Write That Book Already!: The Tough Love You Need To Get Published Now (12 page)

You:
Hello?

Agent:
Shaquille Farquar? This is Ethel Bluestocking from the Bluestocking Literary Agency.

You:
(
breathless, quickly turning down the volume on
Yo Gabba Gabba
and making the international sign for “I’m on the phone and it’s important” to your highly evolved and understanding children
) Hello, Ms. Bluestocking. What can I do for you?

Agent:
Well, for starters, you can let me represent you as an emerging new voice in contemporary fiction. I just read your pages and I adore your writing and a lot of your story line. I have a few suggestions for improvement, and hope that you can send me a revision with some minor changes. Assuming we can come to an agreement on a few matters, I’d like to be your agent.

You:
(overwhelmed by the “emerging new voice” business—and did she just say she wanted to represent you? But what did she mean by “a few matters”?)
Thank you so much. What sort of changes did you have in mind?

Ethel proceeds to tear your manuscript to shreds, but she does so with genteel politeness and exquisite manners. She asks for nothing less than a rewrite that basically eliminates your main character and follows a side plot instead—and goes on to tell you why she thinks these changes will make your book much more salable. You feel a lot of emotions at once—like the teacher just called on you, but you weren’t paying attention and have no idea what the question is; angry; hurt, embarrassed; maybe even scared. You desperately want representation, but you don’t want to make a huge mistake. You need a little time, and you decide to ask for it.

You:
Uh, that’s an interesting perspective. May I take just a little time to think this over?

Agent:
Absolutely.

You hang up, still confused. You are afraid you may have already lost Ethel because you dared to ask for time to think. You also wonder if Ethel is right for you—after all, you are the author and you worked for years to get to this point. Who is she to offer such sweeping criticisms of the writing you took years—nay, a lifetime—to produce? On the other hand, you are suddenly closer than you have ever been to your goal of getting published, and someone in the publishing world has taken your writing seriously. You find yourself increasingly intrigued by Ethel’s suggestions. You’re not sure what you’ll decide to do, but you do think it’s worth giving the matter some serious thought. You start calling everyone in your writing group.

And here’s the wrong way to handle that very same phone call:

Phone:
Ring, ring!

You:
Hello?

Agent:
Shaquille Farquar? This is Ethel Bluestocking from the Bluestocking Literary Agency.

You:
(
breathless, quickly turning off
Yo Gabba Gabba
and shaking a threatening fist at your children, who immediately start to fight with each other
) Hello, Ms. Bluestocking. What can I do for you? I said, “Shut up!” Didn’t you hear me the first time?

Agent:
Excuse me?

You:
Oh, sorry. I wasn’t talking to you. What can I do for you?

Agent:
Well, for starters, you can let me represent you as an emerging new voice in contemporary fiction. I just read your pages and I adore your writing and a lot of your story line. I have a few suggestions for improvement, and hope that you can send me a revision with some minor changes. Assuming we can come to an agreement on a few matters, I’d like to be your agent.

You:
Changes, huh? What kind of changes? Everyone I know who’s read it thinks it’s brilliant.

Ethel proceeds to tear your manuscript to shreds, etc.

You:
Whoa,
excuse me?
I spent years working on that book. I don’t think you’re the agent for me. Thanks, but no thanks.

Agent:
Would you like to take a little time to think this over?

You:
I guess I can give it some thought.
How many times do I have to tell you guys to put a lid on it?

Agent:
Excuse me?

You:
No! That’s not yours!

Agent:
Sorry?

You:
Oh, uh, sorry, something going on here. Kids, you know. So where were we?

Agent:
Perhaps we should talk at a better time.

You end the phone call and hang up, finding yourself increasingly pissed off by Ethel’s suggestions, pushing away the annoying thought that she might have a point. As you sit alone, stewing about the call, you come to realize that Ethel is an idiot. No one, not even Ethel Bluestocking, tells you what to change in the next Great American Novel.

DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS

Here’s the thing: Ethel might be right (she probably knows a lot more than you do about what sells, and even what constitutes good writing and a well-told story), but if you can’t see yourself making the changes she suggests, you shouldn’t sign with her agency. Still, it might be worth taking a little time to think things over. We think it is always a good idea to discuss important decisions with a trusted friend or two. If they haven’t read your work, ask them to read it now in light of Ethel’s suggestions. There is no reason to rush this decision. The important thing is to take Ethel’s criticism seriously and to make the decision about whether or not to have her represent you in a businesslike manner. Try doing a little writing along the lines she suggests to see how it goes, instead of delivering an immediate, flat-out yes or no.

