behave thus, the man whom you are boring will write to his publisher:

Dear Brown,

A wretched creature, who knows my great aunt, asks me to recommend his
rubbish to you. I send it by to-day's post, and I wish you joy of it.

This kind of introduction will do you excellent service in smoothing the
path to failure. You can arrive at similar results by sending your MS.
_not_ to the editor of this or that magazine, but to some one who, as you
have been told by some nincompoop, is the editor, and who is _not_. He
_may_ lose your book, or he may let it lie about for months, or he may
send it on at once to the real editor with his bitter malison. The
utmost possible vexation is thus inflicted on every hand, and a prejudice
is established against you which the nature of your work is very unlikely
to overcome. By all means bore many literary strangers with
correspondence, this will give them a lively recollection of your name,
and an intense desire to do you a bad turn if opportunity arises. {6}

If your book does, in spite of all, get itself published, send it with
your compliments to critics and ask them for favourable reviews. It is
the publisher's business to send out books to the editors of critical
papers, but never mind _that_. Go on telling critics that you know
praise is only given by favour, that they are all more or less venal and
corrupt and members of the Something Club, add that _you_ are no member
of a _coterie_ nor clique, but that you hope an exception will be made,
and that your volume will be applauded on its merits. You will thus have
done what in you lies to secure silence from reviewers, and to make them
request that your story may be sent to some other critic. This, again,
gives trouble, and makes people detest you and your performance, and