Did any of you see Genius, the new movie about Maxwell Perkins and his relationship with Thomas Wolfe? It’s a fantastic story of an editor and writer whose connection goes deeper than most until it implodes completely. I’ve always nursed a theory that all editors have one writer with whom they spend endless amounts of time editing — far more than they would devote to other writers. THey are more invested in their success, lending them money, going out on limb with the publisher, throwing publication parties. I’ve also suspected that this writer speaks to the creative soul of the editor. These relationships are uncommon, exquisite, and fraught. I felt this way about a writer, heart quickened when her pages arrived, went above and beyond the call of duty, moved mountains where I could. I was truly, madly, deeply in love with her writing.

What kind of relationship have you had with your editor?

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Choice comments from my Amazon Reviews. Howlers!

Way too many metaphors.

Sort of hohum after all.

There were a few redeeming passages but for the most part I had to drag myself through it.

I considered giving up reading it many times.

I wouldn’t recommend this book unless you want to read about a boring self absorbed author.

Overall, this is an “okay but not great” read, kind of like a Big Mac that provides a little nourishment without a lot of flavor and wasting the day’s reading calories on mostly empty calories.

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Tomorrow, I’ve signed on to live tweet with Poets & Writers. What this means exactly is hard to say. But from 12-1, I am meant to field questions about being an agent/editor/writer. If you want to participate but can’t think of any questions, here are some starter questions:

1. who is the sexiest publisher in NYC?
2. how many pages does an editor read before typically rejecting a manuscript?
3. do you have to know someone to get published?
4. What is the most important social media a writer should be on?
5. What are publishers looking for?

So if this sounds like your idea of fresh hell, please join us on #agentadvice

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I’m going to read Housekeeping by Marilyn Robinson. I’ve pretended to have read that book for over 25  years. Whenever people talk about how AMAZING it is, I always nod in complete agreement. I’m going in. I’m gonna read the fucker. I’ll report back!

What book have you lied about reading that you haven’t. It’s just us.

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This is my 30th anniversary of working in publishing. I’m not looking for a party or a Timex watch. I just need to say it: thirty years. Fifteen as an editor and fifteen as an agent. People always say that life happens in a flash, where did the time go, etc. Not so much in publishing. It’s a slow grind. Writing books is slow, publishing them is slow, recovering from publishing them can take an eternity. Still, and I know I sound like some kind of half-full gal, but it’s been extraordinary. Front row to writers doing their work, amazing colleagues, some who have become life-long friends. The parties, the drugs, a writer winning a prize, a book climbing the bestseller list. Every day going to the office, large Starbucks in hand, saying good morning to Pat at the door, and walking into a book lined office, my name on the door, simpatico people inside, talking their clients off the ledge, opening a new carton of galleys, going over a submission list, making a lunch date, chasing a check, another day.

What’s your day job?

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How do you pad your brain in cotton? Why do people keep talking? Are all the lights still flashing? How long can a canoe drift down a black lake with no wind or current. I am not going to say what I’m trying to say. In graduate school, a professor once described my poems as incoherent imagery connected by bad grammar. C’est moi. When I was in junior high and high school, I truly believed that poems were difficult to understand because they were meant to hide the truth because the truth was too dangerous. Just sensing what they were about was intoxicating enough for me. Sometimes at readings people ask me if I still write poems. I always feel I’m letting them down when I answer no, I don’t. Though I can still glimpse myself.

Who were you?

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What makes a writer turn to fiction vs. non-fiction? To poetry? Is it something internal or outside influences? How does the imagination form? For me, in high school, when I discovered poetry it was like being understood for the first time. And I barely understood what I was reading. I think it was like the way music makes sense to some people.

Do you know what I mean?

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I’m sorry, but it’s time to go back to basics. I have been receiving the most cuckoo for cocoa puffs query letters lately. It’s like watching a person shoot himself in the head instead of pitching his book. I can see the blood spatter on the wall.

I’ve said a zillion times: the letter has to be professional, but should give a sense of the writer’s style or sensibility. The letter should be three paragraphs: 1) introduce the project; 2) expand on it in an interesting way via the themes or good comps or most salient details  (no plot points please!);  and 3) your credentials. Writers often ask me, what if I don’t have any credentials? I always answer: get some! What if we can’t, they cry? It’s strange to think that you can sell a book before you’ve ever sold a story or an article. THough stranger things have happened. Nothing is impossible, but you will look a lot more attractive with some writing credentials. Remember too: We’re not best friends, this isn’t a grant proposal,  and I’m not your therapist. In other words, don’t act too chummy, don’t be flat, and don’t tell me your life story. Less is more when query letters are concerned. Oh, and have a memorable and selling title — this goes a long ways.

If you want to send in a query letter, I’ll critique it. And I will be brutal. 😉

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People these days talk about the journey, the process, they say that the journey is all that matters or matters most. I hate the whole idea of that. What’s so wrong with wanting results? With being result-oriented? People say that life is all about the journey. Who cares what life is all about anyway. Just do your fucking work and if you’re lucky enough to conceive of it as a journey, well keep it to yourself. Aren’t we kidding ourselves if we say the result doesn’t matter?  Aren’t we on a so-called journey because we are trying to get somewhere, accomplish something, great or small?

Have I lost the human thread?

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I’m being extremely promiscuous with my reading. Is it me or is them. Until very recently I was a monogamous reader. One book at a time. And I almost never put one down until I finished it. ANd I never skimmed. Now, I’ve gone wild. I’m in the middle of three books (William Finnegan’s Barbarian Days, Adam Haslett’s novel Imagine me Gone, Lucia Berlin’s short stories A Manual for Cleaning Women). I actually feel like I’m cheating on one when I’m spending time with another. Is there something wrong with me?

What are your reading proclivities?

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