I thought it was not a good phrase; I'd never seen it in a bookstore; good fiction isn't realistic but believable...rant rant rant.
One of my blog readers sent me this soon after:
Showing posts with label Aargh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aargh. Show all posts
Sunday, February 03, 2013
Have petard, will hoist
Earlier today I went on a rampage about "realistic fiction."
I thought it was not a good phrase; I'd never seen it in a bookstore; good fiction isn't realistic but believable...rant rant rant.
One of my blog readers sent me this soon after:
I thought it was not a good phrase; I'd never seen it in a bookstore; good fiction isn't realistic but believable...rant rant rant.
One of my blog readers sent me this soon after:
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Fawlty Premises --the new hotel for certain writers
- Troglodad said...
- Query Shark- just found your site. I look forward to reding some of your responses. But since you say you keep repeating yourself, pointing out recurring mistakes, I can't see the sense in reading them all. But thanks- this site is very helpful. I look forward to reading most of it.
You'll know which part to read cause it will be the part you read.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
No. No. No.
I met one of my favorite editor for drinks the other day and we were doing our usual kvetching about being overwhelmed with reading.
The editor then tells me this story:
An author queries me directly - it's not my stuff but it sounds interesting so I pass it on to a new bright eyed and bushy tailed assistant editor who's looking to build a list. He likes it and requests it. It arrives and goes in the pile of not-terribly-urgent.
Time passes, as it does.
Author who sent full signs with an agent.
Agent then sends out a new and different project. Neither the author nor the agent let our bright eyed and bushy tailed assistant editor know about this - nor is he the editor to whom the new work is submitted.
The editor who gets the second submission reads and likes it, then gets it read by the powers that be, gets an offer approved, and makes the offer. Only THEN does the agent tells editor #2 that "oh, gosh, Editor Bushy Tailed" happens to be looking at something else by the same author.
And of course it turns out that Editor Bushy Tailed has read the first submission, likes it, and has it with two other colleagues to get supporting reads before going to editorial board.
Editor Bushy Tailed has now wasted his time and the other editor's time because there can be only one editor for an author; the editor-in-chief is now involved much to her chagrin and dismay; and Editor Bushy Tailed has to turn over the book he's been looking at to editor #2.
Long story short - both author and agent knew two editors were looking at different projects in-house and didn't tell either editor.
Here's what we can learn from this: when you sign with an agent, tell all the editors looking at your work that you have an agent now AND tell agent what editors are looking (and have looked) at your work.
You do this even if you think every single submission has long since been forgotten. You do this even if you think it's useless. You do this so if someone doesn't know it's not because you didn't tell them.
You might be tempted to say "Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed Editor should have let author know he liked the book." Maybe so. But face it, "should" doesn't get us very far here. This is your career. Make sure you keep your ducks in a row.
The editor then tells me this story:
An author queries me directly - it's not my stuff but it sounds interesting so I pass it on to a new bright eyed and bushy tailed assistant editor who's looking to build a list. He likes it and requests it. It arrives and goes in the pile of not-terribly-urgent.
Time passes, as it does.
Author who sent full signs with an agent.
Agent then sends out a new and different project. Neither the author nor the agent let our bright eyed and bushy tailed assistant editor know about this - nor is he the editor to whom the new work is submitted.
The editor who gets the second submission reads and likes it, then gets it read by the powers that be, gets an offer approved, and makes the offer. Only THEN does the agent tells editor #2 that "oh, gosh, Editor Bushy Tailed" happens to be looking at something else by the same author.
And of course it turns out that Editor Bushy Tailed has read the first submission, likes it, and has it with two other colleagues to get supporting reads before going to editorial board.
Editor Bushy Tailed has now wasted his time and the other editor's time because there can be only one editor for an author; the editor-in-chief is now involved much to her chagrin and dismay; and Editor Bushy Tailed has to turn over the book he's been looking at to editor #2.
Long story short - both author and agent knew two editors were looking at different projects in-house and didn't tell either editor.
