Between us, my associate and I spotted: Nicole Kidman and Mr. Nicole Kidman on the treadmill at the Beverly Hills Hotel spa; Jason Schartzman at a funky breakfast place wearing cut-off sweats and showing off his hirsute legs. His girlfriend was an adorable red head and they were either in love or BFF’s. You know, really comfortable with each other. Joe “the Pen is mightier than the bat” Torre looking slim and tan and not missing the Bronx for one second. John Lovett in tennis whites. And, swoon, Diane Keaton looking like…Diane Keaton. Full flannel skirt, longish jacket with fat belt, and a grey bowler. I love LA.

People never believe me because I’m a card carrying New York neurotic, but it’s true: I love the land of valet parking and Arnold Palmers. I love the funky architecture and signage. I love the way everyone is on the make. I like the names of the streets: Ventura, Van Nuys, Wilshire and of course driving late at night on Sunset, windows down, a canyon of tacky neon pulsing with some Jim Morrison ghost dance, some escaped song.

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I’m going to LA for a few days, you know, to do some business on the coast. LOL. Seriously, I’m taking some “meetings.” My clothes are all over my bed. My 11 year old daughter is laughing at me. I don’t know how to dress in NYC, let alone LA. I mean, of course, all black in NYC, but LA? Is white the new black?

Last week, a fifty-something producer from LA came to our office. He was wearing jeans, a cashmere sweater, and ginormous white leather sneakers (Converse?), and he had the most astounding case of bed head, as if he set up a little tent on his head. I want to wear jeans and sneakers but something tells me I have to wear slacks, a jacket and SHOES. WTF, I’ll figure it out.

More important, what am I taking to read on the plane? 80 pages of a client’s new novel. 150 pages of the end of a client’s memoir. And a huge manuscript by a novelist who has turned to true crime. I’m totally psyched. Great stuff.

What do you have on your Kindle? (I actually don’t have a Kindle.)

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People keep asking: how bad is the publishing world? It’s really bad. Too many firings, too many publishing divisions merged, too many budgets shredded, too many disgusted shareholders, too many book stores closing, and too many book reviews folding. Though I’ve been asking friends if anyone remembers a time when the book business was thriving, when poets got fat and journalists lived like kings? As one of my first bosses was fond of saying, “it’s a nickel and dime business.” She got that right. The question now is how to stay afloat, how to maintain, how to do your best work when no one wants to publish, stock, review or even slam your book down on the remainder table. How to marshal your talent, ego, desire, and will, and at the same time quiet your insecurities and doubts long enough to write? I always hated it when famous authors were interviewed about their writing habits and they’d say, “I have to write,” or, “if you can do anything else, do it.” There was this false note, I felt, imploring people to do something else as if the writer wished he or she wasn’t burdened by this writing jones. Maybe it bothered me because I was able to do something else and did. Maybe it bothered me because it’s obnoxious. I’m getting off the point here. It’s really bad out there. You should only write if you have to write. And if you can do anything else, do it.

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Sold my first book of the new year. There is no better moment in an agent’s life than when you make that call to a first time writer with the news: we have an offer. For just one brief spell, you are a fairy godmother. And in that one sentence, a writer becomes an author. Getting published for the first time is a bit like losing your virginity except it hurts more.I’m wondering how you deflowered authors out there feel.

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It dawned on me this morning as I rejected nine submissions that it’s a bit fatuous, to say the least, to critique the rejecting habits of editors without looking at my own. One of the worst moments of my publishing life arrived when I met a writer, now a McArthur Genius Grant winner, who reminded me that I rejected his first novel some years earlier. Cringe. He even remembered what I said. More cringing and self-flagellation. Apparently, I said the book didn’t have a domino effect. A domino effect!? What, did I go to college at the University of Milton Bradley?What was I thinking. I’ve passed on some other big writers in my day, but he’s the one I’ll live to regret.

But back to my rejecting style. Well, all I can say in my defense is that I look at everything that comes my way. When I was a young editor I learned that Ordinary People was found in the slush pile and that had been one of my favorite books in high school. So I look at everything. And I know pretty quickly if it’s for me. And if I don’t have anything nice to say, I say it’s not for me. And if I have something constructive to say, I try to add that. I get a lot of thank you notes for my rejections which leads me to think I’m being too nice. When I mentioned this to another agent, she was astonished. She’s never received a thank you note for her rejections and she looked at me as if I were an imbecile. I’m sure I’ve sent some curt notes and I’m sure some manuscripts have fallen through the cracks.

I think writers suffer enough. But it’s also important to get your shit together and only send out material that is the best it can be and that you’ve crossed all the t’s and all that jazz. There are really good proposal writing books out there (I think Susan Rabiner wrote one), so familiarize yourself with the process; in other words when you send something out, make it your best shot. And if you get rejected, fuck em. No one can stop you but yourself.

