On submission, p.1
On Submission, page 1
Praise for Michael J. Seidlinger
“Raw and alarmingly prophetic, Michael J. Seidlinger’s The Body Harvest is a crucible of torment that lures the reader into a consecrated baptism of human suffering and then traps you there until you turn the final page and find yourself forever marked, eternally polluted.”
Eric LaRocca, author of Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke
“Viscerally and metaphysically repulsive—and a dangerously accurate snapshot of a society, as only Michael Seidlinger could do.”
Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of the Indian Lake Trilogy
“Human connection as drug, fame as disease: Seidlinger carves from our Age of Illness a brilliantly nihilistic nightmare.”
Daniel Kraus, author of Whalefall
“Do not, under any circumstance, read when you’re alone. One of the most disturbing novels I’ve read in years.”
Danielle Trussoni, New York Times Book Review
“This book makes Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay look like a cakewalk. This is THE MOST intense psychological horror you have ever read. Seriously. It makes Out by Natsuo Kirino look tame.”
Library Journal (Starred Review)
"A tortuous affair that marries psychopathy with writerly ambition, On Submission is a serial killer revenge fantasy set within the publishing industry’s already ruthless echelons, a social satire that enacts the darkest imaginings of any author forced to endure yet another blanket rejection slip. It’s gruesome, troublesome, impish, and lampoonish—a fast-paced splatter romp whose resourceful antihero shares a moral compass with Patrick Bateman. Seidlinger doesn’t just bite that hand that feeds him, he devours it."
Joe Pan, author of Florida Palms
"Sharp in all the ways that matter. If you’re not afraid of gore, want a shadowy look into the world of publishing, or savor the mind of confidently deluded characters, pick up On Submission."
Independent Book Review
“Short, sharp, bizarre and brilliant, On Submission is a scathing autopsy of the publishing industry.”
FanFiAddict
“Seidlinger vivisects a nightmare version of the publishing world, where stories require sacrifice, self-promotion needs ferocity, and the marketplace craves scandal and atrocity.”
Dennis Mahoney, author of Our Winter Monster
On Submission
Copyright © 2025 by Michael J. Seidlinger
Cover by Joel Amat Güell
ISBN: 9781960988812 (paperback)
CLASH Books
Troy, NY
clashbooks.com
Distributed by Consortium
All rights reserved.
First Edition 2025
Printed in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
On Submission
Michael J. Seidlinger
Introduction
In April 2020, right as the pandemic started tearing apart our lives, Christoph Paul reached out to me, hoping to get on Zoom to discuss something. That something was an idea, a pitch for a novel involving the publishing industry and a “boogeyman.” During the same meeting, I mentioned a manuscript I had finished years before, relegated to being a “drawer novel.” I accepted his pitch, and he accepted mine. That manuscript became Anybody Home. All the while, I worked on what might meet Christoph’s challenge. I failed twice, two separate books tossed into the garbage bin, set ablaze, but eventually, third time’s a charm, I found the voice of the boogeyman and tapped into the good, the bad, and the ugly of the publishing industry.
The result is the book you now hold in your hands. Simply put, this book would not exist without Christoph. Eternal thanks, my friend, for the inspiration and the continued championing of my writing. Likewise, eternal thanks to Leza Cantoral, who has always been there, during the good and during the darkest of the dark, when I felt it was easier to end it all than to keep going.
Kaitlyn Kessinger for being amazing, keeping everything and everyone in check during the hellacious tedium of the publishing process.
Angela Capovani for the skilled copy-editing and running a scalpel through some of the more gruesome scenes with a medical professional eye.
Elena Gorgevska for giving the book a deep and thorough pass, seeking out typos, continuity errors, and run-ons.
Joel Amat Güell for the stunning cover; you always manage to capture the true pulse of a book with your designs.
Writing can be a lot, sure, but the craft, the day-by-day habitual act is a blessing, a bastion where I live through experiences as they are created. The publishing industry?
Well…
Every writer faces continuous rejection and doubt, no matter how far along they are in their careers. This book is an exorcism and an examination of the writer facing the industry. I hope that it can be a balm, in some small way, to every wounded writer out there. Publishing is such a grind. Yeah, it sucks. But writing? Writing is a sanctuary. Don’t forget why you started writing in the first place.
Thank you for reading this book.