Here's what we can learn from this: when you sign with an agent, tell all the editors looking at your work that you have an agent now AND tell agent what editors are looking (and have looked) at your work.
You do this even if you think every single submission has long since been forgotten. You do this even if you think it's useless. You do this so if someone doesn't know it's not because you didn't tell them.
You might be tempted to say "Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed Editor should have let author know he liked the book." Maybe so. But face it, "should" doesn't get us very far here. This is your career. Make sure you keep your ducks in a row.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
At least no pat-downs were involved.
The trip to the Turkey Dinner was crowded but uneventful. The trip back, not so much.
My boon companion in tryptophan and I hoisted ourselves on to the southbound Amtrak train and were glad to find seats quite easily. We rolled merrily through the countryside, each of us reading in our respective spots. Afternoon became twilight became evening. Suddenly, the lights failed! I figured it was one of those momentary glitches, but no. The train rolled on but noticeably more slowly, then VERY slowly, and then ceased to roll at all.
Yes indeed, the engine failed! Much travail. Weeping and gnashing. One man, incensed beyond decorum, wielded his voice on the cell phone like a sword. I think he might actually have called for the head of the President of Amtrak for inconveniencing him so mightily (at this point we'd been stalled about seven minutes.)
Another man called a friend and in terrified tones related we were "stuck in the middle of nowhere. Lost!" We were about sixty-five yards from the Croton stop.
Much consternation ensued. We finally get a push from an emergency engine into the Croton station. I scoop up Boon Companion, engage ejector seats (of course I travel with one; you don't?) and hurl us toward the ticket booth. We purchase tickets on the next Metro North (in this direction it would be more aptly called Metro South) train. That train leaves within seconds of us arriving on the correct platform.
The Amtrak crew sneers at us for bailing out. They assure us they will be up and running soon. We don't believe a word they say of course and get on the southbound train. Merrily rolling through the countryside resumes.
We arrive in Yonkers some thirty minutes and ten stops later. What ho! Shivering on the platform are the passengers from the Amtrak we'd been on! The train had limped in to Yonkers and now all the passengers were being transferred to the train we'd gotten on in Croton.
Boon Companion and I smugly congratulated ourselves. We had seats, we'd not waited in the cold, and we'd not been subjected to the uncertainty of knowing if we were going to get stuck again.
The best part is I think Amtrak will actually refund the ticket price! Mr. CellPhone got his ticket refunded (he announced to all and sundry) and there were customer service people who met us at the train when we arrived at Grand Central.
And you wonder why it requires a crowbar to pry me out of this city.
However, it could have been worse!
My boon companion in tryptophan and I hoisted ourselves on to the southbound Amtrak train and were glad to find seats quite easily. We rolled merrily through the countryside, each of us reading in our respective spots. Afternoon became twilight became evening. Suddenly, the lights failed! I figured it was one of those momentary glitches, but no. The train rolled on but noticeably more slowly, then VERY slowly, and then ceased to roll at all.
Yes indeed, the engine failed! Much travail. Weeping and gnashing. One man, incensed beyond decorum, wielded his voice on the cell phone like a sword. I think he might actually have called for the head of the President of Amtrak for inconveniencing him so mightily (at this point we'd been stalled about seven minutes.)
Another man called a friend and in terrified tones related we were "stuck in the middle of nowhere. Lost!" We were about sixty-five yards from the Croton stop.
Much consternation ensued. We finally get a push from an emergency engine into the Croton station. I scoop up Boon Companion, engage ejector seats (of course I travel with one; you don't?) and hurl us toward the ticket booth. We purchase tickets on the next Metro North (in this direction it would be more aptly called Metro South) train. That train leaves within seconds of us arriving on the correct platform.
The Amtrak crew sneers at us for bailing out. They assure us they will be up and running soon. We don't believe a word they say of course and get on the southbound train. Merrily rolling through the countryside resumes.
We arrive in Yonkers some thirty minutes and ten stops later. What ho! Shivering on the platform are the passengers from the Amtrak we'd been on! The train had limped in to Yonkers and now all the passengers were being transferred to the train we'd gotten on in Croton.
