time? It looks like the %$^^+ passed it around at their #`!#**&+ Christmas party!" She was right. It had made the rounds of some office affair. Other High Steaks manuscripts were requested and returned in better states of repair, but with the same rejection slip. High Steaks is 80,000 words, which is roughly 450 manuscript pages. The cost of paper, printer cartridges, mailers, postage and RETURN postage ain't cheap and I couldn't go ahead like this indefinitely for two reasons. First the cost, but more crucial: I ran out of publishers.

Not every (nowadays most) publisher accepts unagented submissions and there is a giant Catch-22: Publishers won't read a novel unless it's agented, but you can't get an agent unless you've had a book published.

Horse puckey!

So after, literally, being rejected by every English speaking mystery publisher in the world (an Australian imprint almost picked it up) I cheated.

I took my cousin's name, started a new e-mail account, and using my address started the Brad Morrison Agency. I designed (easy on the computer) some BMA stationery and envelopes and wrote a letter about me in the third person, including sample chapters of the book and a synopsis. Two things happened: the manuscript was requested and read. It was rejected-like I said, part of the publishing game-but I (er, I mean Brad) didn't receive form rejection letters. I received personal letters outlining why they couldn't use it. Apparently agents are higher on the food chain than writers. One rejection slip I have framed in my office with the phrase a bit too sexually explicit and cavalier for us. Yes! To slightly misquote General Patton: "You read my book you magnificent bastard!"

I admit it was a deception, but a necessary one; what was I supposed to do, give up? Writing a book is hard work, and I knew, in my gut that the book was good enough. Although this cheating opened the door to several publishers, High Steaks was finally published because it won a national contest-Salvo Press' New Mystery Award-where publication was part of the prize.

I've since finished another novel, which is into a publisher, and I'm finishing up my third novel. Perhaps because I can list High Steaks among my credits, doors will be open for me that were closed previously. But if they aren't The BMA will ride again.

Proudly.

Rob's second novel, Norman Babbit, Scientist was published earlier this year by Publish America. He didn't need to cheat this time.