• 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

It’s So Noisy at the Fair

Computer, phone and blackberry all malfunctioning this morning. Who’s the caged monkey now? Everything seems to be working again.

Finished the huge editing job I’ve been working on for a book that was dreamed up twelve years ago. I know it’s twelve years because I was pregnant at the time. I remember the dress I was wearing when I met the writer. The child that was stirring within is now a charter member of the Zac Effron fan club and wears black toe nail polish.

Went to my client’s swankified 40th birthday over the weekend. I love it when people ask, how do you know the birthday boy? And I get to say, I’m his agent.  Suddenly, I rise or drop in esteem; either way it’s entertaining.

The party was amazing, filled with brilliant, sophisticated people (I know, how did I make the cut?), a rooftop terrace overlooking Manhattan, a harvest moon on the rise. Delicious food, candles everywhere, toasts and goodie bags. It was a perfect party, flooded with love.

Strolling through Washington Square Park on the way back to the hotel, I thought of myself at 18, arriving at NYU hungry for experience, yet just as happy to mostly stand at the sidelines and watch the great human parade.

Just Published

Rich.Dreaming“Dreaming in Hindi is a funny, deeply humane journey of words that invites the reader to awaken to new sounds and sensibilities in India. Katherine Russell Rich reflects our own history and culture back at us through the lens of a storied culture. What a gorgeous, intelligent book! –Jayne Anne Phillips, author of  Lark and Termite

 

 

 

Kessler_GoatSong“Beautifully written in Brad Kessler’s poetic, reverent voice, “Goat Song” shows us that when we take care of the land, animals, and each other to feed ourselves, we’re participating in an ancient rite that imbues our lives with meaning and nourishes our bodies and our souls.”  — Alice Waters, author of The Art of Simple Food

I Hate It When People Say Have a Good Weekend

I’m usually really on top of my reading. In the first place, I commute back and forth from New Haven a few times a week. So with the exception of the New York Times on the way in and the New York Post on the way home, I have three hours a day to paw through manuscripts. In the second place, there’s nothing like a writer/client waiting to hear what you think. You’d rather be caged with a wild monkey. And those who say, “take your time,” they are the biggest head cases all. So I like to take them out of their misery and read their pages as soon as possible.

But now, this weekend, when I have the first little “getaway” planned in a very long time, I’m up to my eyeballs in manuscripts. Fortunately, I want to read everything. Two novels that sound extremely appealing. New pages by one of my favorite novelist clients. And the blue monster. So why am I writing a post, you ask, instead of doing my work? Why are you reading this instead of sending me a brilliant non-fiction proposal?

Land of a Thousand Dances

When suddenly Johnny gets the feeling he’s being surrounded by
horses, horses, horses, horses
johnny

FAQ: If I Want to Write, Should I Get a Publishing Job?

 N.G. asks a very good question:  if I want to be a writer should I try to get a job in publishing, or avoid the business altogether?

This is a can of worms. Lots of people who go into publishing have the desire to write. Some do. Many don’t. Would they have realized their writing ambitions had they stayed away? We’ll never know.

Also, what branch  of publishing? Clearly, editing is the closest to the writing process, but does that work sap your creative juices most? In my case, I didn’t write for the first twelve years I worked in publishing as I climbed my way up the editorial ladder. I even stopped keeping my diary. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I became completely wrapped up in my authors’ lives and work.

The time factor:  editoral work is extremely time consuming, most reading and editing is done on nights and weekends. It’s almost impossible to write. Also, if you’re struggling with your own work and what you want write, it’s “easy” to get absorbed in someone else’s work and avoid your own. I’ve seen some editors and other publishing people become competitive with their authors. This is the sure sign of a frustrated writer.

One reason to go into publishing is to make connections and see how it’s done. I would have never sold my first book had I not known agents and reviewed hundreds of non-fiction proposals to see how to put them together. 

Ultimately, I think it’s probably better to do something that leaves you more time to write. And, more important, read.  The day you step into a publishing cubicle, your life is consumed with reading a lot of sub-standard material as you comb through stacks of submissions.

