It’s 2:00 a.m. Home after the annual agency holiday party. I’m wired, agitated, and depressed all at once. I’m one of these people who dread all social gatherings. Then I have a really good time. Then I hate myself. It’s so fucking predictable.
Our party is just for our clients. No publishers, no editors. Just the talent. I have this fantasy that we’ll still have the party when we’re in our eighties and it will be a sort of Broadway Danny Rose affair. I like to think that I’ll still be at my desk, my hands knotted with arthritis, a ciggie dangling from my lips (I plan to take up smoking again after eighty), barking to some editor how I want a better royalty rate for a z-book, which will be a book that you download out of your ass.
I also have a fantasy that if I die young all my clients will come to my funeral and say extraordinary things. Not because I’m the end all and be all, but because they are brilliant writers and know how to string sentences together that dazzle. You have no idea how much I love the people who trust me with their work. And yes, I had a bit too much to drink. But they will come and they will read. And one will sing.
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Betsy Lerner 
I love the image. 🙂 You made me laugh in the middle of the night after a night of Hostess cupcakes and wine after receiving one more big fat rejection. Thank you.
Oh my, you are brilliant. Your writing just kills me everytime and I mean that in the best way. Sorry to see the maudlin bent, hate to see you in torment but as you’ve said that’s probably what enables writers to touch hearts and souls.
Your recent posts on the terrors of revision, from the agent’s POV–like every other writer going through a rewrite I too saw myself in your posts. But I have a good news story–agent was happy with the revisions and the mss is with an editor for a possible pre-empt! After nine years with this mss I can’t believe it is happening and it is due to a fantastic agent who knew exactly what to change and how to fix. You make peoples dreams come true, even if the book doesn’t sell… And when you die (if you want to go there) not only will your authors be gathered at the gravesite but there will be a giant z-wake of all the people you touched with your books and your blog and all that.
I hate to think where you might have to put the toner when printing a z-book.
I’m not your client, but if you want, I’ll promise to come to your funeral and NOT play my violin.
So that’s why you didn’t answer my query!!!
Have a great holiday season, when you have drink you can at least pretend you’re smoking again (I do), Complete your fantasy of being an old agent praised and reviled, helped hundreds of authors on their way, but, damn, you rejected that one book, the one that wom the pulitzer, the National Book Award, the Orange Prize…..that was my book, Betsy. Mine. Do you really want that to happen? Uh, Betsy, Uh? Try me again.
or I’ll kill Santa.
Betsy the title of my blog post today is “I Hate Myself,” and all because I clammed up when you introduced me to Neil at your party!! My self-loathing sistah!
I have hated myself for a long time before I couldn’t think of anything to say to Neil deGrasse Tyson at Betsy’s party but now that I, too, have not said anything to Neil deGrasse Tyson at Betsy’s party I hate myself on a whole new level.
And the thing is, it was STILL one of the best party’s I’ve been to a long time. Merci, Betsy.
Also, I’m wondering: did everyone who couldn’t say anything to Neil deGrasse Tyson last night blog about it? Let me know.
Equally hysterical and touching and gorgeous!
I can totally relate. That’s why I limit my party-going these days. Better to ditch the party and go out to dinner with a few friends or go to a movie instead.
Oh, Vivian, you name dropper.
I think I just screwed one of my agents. I suck.
Very few things can make me laugh out loud with my morning coffee and yes, cigarette. You’re one of the few, Betsy. Thanks for the laughs.
You have made me laugh out loud again. Thanks Betsy.
Mine will probably be some miserable Jewish funeral with a bunch of crazed aunts throwing themselves on my coffin while muttering Yiddish imprecations, no interesting speeches. Just like my family. Hopefully it’s very, very long off.
Don’t knock crazed aunts muttering Yiddish imprecations. They’re the new ‘vampire.’
I’m happy to hear that, August because that means that my book will be the new ‘vampire’ book. I have tons of insane Jewish aunts prancing around muttering in Yiddish.
Throw in a clumsy 16-year-old heroine with a personality deficiency and a 104-year-old pederast, and that’s marketing gold!
Hilarious!
I didn’t go to a party where I didn’t talk to Neil so my self-loathing isn’t quite so deep. Nor would I have Jewish aunts at my funeral. I feel very, very dull. But amused. Thank-you for that.