Boon Companion and I smugly congratulated ourselves. We had seats, we'd not waited in the cold, and we'd not been subjected to the uncertainty of knowing if we were going to get stuck again.
The best part is I think Amtrak will actually refund the ticket price! Mr. CellPhone got his ticket refunded (he announced to all and sundry) and there were customer service people who met us at the train when we arrived at Grand Central.
And you wonder why it requires a crowbar to pry me out of this city.
However, it could have been worse!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Honest to garmamond, how can you do this?
In the query mail today:
When I get "a query"** like this I just want to shoot something:
**I can't even think of calling this a query. It doesn't come close to meeting the minimum standards for a real query.
Janet, Do you handle, are you interested in, my (redacted)* Cozy Mystery series?
* With recipes. Thanks for the helpful information. (author's first name)
When I get "a query"** like this I just want to shoot something:
**I can't even think of calling this a query. It doesn't come close to meeting the minimum standards for a real query.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Why I don't work retail, and why retail clerks should be canonized
From Shelf Awareness this morning:
When Cynthia Christensen, owner of Book Stop, Hood River, Ore., had pneumonia and laryngitis, her original solution for working at the store was to put up a sign that said, "I have laryngitis and can't talk at all. However, I know several useful hand gestures. Not all of them are rude." But this didn't work because people asked so many open-ended questions. Her doctor then forbade her to go to work until her voice returned.
So for two weeks, her husband, Charlie, who usually works in an ER, stepped in and replaced her in the store. He kept notes in a journal of interactions with customers (and non-customers!), which came to form what he calls "a simultaneous rant and ode to the trade." Cynthia noted that Charlie now has "a much greater appreciation for what I do, and belligerent drunks in his ER don't annoy him as much as they did before."
Here's the link to the story
When Cynthia Christensen, owner of Book Stop, Hood River, Ore., had pneumonia and laryngitis, her original solution for working at the store was to put up a sign that said, "I have laryngitis and can't talk at all. However, I know several useful hand gestures. Not all of them are rude." But this didn't work because people asked so many open-ended questions. Her doctor then forbade her to go to work until her voice returned.
So for two weeks, her husband, Charlie, who usually works in an ER, stepped in and replaced her in the store. He kept notes in a journal of interactions with customers (and non-customers!), which came to form what he calls "a simultaneous rant and ode to the trade." Cynthia noted that Charlie now has "a much greater appreciation for what I do, and belligerent drunks in his ER don't annoy him as much as they did before."
Here's the link to the story
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Hogwash versus Wilbur in the buttermilk
A previous post ranted on (and on!) about effusive and ineffective compliments in a query letter.
Some commenters interpreted that to mean you should not make any kind of complimentary statement, including how the agent was located.
No no.
As in all things, sincerity counts. I can tell the difference between hogwash and a lovely illustration of Wilbur in the buttermilk.**
If you say "you're one of the top agents in New York City", that's hogwash. (UTTER hogwash.)
If you say "my book is similar in tone and style to Jeff Somers' kick ass and takes names noir thriller Digital Plague" that's not hogwash (until you fail to live up to your own comparison, but that dreadful knowledge comes after the query letter.)
If you say, "I see you represent the incredibly talented Jeff Somers" that's not hogwash. Jeff is incredibly talented and I do represent him to my everlasting pride.
If you say "your reputation as an agent is revered by all", that's hogwash. I can't even type it with a straight face. My MOTHER couldn't type it with a straight face.
If however you say "I attended your class at Surrey and got a lot out of it" that's not hogwash.
You'll notice the difference is in the specificity of the compliment. "You helped me figure out how to write a query letter on QueryShark" is sincere. "Your blog is just the coolest thing since central air conditioning" isn't.
I can tell the difference. So can you. You don't need to invent compliments to get me to read your work. I WANT to read your work.