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Ah, the avoider rejecter. This type truly is like the guy who fucks you and never calls back. At least it feels this way. Either way, he’s really, really just not that into you. With every submission we make, we find there’s always at least one editor who goes completely MIA. Even after you’ve called and pitched them a book about Hamas and they tell you they worked on a Kibbutz in high school and would be fasinated by anything about Israel, yes, even these folks sometimes completely disappear. There’s one editor who goes by the nickname Bermuda Triangle because everything you send her gets “lost.” Some editors don’t think they particularly need to respond. Deal with it. Most people don’t like conflict, except those who relish it, and I understand the desire to avoid rejecting something. But again, this is why god invented email, so that writers don’t have to suffer quite as much. After all it’s better to be rejected than to be left hanging. Though for that brief period in between, hope.

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A sanitation guy is sweeping up after the circus. The ground is covered with elephant dung and hay. A well dressed man approaches the sweeper and offers him a job in his air conditioned office building, promising to double his salary. The sweeper declines. The business man offers to triple his salary. Again, the sweeper declines. The business man offers to quadruple his pay. And, again, the sweeper declines. The business man is beside himself. He asks the sweeper what could possibly keep him here, sweeping up shit?

The sweeper shrugs, “what, and leave show business?”

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Reluctant rejecters are not all created equal. Some wait to see if a proposal or novel heats up before pursuing. It’s like the guy who only wants you once you’re with someone else.

Some really don’t know what they think, or they over think things, or they are made to feel insecure by their bosses. I’ve seen some ugly exchanges at editorial meetings back when I was an editor. I’d be reluctant, too, if my balls were cut off.

And then we have the editors who like to be nice and don’t like hurting other people (the fairer sex, I’m afraid to say, is more often guilty of this). They feel bad; hence reluctant. Fortunately for them, god invented e-mail. They also subscribe to the old saw, if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all.

A powerful agent from one of the big shops once said that there is no point in being nice when turning down a project — it doesn’t help the writer.

If anyone ever comments here, I would love to know what you think of that sentiment. Are writers better off knowing what editors really think?

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Over the decade during which I have been doing the devil’s work, I have finally become inured to rejection letters. They come with the territory. That said, the different ways editors go about rejecting projects is fascinating. I have identified at least seven types:1) The Eager Rejecter 2) The Reluctant Rejecter 3) The Avoider Rejecter4) The Braggart Rejecter 5) The Apologetic Rejecter 6) The Sadistic Rejecter and 7) The Every-Cliche-In-the Book Rejecter.

Today, let’s talk about the Eager Rejector. The first thing to note about this type is that he hasn’t figured out that e-mail is a really useful tool with which to decline a project; there is no need to pick up the phone to reject a book. Still, the eager beaver loves to jump on the horn first thing. We have noticed that most editors reject books in the afternoon after having put it off for while. After lunch is good: we’ve all had our lunch, we’re a little less alert, and we’ll be going home soon where we can lick our wounds or drown our sorrows. Only the Eager Rejecter gets off on his ability to RUIN your day right out of the gate. Some of these types want to be thanked for being so prompt, reading so quickly. Yeah, well, thanks for finishing so quickly and kicking me out of bed, too. I mean, please. Eager rejecting is just uncool. Next up: The Reluctant Rejecter.

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Better than any mood altering medication is a glowing New York Times daily review for any one of my clients. And today that would come from critic Dwight Garner for Temple Grandin’s Animals Make Us Human. A rave. I would link it here, but I need someone to teach me how to link.  It’s amazing how when the review hits the stands the phone starts ringing. Producers want to know if film rights are available (sorry, no, soon to be an HBO film starring Clare Daines), scouts call to see if foreign rights are available, foreign publishers call, etc. This is the fun part. The a lot of fun part.

A few nights ago, I was able to see Temple talk to a class of 50 or so students from New York’s top science high schools like Bronx Science. They weren’t sure what to make of her at first, the somewhat flat voice, the Western garb she famously wears. She started by telling them what kids used to call her in high school: robot, rewind, retard. She ended by telling them about finding mentors, and the importance of perserverance.

People often refer to these moments as why they got into the business in the first place. Make no mistake: I got into the business because I needed structure and health benefits. But I’m glad I got to stay. It was beyond rewarding to see those beautiful science kids with their arms in the air.

Later, taking Temple back to the hotel, she asked after my dog. I said everything was great with her, but I had one question. The dog (a girl) humps me from time to time. Only me, not my husband, not my daughter. Why only me? Temple smiled widely, “She think she owns you.” I guess that would make me her bitch.

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