• 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

I’m Walking On Sunshine

My editor called today to say that she liked the work I did on the revision for The Forest for the Trees. Especially the ending. I no longer thought it worked, too overblown, but I kept moving paragraphs and sentences around like the wheel of a combination lock, hoping they would click into place if I got each sentence lined up just so. Finally, I scrapped it and started fresh. I think doing that is almost always the best solution to pages that have been over-worked.

So, dearest darling beloved readers of this blog. FFTT will come out next fall.  I owe you a lot for helping me find my mojo again as the ever positive and cheerful promoter of writers and all things bookish. We will have to have a party. I may even get a fresh quantity of customized pencils made. I know you want them. You do.

 One last piece of business. Check this out from today’s PublishersMarketPlace new deals column: 

FICTION: DEBUT

Laurie London’s BONDED BY BLOOD, the first in her Sweetblood series, about a vampire warrior who must protect a human woman with a particularly delicious blood type from the vampire predators who hunt her, to Margo Lipschultz at HQN, in a two-book deal, by Emmanuelle Alspaugh at Judith Ehrlich Literary Management (World).

That coulda been us. ‘Nuff said.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

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.

Still, there is the first pitch call, working out the kinks, finding the sweet spot. Plus, some books pitch themselves, especially if the hook is in the title, if in a second or two the editor can grasp the whole project. (In other words, kill yourself getting the right title and subtitle.) Bottom line: it’s the read, but just like the browser in the bookstore, the editor has to want to read your project first because there is something so compelling about it, hooked perhaps by the title or the first line, page, paragraph, chapter. Like we used to say in the operating room when I was Atul Gawande’s  surgical supervisor, and no I did not approve of his listening to They Might Be Giants while doing heart transplants, we used to say: we’re in.

How Will I Know If He Really Loves Me

Nation, check out this letter:

I’ve had a Big Agent at one of the Best Agencies in NYC.   She wasn’t able to sell my novel, but I got to see the editor rejections and they all had nice things to say.  More than one asked to see something new from me.   My agent fired me after it didn’t sell.   I threw that novel away and wrote Novel 2.  I sent out queries on a Tuesday and had four offers by Thursday.  I picked a youngish, hungry agent at one of the Other Best Agencies.  He sent my ms out early this week.  My question is: how do I know if I have writing talent?  I added all this other stuff because it would appear to be in the “pro” column.  But how do you KNOW?    I read my stuff and I know it’s competent and maybe even good, but how do you know if you’ve written something that really jumps off the page?  Is such a thing even possible to know?

Okay, little lady, let’s break this down, as Miss Beverly used to say in step class.

“Big Agent…one of the best agencies in NYC.” First, if you weren’t with Betsy Lerner, you weren’t with a Big Agent at one of the best agencies in New York. You were at a puppy mill.

“The agent fired me.” This just blows my mind. There are plenty of reasons to “fire” a client, but a book not selling sure ain’t one of them. The only real reason to fire a client is if they are unreasonably abusive and fail to gift you at Christmas.

“I threw that novel away and wrote number 2.” That  is the fighting spirit this blog endorses unequivocally.

“I picked a youngish, hungry agent.” That, too, is how I like them. Good job by you.

“How do I know if I have talent?” How do you know if you have halitosis, a bad credit rating, a gift for small talk. How does one know anything in life? Personally, I know my self worth because I step on the scale every morning.

“Competent, maybe even good.” Hmmm. Sounds like WFM. (That’s Writer’s False Modesty.) After all, we’ve had shark agent, good editor letters, sent out your manuscript on Tuesday and got offers of representation on Thursday.  Maybe what you’re asking is, can this all fall apart again? Yes, sadly it can. But my guess is that you’re going to the world series with this one. The part of your letter that makes me say this is that you started book 2 on the heels of that devastating experience. That, to me, says it all. Talent will only get you so far. Drive, tenacity, and the ability to harness new material will keep you in the race.  We wish you luck and please write again and let us know how you make out.

You Can’t Handle the Truth

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.

All I Want Is For You to Make Love To Me

I sucked my last Hall’s Plus Lemon-Honey Advanced Vapor Action cough drop today. Actually, I sucked my penultimate Hall’s Plus Lemon-Honey Advanced Vapor Action cough drop today. I gave my last Hall’s to our assistant who is about to pitch his first book, throat scratchy, nervous. I told him to remember us when he gets tapped by William Morris Endeavor or ICM, corner office. Of course, he’ll have to give up the post college casual in favor of suits and ties, but hey, even yours truly once wore an Ann Taylor suit and pumps. Can you friggin’ imagine?

