playing for the house: an editorial assistant on the dangers of going agent-free

A few weeks ago, INTERN received an e-mail from an editorial assistant at a New York publishing house who had recently had a distressing—but telling—experience with a brilliant manuscript, an unagented author, and an offer that had "poor sucker!" written all over it. Unagented writers, take note...

**

I want to be clear—I love my job. But this isn't a post about how hard won it was to

get an editorial position or how great it is to work with authors or make decisions

that will impact a book that people will read. This is a post about the less glamorous

part of the job. This post is about the money.

It feels so long ago that I had the good fortune of finding something in slush, that

strange and hopeful pile of paranormal love and dark futures. But what I found was

a quirky memoir with an itchy, infectious voice. My boss "Steph" read the partial

and loved it. So with butterflies, I emailed the author to ask if it was still available.

I know authors feel like the wallflower at the dance but I want you to know editors

worry too.

It was still available, and the rest of it was fresh and wonderful. We got the approval

to make the offer, but it was a pittance really. New and naïve, I did the silly thing of

asking “Steph” if we could offer a higher advance. “Steph” looked at me like there

was a fly on my face and I wished I had never spoken up. Maybe “Steph” thought I

was being cute, maybe “Steph” chalked it up to my previous post at an agency. In

any case, “Steph” made it clear very quickly that we were playing for the house. In

fact, when “Steph” called to make the offer to the joyous hoots and hollers of the

lovely author I’d dredged up from the deep of the slush, “Steph” offered less than

the pittance. “Steph” explained to me that we needed to leave room for negotiation. I

almost laughed.

There was no negotiation. There were only profusely thankful emails sent to me for

that one chance that changed everything. There were lots of rants in the evenings,

empty threats to quit this moneymaking machine, shouts of indignation that were

unheard save for my poor friends who had seen me work myself to the bone and cry

on the floor for only a chance to work in publishing.

I got over it, cut my teeth on other deals, compartmentalized what I did during the

days and what I did in between—write, write, write.

A few months later, the author came down to New York and we took him out for

a fancy midtown lunch. It broke my heart when he told us he hadn’t even read the

contract before signing.

Maybe you think “Steph” is a terrible, terrible person. But “Steph” is not a bad

person. No, actually “Steph” is the kind of boss who never makes an underling

get coffee at the Starbucks down the street. “Steph” never gets mad, even when

people make really, really dumb mistakes. “Steph” is one of the best editors I

know. “Steph”’s authors, including the memoirist, adore “Steph” for “Steph”’s kind

words, endless insights, and personal touch.

If anything “Steph” is not the exception but the rule. Please get an agent. A good one

is worth it, I promise.

**

There you have it, straight from the mouth of an editorial department insider. It shouldn't come as a shock that the house is playing for (gasp) the house, but sometimes you need a not-so-gentle reminder. To this, INTERN would like to add: Editors seeking a lower price tag aren't any more evil than agents seeking a higher one. Everyone wants to get a really good deal. It's just how the game works.

Writers: please don't make any more tender-hearted editorial assistants cry on your behalf. Get an agent, educate yourself, and read the freaking contract.

where INTERN lives now

Two weeks ago, INTERN and Techie Boyfriend moved to a small town in northern California, where they are renting a shadowy nook on the grounds of a failing ecovillage. INTERN has passed through this town many times on cold and wet hitchhiking trips up and down the coast, but never dreamed she would live here. Now, she's the one waving at hitchhikers, but never driving far enough to take them anywhere they want to go.

It's a very good place place to be a writer, or anyone on the lookout for stories. You can sit in the coffeeshop and listen in awe and dismay as baby-faced highschool seniors discuss their upcoming bachelorette parties, or eavesdrop on pot growers griping about how much further the price of a pound plummets each year.

You can linger in the cluttered aisles of the tiny health food store while a barrel-chested back-to-the-lander expounds on his methods for harvesting wild yeast for homemade ginger beer. You can walk down the road to drink unusually strong gin and tonics in a huge, vacant bar decked out with logging photographs, and walk home again feeling like you've really done something with the evening, even though you haven't.

