When Jeffrey Eugenides, author of Middlesex, spoke before a Seattle audience, he began by asking, "What do you suppose my least favorite comment is?" A number of hands shot up as the more enthusiastic yelled out answers, but no one gave him what he was looking for. Finally, after leading them on a little longer, he announced, "I've always thought about writing a book."

The audience nodded appreciatively, some chuckled, many of whom had their own writing aspirations. After the bobbing heads and tittering quieted, Eugenides went on to point out how unwelcome a comparable comment might be to a surgeon: "I've always thought about doing brain surgery," he said, as he flashed a sardonic smile.

His meaning was clear. Many believe that writing is as easy as sliding into a tub of warm water and that writers are nothing more than unskilled laborers deserving of little respect--and in most cases, little remuneration.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the world of publishing, where writers--those who haven't attained the status of the likes of Eugenides--lie at the bottom of this tyrannical heap. As authors weave through a maze of agents and editors and publishers and booksellers, they're reminded repeatedly of their expendability. An interesting perspective given that, without writers, many in the industry would end up baristas at Starbucks.

Even so, the publishing conglomerate is full of telltale clues as to a writer's place in the world. Consider the rejection slip--or rejection e-mail or rejection whatever. Granted, editors are often overwhelmed, overworked, and underpaid grunts forced to weed through an abundance of query letters and manuscripts, most of which are inappropriate or, worse yet, unreadable. Their only option for handling these insurmountable numbers is to send preprinted rejection slips (if they send anything at all) to inform writers of the status of their submissions.

Some editors are kind enough to include a personal note, usually a few words of encouragement written across the form. A nice gesture considering they don't have to say anything. The odd part is not that they should take the time to write these notes, but that we should be delighted with the results.

As writers, we're reminded over and over that we shouldn't view a personalized form letter as a rejection. We just shouldn't view it as an acceptance. But the fact is, a rejection is a rejection. This ain't horseshoes and there ain't no prize for getting close. What other industry encourages their members to smile after they've been given the boot?

But it's not only the editorial side where writers meet resistance. Few booksellers are interested in authors who don't have a Eugenides-type name. One independent bookstore in Seattle told a local writer that they simply did not hold events for first-time novelists. No signings. No readings. No nothing. It didn't matter that the author lived in the same neighborhood where the bookstore was located or that the author had lived there for years or that numerous people had requested the book from that bookstore. In fact, the bookstore wouldn't even carry his book.

But we're conditioned to accept crumbs, to beg for handouts. And the worst part? We go right along with it, even to the point where we're willing to hock our wares for nothing. The Internet and printed media are full of such opportunities, and you'll commonly find listings such as, "We're on a low budget and can't afford to pay anything right now, but you'll get national exposure, accumulate clips, and gain invaluable experience." And all you have to do is give away your time and effort--your life energy--for free.

Imagine a publisher trying to acquire other services for nothing, "We can't afford to pay you for fixing our toilet, but if you do it for free, you'll get national exposure." A lot of good that does a plumber in Cleveland with a kid in high school and another away at college.

That's not to say we shouldn't support worthy causes with our writing, but many of these "free" offers come from commercial enterprises run by people who expect to be paid for their own time and expect to pay other professionals for their services. Yet they view writers as an expendable commodity, life-long interns without the professional standing to demand the reimbursement they deserve.

Maybe the system is too broken for anyone to fix. And maybe no one's interested in fixing it. Or maybe a dehumanizing pecking order is the only way to sort through the countless wannabe writers. The fact is, brain surgery probably would be easier.

Freelance writer R.H. Sheldon, author of Dancing the River Lightly a novel of improbable proportions, has written a wide range of material, from news and feature stories to restaurant reviews to advice columns to technical publications. You'll find more information at http://www.rhsheldon.com