To Christoph
who lit the spark
Contents
Part One WORKSHOPPING
Letter 1
Letter 2
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
Part Two EMERGING AUTHOR
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
Part Three REPRESENTATION
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
Part Four DEAL OF THE DAY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Letter 3
Deal of the Day
About the Author
Also by Michael J. Seidlinger
Also by CLASH Books
“Agents cannot control whether publishers are interested in a book. Agents cannot control a publishing house’s internal bidding rules, including whether it prohibits its imprints from bidding against each other for a book. Nor can an agent control how a publisher values a book. Agents cannot control how much a publisher bids for a book. Agents cannot even always control the scope of rights that they can sell.”
government brief, Department of Justice (DOJ) vs. Penguin Random House (PRH)
Part One WORKSHOPPING
Dear Henry,
I am writing to seek representation for my 78k-word speculative novel, FRIENDS SELLING FRIENDS. It’s about a friend group since grade school, coming of age during a series of pivotal cultural moments that force them to learn harsh lessons about what it means to be alive at the onset of human commodity. There’s four friends, the protagonist being Alexander, shy and withdrawn, but wide-eyed and full of creativity. He wants to become an artist. His best friends, Chadwick and Matt both want to go into STEM, earning the big bucks, while his closest friend and perennial crush, Mary, hopes to leave the country “before it falls apart” and become a chef in a small town somewhere. Things are exacerbated when they face the entry tests for college, and though they all do modestly well, a new law in place prevents them from advancement: It isn’t enough to make the grade on paper; people must now put a price on themselves, and every aspect both physical and psychological, and be willing to sell it to the highest bidder.
I have a bachelor’s degree from the University of Florida, where I studied sociology and psychology. Though I have not published widely, I have been writing since childhood and have been a blogger for a now-defunct fan-fiction site called ClapApplause. I live as a digital nomad and have called the northeast home for the last eight months.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Alexander Moyer
Dear Mr. Moyer,
Thank you for trusting me with your query. Though I admire your ambition, I don’t feel strongly enough about the manuscript to offer representation. Publishing is a subjective business, so keep in mind that thou
Respectfully yours,
Henry Richmond Pendel
Senior Agent
Cooper Willis Endeavor
Chapter 1
Someone had been inside his home. This had nothing to do with strange coincidences. Facts present themselves as evidence, which are then catalogued and filed away for the case file labeled: Henry Richmond Pendel. He has lived in this Greenwich Village apartment for seven of the 12 years he has worked as a literary agent. Like the industry he reigns over, as one of its most reputable and well-known agents and tastemakers, he knows where everything is, and knows when a room thought to be safe might have been tampered with. It could be a book on a shelf slightly askew, a volume swapped or swiped, the scent of another body. Yet even as he scans his countless bookshelves and checks every corner, he can’t help but think about who has been here. Even if he hasn’t, it’s only a matter of time.
Alexander Moyer, where are you?
A name, an email containing a query and an eventual author rejection, has become something more. Much more. Pendel has received a steady stream of emails, communications that started off as professional, yet over the last week or so, have become odder than Pendel would like to admit. The fact that Moyer has mentioned personal details, particularly the casual namedrop of the building he lives in, has caused more than a little suspicion. This could be an omen, a warning of things to come.
He has been in contact with his lawyer. The proof he has isn’t much, but it’s something. But there will need to be more. A restraining order was mentioned, and it only goes so far. This isn’t the first time he’s been under threat of a bitter author, one hurt by his rejection, yet something about this is different.
Last night he fell asleep at his desk. When he woke up, the mug that had been next to him had been moved. A tense overview of every room revealed its new location, casually “left” next to the bathroom sink. Pendel shrugs it off, maybe just too preoccupied to remember that he brought it with him into the bathroom. No big deal. It’s the arrangement of his bookshelves that reveals something definite, proof of something amiss.
He notices an entire six-volume set of sci-fi classics, a gift from one of his clients, missing, a gap where they had been alphabetized among other genre offerings. He looks for them everywhere, already late to the office, a meeting likely missed.
When he checks his inbox, perhaps expecting that familiar name—Moyer—instead he sees no new emails. He should have new emails. Every time he hits refresh, there should be new queries. There might not be a lot that an agent can count on, but they can definitely count on another flurry of queries aiming to overwhelm an inbox.
How odd, he thinks.
Instead of checking the router and discovering that it has been unplugged, seeing yet another piece of evidence, clearly tampered with, he stares at the shelves. Maybe he’s already letting it get to him. This private invasion, one dealt with in a manner that is so manipulative it’s difficult to understand if it’s real or all in his head.
“Not like Hendrix is answering my emails anyway,” he says.
Could it be that there is something more to this person, perhaps more than a mere querying author, someone he had known, someone from his past? What are the chances that Pendel has mishandled some aspect of their interactions? The chances are high, part of Pendel’s ironclad reputation being his cutthroat nature, complete with a temper that intimidates and often limits people’s willingness to negotiate.
It’s all circumstantial, he decides, and proceeds to move on with his day. Maybe some of the morning might still be salvageable. The facts, they always rise to the top.
An agent finds reason in every conversation, even if it means not getting the best deal. In those inceptive steps—shower, shave, what to wear—Pendel finds temporary solace in fantasy, a vacation, wipe the slate clean. Just leave all this stress behind for a little while. Maybe this Moyer will move on to the next agent, the next person to personalize. Nobody talks about all the stalkers that orbit a public figure. Maybe he should take matters into his own hands. Forget the lawyer and seek the help of the authorities. This is another writer who has let the worst of this industry warp their mind. It could be that Moyer thinks it’s he who is preventing him from becoming a published author. Pendel, the one with absolute power. Say the word and they become a household literary name. That’s something he couldn’t give any client. Sure, he can set a path, but it’s up to the author to prove that they have what it takes to be a bestseller.
They got to be willing to play.
To play, you have to give up something.
When he’s finished showering and is about to head out, he has no time to wait for the train, so he’ll have to call a car. Never mind the ride apps; Pendel prefers this car service. A relic of a different city, you still have to call them up. They pick you up in a black luxury vehicle, complete with a driver in a suit.
Pendel walks into the back room where he left his phone on a charger. That’s when he sees it: the router unplugged. Once it’s powered back up, a quick reset and in minutes, his apartment’s internet connection is restored, his inbox comes to life.
After calling the car service, he emails his assistant.
A note-to-self that gets lost minutes after he makes it: Tell Marina what happened. Also, make sure to show your appreciation for all that she does. What would Pendel do without his tireless assistant?
He’s got a voicemail. While waiting in the lobby for his driver, he goes through the messages. They’re nothing at first. White noise. And then white noise becomes breath. Breath becomes heavy breathing. The heavy breathing becomes a hint of something far more malicious. Or maybe he’s just expecting Moyer’s call.
It’s him. Pendel’s imagination is so livid and overactive it might as well be fact. Jump forward to the act two climax, where he is being manipulated by a psychopathic would-be author, complete with a list of demands and a false sense of power.
The messages blend together. Some are from friends and acquaintances he has no intention of ever reciprocating. Let every bond wither away to nothing. Working so much, it’s easy to do. Pendel may even prefer his aloneness. It starts to get a little difficult to know when each voicemail was left and when—except for the one. It’s the one that further confirms that it’s not all his imagination. It was Alexander Moyer. It could only be Alexander Moyer.
The message in plain goes something like this:
Why do you have three copies of Infinite Jest?
You know you’ve never read it.
Beep. It doesn’t seem like much, yet it’s enough to send a message. But then the car pulls up and he is Henry Richmond Pendel, renowned literary agent at Cooper Willis Endeavor, late and lately worried about his client list. You see, he’s used to selling, wheeling and dealing the best possible deal for his author list. He’s not used to this dry spell, nearly a month of nothing, every editor deferring just enough to remain professional yet clear enough that nobody’s finished reading any submission, and nobody is keen to make any big moves anytime soon. It’s alarming, a possible sign of things to come. Last time something like this happened, the trade publishing industry suffered massive layoffs and restructuring. The whole system changed, seemingly overnight. But he’s Henry Richmond Pendel, and he has no reason to be concerned, given his reputation and position. Still, it’s enough of a bother to let all this concern about a vengeful author get pushed, yet again, to the corners of his consciousness. Nearly forgotten, at least for now, Pendel gets in the car and is already drafting an email response to Marina, explaining his tardiness, offering a little white lie in hopes that this meeting he’s over a half hour late for is not yet lost. And when he tells her to say that “I’m willing to talk about the possibility of also selling audio rights,” he knows it’ll buy him more time, calming the editor-in-wait down long enough for him to get to the office. And just in case, Pendel adds a little something extra:
