The perils of dark alleys

There's a nice post about Jeff Somers' The Electric Church at Amateur Neurotica that includes this wonderful bit:

I can’t think of a single character I would call sympathetic. In fact, if I met any one of them in a dark alley I’d be surprised if I lived long enough to scream. But somehow they come together to create something I didn’t want to step away from. They were very much the underdogs, and who doesn’t like a good underdog?

Floor Swallowing Lunch, part 3

From the comments column:

I have enough faith in Moonrat's opinion that if she was willing to take this guy to lunch that he's probably good enough that he's going to find a deal elsewhere.

Maybe he felt that "life's too short" to go with someone less experienced. He probably spend a few years of his life writing this book and why should he go with the first person that shows interest?

The attitude that authors should be forever grateful to any agent or editor that shows them the slight bit of attention is disheartening.This post mocks the author and calls him names, which is far more disrespectful than anything he did to Moonrat (which was, as far as I can gather, merely asking her boss to read his work).

Well, here I thought I was preaching to the choir about how not to do things. Clearly this reader/commenter has missed the point.

No one asked the author to be forever grateful.
No one called the author names other than author/prospective author. (I re-read the post to make sure)

And just asking the publisher to read material on submission as though it's no big deal demonstrates a completely naive mindset about how this industry works.

Let me be clear: I've never asked an editor if the publisher has read a novel I've SOLD to them let alone one that is on submission without an offer. NEVER.

I have confidence that if a publisher needs to read something before there's an offer or expression of interest, the editor knows this and will tell me about it.

This was a get to know you lunch. It was not an offer on the table, let's hammer out a deal lunch. This wasn't a I'm offering on this book, I want to woo you lunch. This was a you've got a good idea, and here are the things that need to change before I can take it to ed board lunch. If the author doesn't think those changes are the right direction, the only correct response is thank you for lunch, how about them Yankees.

Let me be extra clear: This author behaved in a way that lost him the interest of the editor, and most likely put his agent on red alert for future editorial interactions.

Authors should be treated with respect. That's a given.
You know what? Editors should be too.

More on the floor swallowing lunch

The earlier post on tone deaf writers and what I would have done elicited this:

Okay, that is how you repair your relationship with the editor. Now, what do you say/do to the writer? Fire him on the spot? Have a long talk with him? What do you say? Writers do dumb stuff. Readers of your blog want to know what's fatal.

Honestly, I have no clue. I'm blessed with an extraordinary roster of clients, all of whom are pretty smart about how to behave in business situations. They understand that expressing frustration to me privately is cool. Asking about how things work, and what to expect BEFORE we get to the lunch (or even afterwards if something made them wonder) also cool.

I know for a cast iron fact that my authors know how to behave in public. I've seen them deal with things we still laugh about (none of which I am ever going to post on this blog, so don't even hope) with a gracious presence of mind that makes me profoundly grateful to be part of their team.

Part of that is this kind of boorish behavior doesn't just pop up unexpectedly. Someone who is this tone deaf here at the lunch has probably done or said things earlier. Those are the people who aren't clients of mine. I'm pretty careful about who I sign. As you should be about who you sign with too. Every editor has stories of agents who are tone deaf and behave like nutcases. More of those than author stories, frankly. They see more of us.

If that had happened to me I would have been pretty direct with the author about why that deal was dead now, and why I wasn't all that happy about having to go out and find another one. But no, it's not a firing offense. Yet.

I need a topic!

Some really at-a-loss for contributors editor has braved my inbox to ask me for an article for an upcoming book that might be called something like Guide to Literary Agents.

I immediately said "sure, but only if I can write one that says Break All The Rules You Read About Here." After reviving the poor lad, we agreed I'd write something else.

The question is WHAT.

I don't want to write the usual "agent peeves" or "how to write a snappy zesty compelling query letter and get thinner thighs in thirty days" cause those have been done to death.

So, you're the market. You read these books. (I just skim to see if my name is spelled right!) What kind of article would you like to see most?

Responses in the comment column or via email are much appreciated.

So, the earth opens up to swallow you--thank god

The earlier post today about a tone-deaf author insulting an editor at lunch prompted some commenters to ask, probably not too sardonically but one never really knows: "so J, what would you have done had you been sitting there?"