But I was talking about me. Finally able to take deep breaths without the little motor in my bronchial lungs kicking in. And best of all: back in NYC and I feel fine. Sorry for the missed post, but my desk was a disaster, and if you know me I’m nothing by a neat freak. I had to get some of it cleared away: contracts, fifty or more query letters (and as I’ve noted I do take a look at all my mail), manuscripts (one about 1,000 pages long and no VAMPIRE in sight), and a pile of books from editors.

Editors send books to a) create buzz b) show off (in the best sense) what they’re up to c) remind you to send them projects.What I do with freebies: send histories to my brother in law, send politics to my nephew, send women’s commercial fiction to my sister, send books to my niece that will upset my sister because they are inappropriate. I send some books to clients if they relate to what they are working on. I give the rest to charity but for one or two that I take home. Today, I took home the African short story writer who is the Oprah pick. I always feel like it’s a publishing duty. But I fell into a deep sleep on the train, woke up with a scratchy throat, and wished I had a cough drop.

p.s. also waiting for me upon my return was a get well card and gift from a frequent COMMENTER on this blog. He is also a client. ‘Twas a CD mix of world music and a mini bottle of Grey Goose. He is the best goose in the world and thank you. (And if any of my other beloved commenters think I am dropping a hint, trust me, I’m not that subtle.)

Darkness Visible

It was easy to get responses to my first three surveys, so maybe I should stick with lighter fare: what publishers nosh, bad lunch dates, etc. This time, I surveyed a bunch of industry insiders and asked: how do you know if your book is going to tank and when do you know it. I got one response. Being me, rather than drop it, I kept asking, and here I present you with some darker fare. Warning:  if you like to avert your eyes when you see an accident, skip this post.

One editor confides: I’ve been the victim of the “we’ve got to make budget and this book has got to ship this year” syndrome. These authors had previously published an enormous bestseller. I knew when I got the first draft of the new book that it wasn’t going to work. But I had to keep going and force myself to believe that the new book was as funny as the first. It wasn’t. And guess what? It didn’t work. AT ALL.  But the company got to count the initial ship into their budget for that year. I’m sure the returns were brutal…but by then I didn’t work there anymore.

 

From an agent:  The book  was selected as a Minnesota Talking Books pick and there were no books in the stores and Amazon said out of stock, because the book had been published several months before to little fanfare, and it was around the Christmas holidays. I spent hours calling bookstores in the Minneapolis area asking why they didn’t have the book in stock, and no one had told them!  The Talking Books promoter had delayed sending out a press release because they wanted to announce the subsequent selection as well!  The publisher said they couldn’t help it because the bookstores had to order the books!  I think the author has never recovered, although I’m not sure because she’s still in a fetal crouch.

 

Another agent: Well, I had a book on ( major publisher, highly prestigious, you fill in the blank) children’s list and it turned out that the publicist never sent the book out. To anyone. We kept calling and asking and they kept reassuring us that books had gone out, reviews would come in…when in fact they hadn’t, and they didn’t. The book — gorgeous and accomplished — never really got on its feet after that.  And I’m still mad.

A senior editor: I knew the book was going to tank minutes after we acquired it. We had a new editor in chief and she was frantic and bullheaded. She heard about a book project I had in and told me to bid six figures. It had a great title, but I hadn’t  even finished reading it.  We “won” the auction. When I asked the agent who the underbidders were, she said she didn’t have to disclose that. Excuse me. I told her my boss would want to know.  And again she declined. Obviously, there were no other bidders.  The book, as it turns out, was horrible. It tanked in every way. The author had no expertise and couldn’t write.   Worse, she still sends me Christmas cards.

Best for last: I hardly even hope for a book to succeed these days, because inside I am assuming that it is going to tank, since most of them do.  This is sad but true.  I can hardly bring myself to ask the first printings anymore…and if, after a few weeks or months, no reprint—well, then you know.  It is the end. I guess I am pretty jaded, huh???

 Tomorrow on this blog: sunshine and kittens.

Find Out What It Means to Me

If you have a chance, check out this interview in Poets & Writers with Jon Karp, publisher of Twelve, an imprint at Hachette. It is a measure of how much I respect him and admire him that I recommend the interview because, well, look at how he answers the question regarding which agents he admires:

There are a lot of agents that I admire—too many to name. It’s funny. I really enjoy working with literary agents, but I’m not socially friendly with any of them. I kind of feel like it’s a business relationship. But I enjoy their companionship at lunch and I love talking to them about their projects. Even when I pass on their projects, I genuinely enjoy talking to them, the give and take. There are literary agents who I’ve known for fifteen years who I’m just finally doing books with. Molly Friedrich was one who I’d wanted to work with forever and finally found a novel we both loved. I’ve known Stuart Krichevsky since I was in my late twenties, and he’s trusted me with Sebastian Junger, for which I am eternally grateful. Rob Weisbach is incredibly creative and he’s going to do great things. I could talk to Tina Bennett and Heather Schroder forever. There really are a lot.

