Dear Ms. Lerner:
Are there different ‘types’ of client? The midlist author with no idea his career is in irretrievable decline (although you’re fully aware)? The literary author trying to deny the fact that she only had one book in her? The Shotgunner, who sends you a different idea every month? The Hibernator, who you don’t hear a whisper from for years, until a new manuscript arrives at your desk? I’ve always wondered if agents have a ‘Field Guide to Clients.’
Also, what percentage of clients sell a couple of books then never write anything else? What percentage keep writing, but stop selling? For how long?
Sincerely, W
Dear W: Clients, like agents, come in all shapes and sizes. Insecure, egotistical, driven, lazy, perfectionist, intrepid, resourceful, blaming, determined, fragile, headstrong, complaining, stoic, you name it. I think I even wrote a book about it. More interesting is to watch how any given writer responds to going through the process of sending out his work, looking for an agent, getting a publisher, getting his edits all the way through to post-publication. Every aspect about the writing process is character-defining. For instance, when one writer gets rejected he takes his marbles and runs home. Another swears he will never quit as a result of getting turned down – he doesn’t care by how many. One writer gets a great review, believes his own press and never writes another true word. Another writer gets a great review and develops a case of stage fright, never writing another word. One writer gets slammed by reviews and becomes a pit bull, another grows timid and eventually silent. Your books slips beneath the waves: do you? A Field Guide to Getting Your Ass Kicked is more like it. A Field Guide to self-loathing and doubt, a guide to self-flagellation and self-aggrandizement and hemorrhoidal hell. A field guide to every insecure thought and jealous rage. A field guide to my brilliance, to my ass, to misanthropy, my loneliness, my love. What species are you?
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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.
A client accused me of being a tease today. It was warranted. I dropped a hint about some positive feedback for his project during my trip to LA. I think I might have said that they were creaming for it in my usual tasteful and delicate way. The last thing this writer needs, as he is polishing his manuscript for submission to publishers, is for me to dangle diamond studded carrots before his eyes.