** (and if you don't get this reference, stop reading at once, and go get Charlotte's Web by EB White....NOW)
Some commenters interpreted that to mean you should not make any kind of complimentary statement, including how the agent was located.
No no.
As in all things, sincerity counts. I can tell the difference between hogwash and a lovely illustration of Wilbur in the buttermilk.**
If you say "you're one of the top agents in New York City", that's hogwash. (UTTER hogwash.)
If you say "my book is similar in tone and style to Jeff Somers' kick ass and takes names noir thriller Digital Plague" that's not hogwash (until you fail to live up to your own comparison, but that dreadful knowledge comes after the query letter.)
If you say, "I see you represent the incredibly talented Jeff Somers" that's not hogwash. Jeff is incredibly talented and I do represent him to my everlasting pride.
If you say "your reputation as an agent is revered by all", that's hogwash. I can't even type it with a straight face. My MOTHER couldn't type it with a straight face.
If however you say "I attended your class at Surrey and got a lot out of it" that's not hogwash.
You'll notice the difference is in the specificity of the compliment. "You helped me figure out how to write a query letter on QueryShark" is sincere. "Your blog is just the coolest thing since central air conditioning" isn't.
I can tell the difference. So can you. You don't need to invent compliments to get me to read your work. I WANT to read your work.
** (and if you don't get this reference, stop reading at once, and go get Charlotte's Web by EB White....NOW)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
One of the downsides of the blogosphere
Don't post for awhile and y'all start ruminating in the comments that I'm dead or something.
Well, it's or something.
Busy.
Insanely busy. Some of it is VERY good stuff. Some of it is fallout from the layoffs (I know 15 people who've lost their jobs. That's not fun.)
No one has my permission to worry about me.
Much like in the event of a national emergency, if something bad happens to me, air raid sirens will alert you immediately. I swear.
Well, it's or something.
Busy.
Insanely busy. Some of it is VERY good stuff. Some of it is fallout from the layoffs (I know 15 people who've lost their jobs. That's not fun.)
No one has my permission to worry about me.
Much like in the event of a national emergency, if something bad happens to me, air raid sirens will alert you immediately. I swear.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
In the category "what were they thinking"
This video of Joseph Jaffe excoriating short sighted marketing campaigns is fascinating. He's talking about big retailers in most cases, but there's some interesting stuff to learn from what he says.
(My favorite is the one about Target since of course I had to be at my door waiting for the UPS man delivering something to me from...tadaaa...Target.com!)
What's your take on it?
(My favorite is the one about Target since of course I had to be at my door waiting for the UPS man delivering something to me from...tadaaa...Target.com!)
What's your take on it?
Friday, April 25, 2008
Don't quote rejection letters in a query
Ever.
That's just a rule.
Not even if you think they are "glowing."
Not even if the rejecter suggests you try another market.
Not EVER.
It's bad salesmanship for starters, and it makes me realize before I've ever read your stuff that it isn't something everyone is dying to get their mitts on.
Most of the projects I'm offering on these days have three or more agents in the mix, offering representation.
I'm not looking for a diamond in the rough.
Don't quote your rejection letters.
Any questions?
That's just a rule.
Not even if you think they are "glowing."
Not even if the rejecter suggests you try another market.
Not EVER.
It's bad salesmanship for starters, and it makes me realize before I've ever read your stuff that it isn't something everyone is dying to get their mitts on.
Most of the projects I'm offering on these days have three or more agents in the mix, offering representation.
I'm not looking for a diamond in the rough.
Don't quote your rejection letters.
Any questions?
Thursday, April 24, 2008
You're making me crazy here!
Look, send pages will ya??
You write these horrible query letters that are all bravado about how great the novel is, and you don't include pages.
Worse, you send me query letters that sound pretty good and STILL don't send pages.
What am I missing here? How is it that you have my name and address and email and you don't see SEND PAGES.
Perhaps some of you on the other end of the query rope can advise me on this.
Meanwhile, send the fucking pages. Sheesh.
You write these horrible query letters that are all bravado about how great the novel is, and you don't include pages.
Worse, you send me query letters that sound pretty good and STILL don't send pages.
What am I missing here? How is it that you have my name and address and email and you don't see SEND PAGES.
Perhaps some of you on the other end of the query rope can advise me on this.
Meanwhile, send the fucking pages. Sheesh.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
a new low in query letter "attachments"
I may rethink my antipathy toward email queries.
I just received a query by snail mail that came with cat hair, AND cat drool on the last page.
I'm hoping it's cat drool.
Yuck.
Yuck.
Yuck.
And yes, I'm still reading it cause dammit, the writing is pretty good.
I just received a query by snail mail that came with cat hair, AND cat drool on the last page.
I'm hoping it's cat drool.
Yuck.
Yuck.
Yuck.
And yes, I'm still reading it cause dammit, the writing is pretty good.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
one of those little things that doesn't matter..till it does
You've surely heard of the Great Vegetable War between Jessica Seinfeld and The Sneaky Chef. Jerry Seinfeld went on David Letterman and scoffed at "vegetable plagiarism" which we all thought was hilarious of course.
Well, the Sneaky Chef didn't think it was so funny and filed a lawsuit.
The Seinfeld's filed their response today.
If you check it out, look at paragraph 77.
No damages allowed because even if it was all true, the Sneaky Chef hadn't registered her copyright in time.
Oops.
One of those little things you never think about till it's too late.
Maybe more spinach..I hear it's brain food.
Well, the Sneaky Chef didn't think it was so funny and filed a lawsuit.
The Seinfeld's filed their response today.
If you check it out, look at paragraph 77.
No damages allowed because even if it was all true, the Sneaky Chef hadn't registered her copyright in time.
Oops.
One of those little things you never think about till it's too late.
Maybe more spinach..I hear it's brain food.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Why You Get Form Letters
Periodically I lose my mind and send non-form rejection letters.
Here's the response to one I sent last night:
You probably think you are doing me a favor by being honest. I have a thick skin. I've been doing this a long time. This is a third novel, not to count all the years of short-story writing in the writing programs. I think if people had talked to me like you just did all
along I would have given up.
But I'm damn good at it, and I know what I'm doing. I've been through this before and from our end it's a grueling process. However, I never cease to be surprised by the things that agents will say in all seriousness.
You are supposed to be one of the "nice" agents. Writers actually LIKE you.
You are in a position of power. Don't abuse it.
Look back over your email to me. If you find nothing wrong with it, then your ego is beyond repair. I don't expect an apology or anything. Just please learn to keep such thoughts to yourself.
This is not a relationship that would have worked out.
And for your viewing pleasure, here's the non-form email I sent:
Comic literary novel?
Let me hit myself in the head with that hammer, save you the trouble.
Those things are damn hard to sell. I know this. I have two on my list.
Three if you count the one I managed to sell after two years of trying.
I'm not taking on more right now. Do query other agents. Some of my
inability to sell these may be ..ahem...my fault.
When, like an UTTER idiot I responded to the email I got this:
Your tone was condescending, your attitude dismissive. Writing a novel is a major endeavor and you of all people should respect it.
I understand the realities of the business. It's no excuse.
A form letter is at least professional.
I'm sure I'll probably go off my head and do non-form emails again, but every time you're tempted to rue the form letter, and wish agents didn't send them, you'll at least know why we don't. One of these a week is quite enough.
Here's the response to one I sent last night:
You probably think you are doing me a favor by being honest. I have a thick skin. I've been doing this a long time. This is a third novel, not to count all the years of short-story writing in the writing programs. I think if people had talked to me like you just did all
along I would have given up.
But I'm damn good at it, and I know what I'm doing. I've been through this before and from our end it's a grueling process. However, I never cease to be surprised by the things that agents will say in all seriousness.
You are supposed to be one of the "nice" agents. Writers actually LIKE you.
You are in a position of power. Don't abuse it.
Look back over your email to me. If you find nothing wrong with it, then your ego is beyond repair. I don't expect an apology or anything. Just please learn to keep such thoughts to yourself.