Jon, it’s okay. I’m not, like, needy. I know I’m special. That we have a connection. It’s real. I feel it. You don’t have to advertise when something is real. Congrats on the great interview. It should be required reading for every writer who wants a  window into the mind of a publisher who has had tremendous success and a very smart take on the industry. Does he even remember the time we had bagels at his apartment when we had a lunch date and he had to wait for Comcast? Does he?

Same As It Ever Was

I just finished my revision of FFTT. It’s almost 2:00 a.m. New Haven has gone to bed. I’m buzzy, agitated. Like James Caan in Misery, I want my one cigarette upon completion. Actually, I need help with three outstanding items:

–Does any remember Jay McInerny doing scotch ads? If so, was it Dewar’s? Or what brand was it?

–“Query letters that sound as if they were penned Crazy Eddie, instead of a thoughtful writer…” They want me to swap “Crazy Eddie” for a more contemporary nutcase? I’m drawing a blank. Any ideas?

–I also need to replace Don King as an example of a nutcase self-promoter. Any names come to mind?

 

I know this isn’t your job. If a bribe of any sort would help, name it. Scotch, cigarettes, a signed copy of the 10th anniversary revision of The Forest for the Trees.  I want to tell you something. When the book was first published, I used to dis it, trying to be clever or self-deprecating. After all, I had an MFA in poetry and here I was writing an advice book. I’d gone from Sylvia Plath to Erma Bombeck. My husband described my behavior as “psychotic disassociation.”  I knew he was right. I was weirdly ashamed. Who the hell was I? I trashed my own book and acted like it was funny. Fast forward ten years. I’m still an asshole, and I mean that in the best sense of the word. I’m also proud the little fucker is still in print. God knows, I’m  lucky to have the chance to make it better and update it. Only here’s my new iteration of self-flagellation: oh, you had to rope them into letting you revise the book instead of creating something NEW. I hope, if you are a writer, you will applaud this new low.

See the Sky About To Rain

Susan Klebold, mother of Dylan Klebold, speaks out for the first time since her son perpetrated one of the worst school shootings (with Eric Harris) and then took his own life ten years ago. I read the piece because I worked with Dave Cullen, author of Columbine, for a decade and was deeply involved in the story. After I read the piece, published in O Magazine, I put my head down on my kitchen table and wept. Her words of despair about the loss of her son and the guilt over the lives he took is rendered with tremendous clarity and honesty. I could not stop crying. In the end she talks about suicide, how it can be prevented, how she hopes her piece will help others see what she didn’t see. It’s not a neat ending. It’s just an ending.

I realized today  that I never quite took it all in. Yes, there were always vivid moments, many of them, that Dave wrote about that were horrifying and heartbreaking no matter how many drafts I read. His efforts to understand the boys were nothing short of heroic. But for me, I was working on a manuscript with a writer, I was thinking about structure, tone, and transitions. When I talked about the people in the book I often referred to them as characters and thought about how to keep track of such a huge cast, how to keep readers from losing track. I thought about pacing. That is my job. That’s what I help writers do. And I think I’m guided by a deep feeling of empathy for people as much as by my desire help writers fully realize their creative work. But right now none of that seems like much.

A Pocket Full of Horses

I’m working with three new clients right now and I feel like I’m at the Kentucky Derby watching these incredible horses make their final circuit to the finish line as we prepare their proposals for submission. And this is also proof positive that I am an editor in agent’s clothing because there is nothing more satisfying for me than to see a revision come in stronger than I had even imagined, that my edits could, even in some small way, inspire a writer to greater success. I’m not saying it’s not fun to handpick editors, pitch books, field offers, and cash checks. That’s swell, too.

It’s funny because I always rail, even perversely, against the “process” people, against the “journey” people. Because I’m about results, winning, success. I say in FFTT, (and I’m paraphrasing myself, ha ha).,readers don’t give a shit about your process, only that your work appears seamless. And I believe that. But if I were to be honest with myself, I have to say I love this process. I love watching writers and writing improve. I love being part of it. So I guess I’m a big pussy after all.