Dear Betsy:
What is the right way to end a relationship with an agent/representative?
How can a writer assess whether the still, small voice saying: “Enough is enough, time to move on” is the voice of reason, and not the voice of: “My dead father didn’t love me enough, here’s a cry for help that’ll show ‘im!”
When a representative seems to already be a step ahead of the game, not returning emails and phonecalls, leaving the writer to make submissions and handle follow-up on her own behalf, and generally projecting an air of radically depleted enthusiasm, must a writer make the effort for face-time?
Or does a writer who breaks up with a rep via email doom herself to the Permanent Asshole File?
Some friends have advised that it is better to have a non-functioning relationship with an absentee rep than to have no rep at all, and that one should only cut ties once a replacement is in the wings. However, I saw a dating guru on reality TV who advised that to meet Mr. Right, you need room in your closet and a clean house. Where do you fall on the “take what you can get until something better comes along” spectrum?
Thanks for any hard-won wisdom you can spare,
Ambivalena
Dear A:
Break up. Now. In your situation, this person is hurting more than helping. If there was history, past deals, happy times, bad times you weathered together, well that’s another story. But so far this representative has not gotten you work, has not been there for you, has not followed up, etc. Now, in fairness, if he or she has tried and failed for some length of time, it is possible that he or she has hit a wall. Which, of course, is another reason to amscray. Is an abusive husband better than no husband? Even Robin Wright Penn finally said no can do.
Does one window close and another open? Sure, especially if you’re sitting in the last row of an Al-anon meeting and someone with Munchkins comes in and sits down next to you. Whenever a writer comes to me on the verge of leaving his or her agent, I always counsel him or her to talk it through, maybe the person needed a wake up call, maybe lines of communication got clogged like my purple bong circa 1978. That said, by the time most writers start looking for a new agent, they are usually past the point of working things out. It’s probably time for a divorce. Since you two don’t have any kids, it should be pretty clean. I’d send a handwritten note over an email, but that’s just me. From what I can tell, breaking up via email is the norm.
Good luck, Betsy
p.s. any break-up stories you feel like “sharing”?
Filed under: Agent, Client, The End of the World as We Know It | 13 Comments »
Breaking up with clients, getting broken up with, none of it is easy. Egos wounded, hearts broken, tongues wagging, reputations flagging. Even when someone you hate fires you, it stings. Not that I would know. Even when you fire someone, you feel fucking awful. Especially when their next book goes on to sell for millions. But awful, too, if they don’t find a new agent. If they are, in publishing terms, homeless. Most people are pretty bad at parting company, even if both acknowledge that it’s better this way. Even if the writer desperately needs to be seen in a new light. Or if the agent no longer knows how to advance his or her career. Where are the boundaries?
Dear Betsy,
Betsy:
Ten years ago this month, I turned in my blue pencil and became an agent. I never thought I could be closer to writers than in my capacity as an editor, but I have found that the agent relationship can be even closer. You are there at the inception of a career, or you are stepping in mid-stream and trying to rebuild a career. You spend your time as an interpreter, negotiator, editor, shrink, friend, mother, principal, ping-pong partner and bank. You witness the passing of parents and the birth of babies. You know when the writing flows and when it falters. You know your writers’ strengths and limitations, when they’ve had a breakthrough and when they’ve hit a wall. You track a mood swing from self-aggrandizement to self-flagellation and back again many times over the course of one conversation. At a reading, you feel as if you are watching your child’s first recital. You wildy applaud as he picks up his first literary prize. You are celebrating a great review. You are going to a memorial service, an emergency room, a motel in Texas. Just when you think your tank is empty, a pile of pages arrives that takes your breath away.
Home. Very happy to be home. It’s no secret that I always wanted to work in Hollywood, and that I’m still chewing on a screenplay (#4), etc. But the real secret is that I could kiss the tarmac at JFK and everyone I’ve ever met in publishing because when you find an editor who loves a manuscript and offers you an advance, a contract comes, and in a year or so a manuscript is completed and put into production, and eight or nine months later, an author holds a book in his hands that is the culmination of his creative dream. And people have a chance to read it.
Dear Betsy:
Betsy Lerner 