• Forest for the Trees
  • THE FOREST FOR THE TREES is about writing, publishing and what makes writers tick. This blog is dedicated to the self loathing that afflicts most writers. A community of like-minded malcontents gather here. I post less frequently now, but hopefully with as much vitriol. Please join in! Gluttons for punishment can scroll through the archives.

    If I’ve learned one thing about writers, it’s this: we really are all alone. Thanks for reading. Love, Betsy

Hold the Mayo

It’s funny, but I didn’t hate publishing today. A film contract six months in negotiations got resolved and signed. I got to the swimsuit part of the competition for a highly desireable writer interviewing potential agents. A client celebrated a year of sobriety. Our assistant found a novel in the slush that I couldn’t put down. I read a submission of essays that made me laugh out loud. Helped a client think about a new approach to a project that just might work. Got an orthodontist appointment for my daughter. And, best for last,  sold a stunning anthology of poems, yes, poems. Oh, and had a delicious turkey sandwich on rye for lunch.

Yankees – 13 Red Sox – 6

I’m not going to vouch for this post. I’m just going to wonder how it is a Jewish girl with no brothers and a father who only watched golf could become obsessed with baseball in the last decade of her life.  And that the decade just so happened to correspond with the years during which she became an agent…

And this is where I might lose you if I haven’t already. But I see baseball as a metaphor for agenting. First, there’s the pitch. You know as you’re on the phone describing a book to an editor if you’ve hit the sweet spot, or if they’re just going along, yeah, yeah, send the motherfucker, they seem to be saying through a thinly veiled lack of enthusiasm. Then, once the book is out, a number of things can happen. You can get on first base with a modest offer, you can get a double or a triple with some decent  money, or, happy  day, you can have a grand slam  when you hit it out of the ballpark. And, of course, you can strike out, return the dug out head hung in shame. 

Idiotic? Sure. But baseball’s also about hope, about chances and stepping up to the plate, it’s about the beautiful arc of a ball and the ringing crack of a bat. It’s about grown men in uniforms and caps. Uniforms and caps! And the grace of an athlete moving through air. It’s about the loud mouth of a  collective New York. And last night, the full moon over the stadium, the lights in distant buildings twinkling like stars,  my two best friends, and a hot dog.

No I Would Not Give You False Hope on This Strange and Mournful Day

A lot of painful conversations lately about literary fiction and its demise.

 Was it ever any different? 

When I was an assistant at Simon and Schuster 25 years ago, there was exactly one literary fiction editor. And his position was rumored to be precarious as a result of focusing exclusively on the literary stuff. (In fact, he was let go a year later.) Of course,  this was especially true at a house like S&S where monster political and celebrity books ruled. I can still recall an anxious conversation between a senior editor and a publicist because they couldn’t remember if Jackie Collins preferred white roses or red. 

I understood at that tender age that to focus entirely on fiction was to jeopardize  my hope of becoming an editor.  It’s a tough racket: writing, publishing, and selling books. Or as the great sub-rights director of S&S once explained when I couldn’t fathom the math of a profit and loss statement, “Toots,” she said,  “It’s a nickel and dime business.”

Are things worse now? Sure. Internet, Kindle, My Face, a million more distractions. The economy, unemployment, the dow jones. Might just be the perfect storm ready to sink the great publishing ship Titanic. What does this mean to any committed writer in a publishing climate that resembles the parlor game musical chairs? Nothing.  I would not give you false hope,  but we need you more than ever.

There Are Two Kinds of People In This World

Had lunch with two great friends, also agents. After a lot of industry gossip, commiseration about the business being really slow (July is the new August), comparing and contrasting notes on editors, the conversation finally turned to something I could get my brain around: who we would rather sleep with, Jon Hamm from Madmen or Gabriel Byrne from In Treatment? Just for one night.

If you’ve ever even toyed with the idea of leaving a comment, please weigh in now:

FAQ: Don’t You Want Me Baby

Anonymous writes:

What’s the protocol when an agent makes an offer of representation and there are other agents interested in the book, too (i.e., agents who have requested fulls)?  Is it kosher to ask the offering agent–after expressing genuine delight and great interest–for a short period of time to notify other interested agents before giving an answer?  How do agents really feel about this–are they accepting of the competition, or resentful of being made to wait?

Dear Hot One:

It would be good to know if you told the agents in your query letter that you were sending your work out on multiple submission. Then they would certainly understand. But even if you didn’t, you’re fine. That’s the beauty of being in demand. It isn’t every day you get to be in the driver’s seat, just remember to take it slow and be courteous.  

You ask if the first agent will feel resentful. The agent may be miffed. He did read the novel and get back to you first. He  has gushed to you and wants to represent you. No one likes to find out he’s not the only guy in a tux with a corsage standing outside your door. But it’s not a race. Being first says a great deal about an agent’s enthusiasm, but how the agent behaves upon hearing that you have it out with others will tell you even more about that person. If he or she is gracious, that’s a good sign. He wants what’s best for you. If he puts enormous pressure on you, well, I wouldn’t like that. But this happens all the time, and my philosophy is: clients should have their choice (if they are fortunate enough to have a choice), and they will likely pick the agent who is right for them.