This is not a relationship that would have worked out.
And for your viewing pleasure, here's the non-form email I sent:
Comic literary novel?
Let me hit myself in the head with that hammer, save you the trouble.
Those things are damn hard to sell. I know this. I have two on my list.
Three if you count the one I managed to sell after two years of trying.
I'm not taking on more right now. Do query other agents. Some of my
inability to sell these may be ..ahem...my fault.
When, like an UTTER idiot I responded to the email I got this:
Your tone was condescending, your attitude dismissive. Writing a novel is a major endeavor and you of all people should respect it.
I understand the realities of the business. It's no excuse.
A form letter is at least professional.
I'm sure I'll probably go off my head and do non-form emails again, but every time you're tempted to rue the form letter, and wish agents didn't send them, you'll at least know why we don't. One of these a week is quite enough.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Agent Kristin is right on the money..as usual
I was scouting around the blogosphere tonight and came across this post over at Kristin Nelson's on doing your own research on agents.
I'm pretty sure this guy has called me a couple times too. The first time he was very disdainful cause he hadn't heard of me and I didn't have any sales listed in the public record (duhh...I'd been an agent for all of about five minutes). The second time he mailed me something that looked like a xerox of a xerox, asking for all sorts of information. I trashed it. Then he called again. He didn't remember he'd called me before but I sure knew him. No I wasn't interested in being listed. No I wasn't going to talk to him, no I wasn't about ready to have him send my name to anyone.
Then he called again asking if my "attitude" had changed.
Nope.
For 42cents you can send me a letter and with another 42cents I'll answer.
For the truly economic minded, you can email me. Free. I answer all the queries that have my name on them.
You do NOT need a service of any kind to limit the number of people you query. In fact, it's foolish to query less not more.
I'm pretty sure this guy has called me a couple times too. The first time he was very disdainful cause he hadn't heard of me and I didn't have any sales listed in the public record (duhh...I'd been an agent for all of about five minutes). The second time he mailed me something that looked like a xerox of a xerox, asking for all sorts of information. I trashed it. Then he called again. He didn't remember he'd called me before but I sure knew him. No I wasn't interested in being listed. No I wasn't going to talk to him, no I wasn't about ready to have him send my name to anyone.
Then he called again asking if my "attitude" had changed.
Nope.
For 42cents you can send me a letter and with another 42cents I'll answer.
For the truly economic minded, you can email me. Free. I answer all the queries that have my name on them.
You do NOT need a service of any kind to limit the number of people you query. In fact, it's foolish to query less not more.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
I've been reading myself into a coma
And it's been mostly fun. I love reading the fulls I've requested because usually they're pretty good novels. A few misses. A few splats in the middle. A couple people who think plot = recitation of events and character development means a stint at the Curl Up and Dye Saloon and Beauty Emporium.
But, mostly good.
And then there are the heartbreakers. I've had three this week alone. GREAT wonderful marvelous, funny novels. I wanted them. I wanted them BAD (back off grammar police, go tweak your adverbs).
And yet, as I had to say to them all, the final question isn't "do I love this;" the final question is "can I sell it?"
And no, I can't/couldn't/don't think I can.
I hate that. I hate it BAD.
I hope that it's just me frankly - that I can't sell this stuff - that one or another of my colleagues could. I encourage them to query widely. I encourage them not to lose heart.
But it stings. It stings BAD.
And it makes me damn crabby.
Not as crabby as slushpile stupidity, but still...crabby.
The only good thing is that I'm whittling down my inbasket.
With less than 24 hours to go, that's actually a pretty good thing.
But, mostly good.
And then there are the heartbreakers. I've had three this week alone. GREAT wonderful marvelous, funny novels. I wanted them. I wanted them BAD (back off grammar police, go tweak your adverbs).
And yet, as I had to say to them all, the final question isn't "do I love this;" the final question is "can I sell it?"
And no, I can't/couldn't/don't think I can.