In order:

A. Pray for the imminent arrival of either the risen Christ and/or the four horsemen of the apocalypse; try to sign one or all to exclusive book deal.

B. Pray for a large black hole to erupt in the floor and then leap into it, sans parachute

C. Stand up, throw my serviette in the air and scream "Holy Rodentia, a RAT!"

D. Divert the editors attention with a hissed "look there, it's Judith Regan back from China interviewing Peter Olson for a job", and then stab my author with a fork. I read crime fiction; I know how to do that.


All hilarity aside, I'd be so mortified I'm not sure I'd have the presence of mind to do anything other than sit there and pray for a stroke. His, mine, doesn't matter. Just death, now.

What happens AFTERwards though is how you survive this. First, you phone the editor and say something like "well, that was one for the blog, wasn't it".

Then you send flowers and a card that says "We lived through the crap at lunch, here are the resulting posies. Please accept my heartfelt apologies for my boorish client and my failure to kill him mid-word."

And of course, you pick up the tab for lunch. Discreetly.

We've all had stuff like this happen. I can laugh about it now but I'm also a whole lot less willing to let someone natter on stupidly anymore without simply putting a hand on his knee and saying, very quietly, "stop talking now." Which is why you always sit next to the client and across from the editor at these meetings. I learned that from the Art of War, my operating rules for living in NYC.

That breeze you feel is your offer waving bye-bye!

I laughed out loud when I read this post over at Editorial Ass about an author who didn't understand what in-house advocate means.

This joker knew his project needed the attention of the bigwig rather than the "lowly editor." What a crock.

The one person you never treat poorly is the first person who said "yes." Everyone after that will love the project (we hope) but that first yes often ends up being the most passionate and will help you out when the fecal matter hits the atmospheric rotation device.

If you are in a competitive bid situation it's certainly fair to ask what the people up the food chain think. Absolutely. This post wasn't about that. It was about a project at the acquisition stage, and the author didn't ask what other people thought (and basically that's the agent's job anyway).

The blunt truth is there are more good projects than editors or agents have time or inclination to take on. I won't work with people who demonstrate by what they say or do that they don't value what I bring to the table. The shorthand for this is "life's too short". I hear that from my colleagues as well. Publishing isn't one of the high paying industries. One of the trade offs is we don't have to put up with jerks as often as people in other industries.

Of course, the truly ironic thing is that everyone who reads this blog already has figured that out. The people who need to hear it, won't.

When to intervene

We've all been there. A moment in time when something really ugly happens and you wonder "should I say something, should I do something."

I see it on the subway. Most recently a toddler was trailing behind his mom on the exit steps. She turned and bellowed "hurry the fuck up." She loomed over me, standing behind the little boy. Can you imagine what it was like for him; he's barely two feet tall. I wanted to say something but honestly it's like hitting a dog who's barking from fear. It doesn't help the barking, it doesn't teach the dog anything, and fundamentally it doesn't solve the problem. And frankly she scared me. And I'm more than five feet tall, and she doesn't control my food, shelter or security. I wanted to scoop up that kid and run off with him. Of course I didn't. I said nothing. I went home. And wept.

But you'd think that when someone falls to the floor in a hospital waiting room, even those of us who have passed by before would say something, anything. This breaks my heart as I'm sure it does yours.

Two years ago a friend from my childhood lost her life in the throes of mental illness. She wasn't admitted to Harborview because of a shortage of beds. I think of her often these days; it was she who introduced me to horse books, and started me on a lifelong love with all things horse. That's uppermost in my mind these days because of a book I just sold in which agent, editor and author are all horse-mad.

This makes me crazy with frustration. What does this say about us that we cannot protect the most vulnerable even when they are literally at the door of a hospital.

I don't even know what to do, how to vent my rage and frustration. I think if someone held a protest march about this, I'd go. And I'd scream. And yell. But mostly I would remember the powerful compelling words of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew: what you do to the least of these my brethren, you do to me.

You don't have to be a follower of Christ or believe in any god, to know implicitly in your very marrow that what we do to the least of these OUR brethren, is what we truly are. And what I am is ashamed.

ok sue me it's summer, yes, it's a cat picture

Normally I'm not much on the new funny captions on cat pictures fad, but this one did seem hilarious beyond the gimmick.

blame Lucy for sending this to me!