Anyway,  here’s what I would do:

  • Tell the interested agent that it’s out with others and you want to talk with all interested parties before making a decision. There are some agents who will only consider work if they have it exclusively. I think this is bullshit. But obviously if that is the case they will tell you and you will have to decide. Most of us understand that most writers are approaching multiple agents.
  • Tell the other agents that you have interest and could they get back to you in a week or two.
  • Have conversations with all interested parties, better yet come to NYC and meet them if at all possible.
  • Don’t drag it out – agents don’t mind waiting, but nobody likes to be jerked around.

Anyway, Anonymous, don’t forget to write and tell us how you make out. Way cool.

Say It With Flowers

This just in from a reader:

Hi Betsy,
 My agent just sold my first book.  I’m trying to act like a grown-up, but really, I feel like peeing my pants. Question:  is there something special I should do to show my appreciation (besides, of course, forking over the commission?)
 Thanks, K

Dear K:  Congratulations to you and your agent.  I know my readers would love to know what the book is, how many publishers were vying for it, how many millions the publisher is giving you as an advance. But we’re too polite to ask.

How do you thank an agent? Say it with flowers. Scotch if your agent is a dude.

One more thing: remember this feeling. You will never love your agent more than in this moment, or feel the earth  a more benevolent place than now. This will eventually fade and be replaced with resentment (“forking over the commission”), disappointment, neglect and despair.

Love, Betsy

People Tell Me It’s a Sin to Know and Feel Too Much Within

                                                                            

 For the record, I actually had a superb day. Pitched a new project this morning and felt…hopeful. Later, some excellent dish at my agents’ lunch. Apparently, on a publishing panel at a writer’s conference, an agent, who unfortunately has to go unnamed, got up FOUR times during the panel because he was in the middle of an auction and his Blackberry was vibrating more than a Magic Fingers in the Tenderloin.I hope I can pull off a stunt like that when I’m on the agents’ panel at Tin House next week. That’s more than agenting — it’s performance art. We were going to talk about the Endeavor/William Morris merger, but we forgot to. Yawn.

Later that same day, I ran into my  client on the street, coming from an interview with Leonard Lopate. He’s from Vermont  and I rarely get to see him. I bought him a sandwich and we commiserated on the state of publishing. This guy won THREE major literary prizes last year and still no review from the NYT. What’s up with that?

And, finally, went to a kick ass party for the launch of Josh Lyon’s first book, PILLHEAD. My colleague, his agent, Erin Hosier hosted the bash and it was filled with people who all looked fantastic. They even had a special drink called “The Pillhead” made with Absolut Pear, lime, maybe a little Fresca and I think a few oxy’s thrown in for the hell of it.

 

 

Then, as providence would have it,  walking back to the office  through Washington Square Park under a darkening sky, my shuffle delivered up Simple Twist of Fate.

FAQ: How Do I Know If My Agent Is a Douche?

Amy L. from Los Angeles asks: How do I know if my agent is doing a good job? What can I expect?

God did not create all agents equally, and likewise no two clients need exactly the same thing from their agent. So having a good working relationship is as much about the right fit as anything else. If you can communicate easily with your agent and you feel he or she is responsive, then you’re ninety percent of the way there.

I would think the basic services include:

  • Editorial feedback on the proposal or novel, readying it for submission.
  • Keeping you apprised of the submission process, including which editors are considering, how many, the game plan, handling rejections, parlaying interest into an auction.
  • Removing sharp objects from your medicine chest if the book doesn’t sell.
  • If it does, negotiating your contract.
  • At least one good lunch.
  • Exploit ancillary rights such as audio, film, translation, etc.
  • Read the manuscript when it’s done, or in stages as you write.
  • Run interference if there is a breakdown in communication between you and your editor/publisher.
  • Generate ideas , where possible, to promote/support the publication.
  • Attend the book party and/or reading. (I’ve been in the doghouse for failing to make a few parties. C’mon, I live in New Haven!)
  • Again, remove sharp objects if the book sinks without a trace.
  • Brainstorm new ideas for your next book.

Guess which agent went on to become a star of stage and screen, or more precisely an author, an hilarious fixture on the Jon Stewart Show, and a shill for Apple?

No You Didn’t

Yesterday,  I had lunch with one of the smartest editors in the business. She allowed how she keeps a file for letters from authors that express their gratitude — and that these letters buoy her on particulary rough days.

I allowed how I keep an “asshole” file. I started it when I first became an agent, and I didn’t quite know how to handle the sting of rejection. After all, as an editor, I had been on the rejecting side for so long.

I didn’t put just any letter in there. No, the rejection had to strike a particular note of condescension, arrogance,  falsehood — you see where I’m going with this.

Eventually, some client letters made it into the file, especially the three page single-spaced letter dipped in acid from the gnome who fired me –who will go unnamed. You know who you are, and that was a fuckin’ brilliant letter, completely raising the bar. I salute you.

The best letter so far, however, is from a distinguised editor who wrote that if the book I was submitting was my idea of art, I should look into a career in real estate. That’s a keeper!

Audition

Sometimes a writer is in the fortunate position of being courted by agents. I had lunch with one such fellow today. People, I wore a dress.

It’s always interesting to find out why the writer is looking for a new agent. And to see if you can provide what he needs, if there’s a creative fit, a temperamental fit, if you’re the right person for the job.

At the end of our lunch, he told me he was seeing other agents. I knew this, of course, but after hours of schmoozing it still comes as something of a buzz kill. Well, it’s not like I’m only the agent in town for fuck’s sake. 

In fact, I’m ususally pretty zen about these things.