When I was an assistant editor at Ballantine, my boss handed off a how-to book for me to edit. The woman barely knew how to string a sentence together. We must have gone through eight drafts and the Dingleberry still didn’t get it. In the end, all that work raised a D- manuscript to a C- book. All editors have zillions of stories like this — it comes with the territory.  But the whole time working with her I remember thinking, I will have read eight drafts of this piece of crap and go to my grave having never read War and Peace.

You know how they say you have to play tennis with someone above your level to improve? I think the same is true with writing. You could be reading slush or you could be reading Tolstoy.

 

Betty

On most Tuesdays, I stay over in the city and do something I haven’t done since college. No, not that. I pull an all-nighter. I fire up the FM radio, put on every light in the place in case there are any ghosts of unhappy clients past roaming around, and whip myself into an organizational frenzy. Yes, I am the person in the office with the label maker — and you know, I still can’t believe it,  NO ONE has ever asked to borrow it. People!

Pencils Down

Going to spend the day working with a writer on her copyedited manuscript. I just want to say for the record that I love the copyediting stage more than any other — it’s the fine tuning and the points of grammar, syntax, tense and word choice that really turn me on. It’s what I miss most about no longer being an editor. The best copy editor I ever worked with is Peg Anderson formerly of Houghton Mifflin. No one could work a blue pencil like Peg.

 

Then meeting a writer for a discussion of  her novel.

Then paying the bills. Party!

Then catching up on everything else I didn’t do today.

Then going to a movie. I will see anything just to escape myself. I mean it.  Any suggestions?

A Horse With No Name

Yesterday, I watched a hawk circle a body of water, and I began to question what I was doing with my life. And then I felt like I was going to cry when I was interrupted by a young couple with a baby in a knapsack on the dad’s back. They were all wearing the same biodegradable sandals.  I hated the lot of them so much I could barely contain myself. 

Which reminded me of other things I hate with a passion:

  • The phrases “back in the day” and “24/7.”
  • Single spaced manuscripts.
  • Any sentence that begins, “To be perfectly honest.”
  • Rejections letters that use “not my cup of tea.”
  • Query letters that refer to “fictional novels.”
  • When an editor sends a rejection letter that ends with: let’s have lunch.
  • Cute fonts.
  • When a writer says they’ve made tons of revisions and they haven’t.
  • A certain someone at William Morris who has not returned my call.
  • The way my mother makes a sour face when you suggest having Japanese food.
  • Not smoking.

Shape Shifters

In the past few days, before the book fair even starts, we have met with publishers, editors, and agents from China, Japan, England, Germany, France, Italy, Netherlands, Spain and Los Angeles. Everyone is looking for one thing: the next Twilight. Makes me wonder, if everyone is looking for the same thing, why can’t they find it?

I have always counseled writers not to look at the bestseller lists for inspiration. I’ve even been condescending to those copycats who ride on the coat tails of others. But it is undeniable that when a book hits big, lots of knock offs follow, some of them extremely good.

Since I’ve been in publishing, people have been searching for the next Perfect Storm which kicked off a renewed interest in outdoor adventure. (I prefer indoor adventure, particularly parlor and bed room adventure.) The next Seabiscuit, the next Angela’s Ashes, the next Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the next Harry Potter, Tipping Point, Marley, Tuesdays with Morrie, Eat me, Pray, Love, etc. 

I would still prefer to be the agent whose client kicked off the trend. I would still prefer to find my writers under rocks, beside streams, in locked wards, and lost in the stacks of a lonely library. I just would. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. That said, if you have a werewolf manuscript in a drawer, or can whip up one before the next big thing hits, send it to me. Now.

‘Til Death Do Us Part

Last night went to the much touted Literary Death Match, hosted by none other than our beguiling Erin Hosier and the kinetic Todd Zuniga. All in the service of a literary magazine called Opium. And from what I could gather twenty and thirty somethings hooking up.

Very fun, as you know mother doesn’t get out much. Hilarious “judges.” Four fearless writers, my favorite Rivka Galchen. Can’t tell if she won because there was total mayhem at the end of the death match when the two finalists battled it out in the final round known as  “Poet or Madman.” Never mind the redundancy.

 Bottom line: kids still love literature, still love death, sex, and $1 beer. As the woman at the gym said this morning, praising the joy of a hot shower, Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus.