I won't go into the details of the story for fear of giving it more credit than it is due, plus I don't want the likes of Master Ellison phoning me up and telling me I am a nincompoop and I should be taken out and placed on the rack. Suffice to say it arrived was much like its price tag...empty. A big goose egg of cliched pages and something which I am certain this 'publisher' of the author (it makes me want to wretch even using that word at the same time thinking of the awful jacket photo that was so obviously staged) laughed about during the cashing of the check they got, which I am certain was sizable.
Almost makes a guy want to start his own publishing house.
The problem is, it is the most rare occurrence that those who can afford to publish their own drivel are so often the ones who have absolutely no business setting pen to paper in the first place. Usually this lot is most oft comprised of personages who have never been broken down on the side of the road while on the way to withdraw their last fifty dollars from the bank. They only write about the tragedies of being a debutante or having to model for a living, trying to liken it to a somewhat less obsequious form of prostitution, but it rings of the all the gilded trappings of comfort somehow. They want to let you know they are of the masses, they just want to write stuff that people will read...sure they do. There are guts and then there is something else, something that is protected, sanitized, socially acceptable, risque' enough for the local Junior League colleagues but nothing that would kick them out of the club entirely.
If you are one of these people who incorrectly, whether on purpose or by virtue of some accidental fall where you hit your head and you now don't know any better, just stop thinking you're a writer and have anything remotely original to purport to us. And also, don't think because the slobber you schlep is in book form that it is worth a pittance and that any writer worth their salt would, nay should be thrilled to adapt your dreck into a screenplay. Nothing could be further from the truth.
No, actually, that book you paid to have printed couldn't be further from the truth...