Be afraid, be very afraid.
When I was an editor, everyone at the publishing houses feared a few agents, most notably Andrew Wylie who has gone on the record with his disdain for publishers. He was a bully, he didn’t play by the rules (or rather he played by his own rules), and he exacted huge advances for his clients.
In a Vanity Fair article he was quoted as saying, “When I got into the business, I saw that agents had…friends. Their close friends were publishers, and their second closest friends were their clients. Their friendships with certain editors, certain houses were important to protect the longevity of their profit margin…It’s a source of satisfaction…that editors do not recommend us to writers. They say, ‘No, no!” Whatever you do, don’t go with Andrew.’ Well, thank you very much, we’re doing our job.”
I realized then it was better to be feared than loved. Fewer people will attend your funeral, but so what. You’re taking a permanent dirt nap anyway. Unfortunately, I think the only I person I scare is myself.
When I left editorial for the dark side, a fellow editor took me aside and said he thought I was making the right decision, becoming an agent. He had observed that I fought too hard on behalf of the authors, that I didn’t realize who “buttered my bread.” I couldn’t let anything drop. He said I wasn’t a good company girl. I took all these as great compliments, that I was a true champion of writers. Though I also felt vaguely accused of being…immature.
My parents had always accused me of never knowing when to stop, but why should I have stopped begging to go to that Peter Frampton concert? So what if I had a 102 degree fever. Why wouldn’t I want to go to my 34th Grateful Dead Concert? What is enough? I keep pushing because I believe in the these little fuckers known as books. And if they’re worth publishing, it’s worth trying to get it right. In the ten years I’ve been on Andrew Wylie’s side of the fence, however, I still find my stance is more collaborative than confrontational.
That said, I’d like to be feared. I want editors to tremble and publishers to faint. And please, don’t think of me with a referral. For god’s sakes, man, whatever you do, don’t go with Betsy Lerner.
Filed under: Agent, Editor, Publishing | 19 Comments »
Agents’ lunch today. Major topic of discussion: 
When I pitched my first project, I developed a rash that did not abate until I sold it. The rash went from my hand up to my upper arm. The same thing happened with the next, and the next, and the one after that. My husband feared that all my commission was going to the dermatologist. (All but for that one little pair of Prada Maryjanes, that is.) Fast forward ten years. Here I am pitching two books today and my skin is positively glowing.
You know how Tom Cruise swings a bat to help him think in A Few Good Men? Well, here’s my secret: putty. Namely Silly Putty. I have a little red egg on my desk and I squeeze it in my hand when I talk on the phone. Sometimes, I roll the putty into a snake, coil it, mash it down. Sometimes, I press in into the surface of the egg so it imprints the writing. Sometimes I stretch it out as far as it can go, roll it up. It looks, then, like a rose or a part of the female anatomy. On that note, have a great weekend.
Betsy Lerner 