I hate that. I hate it BAD.
I hope that it's just me frankly - that I can't sell this stuff - that one or another of my colleagues could. I encourage them to query widely. I encourage them not to lose heart.
But it stings. It stings BAD.
And it makes me damn crabby.
Not as crabby as slushpile stupidity, but still...crabby.
The only good thing is that I'm whittling down my inbasket.
With less than 24 hours to go, that's actually a pretty good thing.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Ever have a Stupid Day?
oh man, I had a bad on on Thursday. One of those days where you have to come up with six ways to say "I'm sorry" and hope that everyone knows you really mean it.
One of the stupids involved sending an email to every single one of my clients with the wrong contact info for them to respond to. Oh yea, let's instill confidence in the troops by doing THAT! So, I found out there was a mistake and sent a follow up email to everyone saying "yes I AM an idiot." I didn't even try to laugh it off at that point; the way my luck was running it wasn't worth the risk!
So, I said "obviously I need more snooze".
Now, my clients are a rowdy, fun loving bunch. I adore them individually and collectively. So of course, they emailed back.
Here's a sample:
"Not snooze, Janet, you need booze."
"More sleep? And miss all the biker bar action? Whasamatteryou?"
"I actually thought that it was a test to see if we (your authors) are idiots."
To quote my favorite sharp businesswoman Scarlet O'Hara: "Tomorrow is another day."
One of the stupids involved sending an email to every single one of my clients with the wrong contact info for them to respond to. Oh yea, let's instill confidence in the troops by doing THAT! So, I found out there was a mistake and sent a follow up email to everyone saying "yes I AM an idiot." I didn't even try to laugh it off at that point; the way my luck was running it wasn't worth the risk!
So, I said "obviously I need more snooze".
Now, my clients are a rowdy, fun loving bunch. I adore them individually and collectively. So of course, they emailed back.
Here's a sample:
"Not snooze, Janet, you need booze."
"More sleep? And miss all the biker bar action? Whasamatteryou?"
"I actually thought that it was a test to see if we (your authors) are idiots."
To quote my favorite sharp businesswoman Scarlet O'Hara: "Tomorrow is another day."
Monday, October 15, 2007
So, what do you really do all day?
I was filling out a Q&A interview with a magazine and one of the questions amused me: "you read queries all day-what catches your eye?"
I don't read queries all day. I read them for about 20 minutes a day, if that. Partials and fulls, sure, those take up some time, but the actual first step with a query letter is pretty fast.
So, if I'm not reading query letters, what am I doing?
Today I was doing something you don't hear much about: copyright clearance. Normally the author would do this but in this case it fell to me. I'd sent off letters to the New York Times and Advertising Age with all the particulars of what we wanted to use.
To my utter horror, these skinflints wanted $250 a pop to quote things like obituaries! I don't think so! Even worse, the magazines were writing about my author himself, and wanted money for him to quote articles on himself. No no no and really no.
Enter the dreaded phrase "write around". That's what I did for a couple hours tonight--give the same info in my own words (that sound enough like the author to be his words) and don't use the same words or even very close rendition of the article's words.
Fortunately my misspent youth in the halls of academia trained me well for this.
I don't read queries all day. I read them for about 20 minutes a day, if that. Partials and fulls, sure, those take up some time, but the actual first step with a query letter is pretty fast.
So, if I'm not reading query letters, what am I doing?
Today I was doing something you don't hear much about: copyright clearance. Normally the author would do this but in this case it fell to me. I'd sent off letters to the New York Times and Advertising Age with all the particulars of what we wanted to use.
To my utter horror, these skinflints wanted $250 a pop to quote things like obituaries! I don't think so! Even worse, the magazines were writing about my author himself, and wanted money for him to quote articles on himself. No no no and really no.
Enter the dreaded phrase "write around". That's what I did for a couple hours tonight--give the same info in my own words (that sound enough like the author to be his words) and don't use the same words or even very close rendition of the article's words.
Fortunately my misspent youth in the halls of academia trained me well for this.
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