Dear Miss Snark,
Robbie Singh is a tall, strong, and intimidating Punjabi man of 23 who has the mind of a young child. He walks, talks, and looks differently (differently is an adverb, that means it modifies a verb. If you use looks as a verb, that sentence is weird) than other people, and has a different kind of life, one of very simple routines. He also relies heavily on his mother for guidance and protection, particularly from his abusive and alcoholic father. grammatical error, stock character of abusiv alcoholic father.
So, when Robbie loses Mama in a tragic auto accident, he finds himself on his own, facing a terrifying new world without her. Shouldering his grief and fear, Robbie slowly tries to piece his life back together. He struggles not only to forge a relationship with his father, but to sort out his new feelings for long-time friend and ex-schoolmate Julia, as well as gain some independence in a world full of people more eager to point and whisper than to shake his hand. And when Robbie discovers the devastating secret that Mama took to the grave, it takes strength and determination he never knew he had, coupled with the love and support of his family and new friends, to soldier on and finally come into his own.
My 85,000-word novel, “Robbie Singh,” is a tale of love, hope, and perseverance at all costs, set amidst the splendor of California’s Monterey Bay. Readers of Daniel Keyes’s “Flowers for Algernon” or Winston Groom’s “Forrest Gump” may find this novel of a similar spirit, but the distinctive strengths of “Robbie Singh” are the title character’s truly unique voice, humor, vocabulary, and childlike perspective, contrasted with the intimidating and decidedly adult challenges he must face. (none of which of course we see here)
I have included a short biography (a what?) for your review. May I send you a fully complete copy of my manuscript? I look forward to hearing from you.
first page. only first page. almost everyone asks for the first page. There's a reason for this and it's not cause we want to make you crazy.
Right now I’m heading back to work after lunchtime, down the streets of my city, Monterey. My name’s Robbie Singh, and I live on Maravilla Place, in a tall house with my Mama and Papa. I’m at the bottom, under their room in the basement, where Papa says I can’t be seen and barely heard. I’ve been working at the Norva Cannery on Aguajito Street for a lot of years now. My boss there is Mr. Thewlis, and his face is a little bit like a lizard’s. He got me a job ’cause he’s buddies with Papa. He yells at me a lot, like when I don’t watch my line so good and let a broken can go by, but nobody hears him yell ’cause it’s so loud in there. Mama told Papa one time that he should talk to Mr. Thewlis, make him stop being so mean to me, but Papa said hell no. He said I’m 23 goddamn years old and, retarded or not, I should seize my sac and stand up for myself just like everybody else has to. I didn’t understand all that, but I do know Papa won’t tell the Lizard Man to do anything. I don’t usually say bad names about people, even mean people like him, but he calls me “Duck” all the time and I don’t like it. I make sure he doesn’t hear me, though.
Some days I walk down by Fishermans Wharf, close to the water, ’cause all those boats look coolio. Not every day, though, ’cause I get lost easy if I don’t walk my usual way. And not on Fridays, ’cause there’s about a million people everywhere, and it’s too hard to move without cars honking at me. I walk kind of slow, too, and I’m embarrassed to around lots of people. They stare at me, and a lot of them just don’t like me. I know when they don’t, too, ’cause they look at me mean, like I spit on the sidewalk, or like how Mama looks at me when I put my elbows on the table during dinner. I think they understand that I’m not so smart. That makes some people mad. I remember one man saying to his son, “Lookit that. He don’t have to walk that way. He c’walk normal if he damn well wanted.” I stopped then, and almost told him how I grew too fast when I was young and that’s why I walk weird, but Mama says not to talk to mean people ’cause nothing will change their mind. So I just walked away fast, and the boy laughed. “I think you made his brain short out for a sec there, Dad,” he said.
uh...you need to read more Faulkner.
Start with The Sound and the Fury.
This is a form rejection.