Tough Love from the Author Enablers

Be a pro. Writing for publication means you will experience some rejection, other people’s opinions, and endless rewrites. If you’re not up for this, it really is fine to stick to journaling.

Remember, finding the right agent can be a long and somewhat painful process. You are doing a brave thing putting yourself and your work out into the world, and those are growing pains you are feeling. ‹«

In real publishing life, an agent is likely to ask for changes that are less dramatic, but there will almost always be a request for revisions. Our suggestion is that you be a good sport and give it a try. Don’t sell yourself down the river, but don’t dismiss out of hand a suggestion that might be creative and sound, either.

When you find a literary agent to represent you, chances are you’ll be asked to sign a contract in blood. Just kidding. A signed contract isn’t required, but may be more comfortable for both of you. Of course, it’s easier to end the relationship if there is no contract.

Most author-agent agreements give the agent exclusive rights to represent your work worldwide in all media and in all formats, though some contracts are limited to a specific work or specific media. (For example, some authors have one agent for publisher negotiations and another for film rights.)

The term of the agreement can range from thirty days to the duration of the work’s copyright. Agents are most interested in signing clients they think will be around (and salable) for many years to come, but as an author, you have a legitimate interest in not getting stuck with an agent who is unproductive. For you, the best deal is a thirty-day “at will” termination provision (meaning that either party may terminate the agreement with thirty days’ written notice). Some contracts provide for a nonterminable six-month period followed by a thirty, sixty, or ninety-day termination clause. You can also ask for an “out” clause that will allow you to end the agreement if the agent has not made a sale within an agreed-upon time limit. But even if you sever ties with the agency, your agent is entitled to receive commissions for all deals made on your behalf during the term of the agreement.

Most agents charge 15 percent, plus an additional 5 to 10 percent for foreign rights, and many agents will charge their authors for title-related expenses such as copying and postage. Most agency agreements provide that the agent will receive all of the author’s royalties and advances directly from the publisher, and pay the author after deducting the appropriate reimbursements and commission. Payments to the author should be made within ten days after being received by the agent. If that doesn’t happen, you’ll need to hire another kind of agent, if you catch our drift.

BOTTOM LINE

There are a lot of people who want to get published. Of course
we
know that you are special and your work is far superior to theirs (especially if you take all our advice), but the market is very competitive. Agents are in a position to pick and choose. Do everything to make sure they pick and choose
you.

OUR MADE-UP TRUE-LIFE ACCOUNT OF A PUBLISHING MEETING

“The End.”

Whoa, it’s really fun typing that, let’s do it again: “The End.”

Woo Hoo! This is a bigger thrill than the water-slide at Clown Town because, most often, when you type these words it means you’ve finished writing a book (unless you’re a postmodernist).

As tremendous an accomplishment as that may be, you should know that finishing a book is just the beginning of your work as an author. There’s the nail-biting agent search, of course, and the decisions about where and to whom to submit your manuscript. Some writers even have trouble figuring out when they’re finished revising and ready to share their genius with the world. The fact is that once your book starts making the rounds of publishers it will never be wholly and completely yours again. If you’re ready for that, take a look behind the scenes at a mysterious publishing phenomenon called the “Editorial Board meeting” (or “Pub Board,” short for “Publisher’s Advisory Board” meeting).

OUR MADE-UP TRUE-LIFE ACCOUNT OF A PUBLISHING MEETING

Here’s how it works. Let’s say you’ve written a fictional page-turner about murder and mayhem in a bird-watching club. You’ve done your research, sent out query letters, and found Ethel Bluestocking, a veteran literary agent eager to sell your novel,
When the Sparrow Cries Wolf,
to a publisher.

Ms. Bluestocking has written a charming cover letter and sent your manuscript to several editors in trade publishing. She probably started with editors she knows well, or those with whom she’s had recent success. A good agent knows the landscape of editorial departments; a great agent knows a lot about the personal tastes of editors and the unique character of each list. A super-agent like Ethel Bluestocking knows that Barry Samuels, Senior Editor at Ballpoint Publishing (a division of Unimax Inc., the global media empire), is a die-hard bird-watching enthusiast with a penchant for murder mysteries.

Barry Samuels loves the idea of your book, but has some issues with character development and plot lines. He feels confident that with his expert editorial guidance,
When the Sparrow Cries Wolf
could be the fine book it is meant to be, and he writes a memo explaining why. He then adds your manuscript to the agenda of the next Editorial Board meeting, and distributes your bio, marketing ideas, plot synopsis, and a few sample chapters to the colleagues who regularly attend this meeting.

THE PLAYERS

Editorial board meetings are scheduled once every couple of weeks, and usually include some variation of the following cast of characters:

Publisher:
Oversees all aspects of the imprint’s business and has the final word on submissions.