One of your neighbors beats a drum every morning and leaves gifts of bundled sage on your doorstep; the other one thoughtfully informs you of the best nights to go to the casino at the rez. The local newspaper consists almost exclusively of stream-of-consciousness letters-to-the-editor from people who have grown used to having their bizarreness tolerated and even celebrated by the rest of the community. As you read them, reality peels away. If these people are OK, you think to yourself, maybe I'm not doing so bad.

It's been a long time since INTERN has lived in a place where one can feel productive just by sitting on the curb and absorbing, knowing that something interesting is bound to happen or appear or amble up the sidewalk and tell a knock-knock joke. As a writer, INTERN often feels anxious about producing enough: enough blog posts, enough chapters, enough articles, enough tweets. But simply being is productive too, or can be. At least, that's what INTERN's been telling herself over the course of many hours loitering on the street.

**

INTERN wants to know: What's the most interesting place you've ever lived? Why is it that the world feels so rich and observable at some times and in some places but not in others? How important is lived experience to writing?

dinner with literary agents

Over the holidays, INTERN had the hallucinatorily good luck of being invited to dinner with an entire table full of young, up-and-coming literary agents. INTERN hardly made a squeak the whole evening, so content was she to be a fly on the wall to their conversation (she was also trying very hard not to drip tomato sauce down her shirt.) Today, INTERN would like to share with you a few observations from that delightful evening.

It's a reaaaally small world.

Everyone says publishing's a small world, but nothing brings it home more than a roomful of agents from different agencies going "Did you get that query about the time-traveling tabby cat?" "Yeah!" "Me too!" "So did I!" "I requested the full!" "What did you think of the sample pages?"

You will be pleased (and, INTERN hopes, not surprised) to know that the above exchanges never consisted of making fun of someone's query or manuscript, but were made in the spirit of comparing notes, the same way writers compare notes over requests, rejections, and offers of rep.

Publishing, by definition, is the act of making your writing public. That begins with your query. Agents read; agents talk. As if you needed another reason to put your best foot forward in everything you write.

Competition for writers is fierce.

As writers, we like to think we have a monopoly on wallflowerdom—watching our manuscript sit on the shelf while every other manuscript gets whisked off to dance. But agenting can feel like that too, especially when you're just starting out.

"I offered rep the second I finished the manuscript, but she'd already signed with so-and-so!" "We talked on the phone for two hours and I thought I had him for sure!" "The time-traveling cat manuscript went to the Paradox McBean Agency—did you hear?"

It's tempting to imagine that agents have it easy—they just sit around on velvet pillows rejecting manuscripts until something tempting comes along, at which point they simply pluck it out of the air like a ripe mango! But the truth is, there are plenty of other agents reaching for that same mango, and you can watch an awful lot of mangoes go to other agents before you finally win.

You are being scouted.

Ever post your work on AbsoluteWrite, Verla Kay, or another popular critique forum? Agents (at least the young, ambitious, web-savvy ones INTERN had the pleasure of hanging out with) scout writers from these websites more often than INTERN would have guessed. The market for great manuscripts (not "any manuscripts"—great ones!) is so fierce that some agents don't want to wait for writers to come to them. These agents use forums to find promising writing and, in some cases, request materials.

INTERN knows from experience that agents and publishers also scout non-fiction authors, although this is more likely to take place from published magazine or blog articles than from writing forums.

It's a hard game for everyone.

In the same way most writers hold down day jobs while they're struggling to make their first (or second, or third) sale, agents who are just starting out don't exactly have it easy. 15% of 1 or 2 book sales isn't very much, and until an agent has developed a strong list of clients and book sales, he or she might be working behind the coffee bar, right next to you (ever asked your fellow barista what he does on the side?)

This being said, agents have a pretty sweet job. In her next life, INTERN wants to be one. All those wine-soaked conferences! All those lunches with editors! So much tasty gossip it makes Gawker look like Watchtower Magazine! Oh, and that whole part about selling books.

Conclusion

So what divine secrets should aspiring writers take away from all this? Play nice. Write your best. Know that agents are just people (unusually intelligent and strikingly attractive people, but still—just people) and they truly want to discover great writing. Maybe even yours.

a very happy New Years update!

Huzzah! 'Tis twenty-twelve! INTERN hopes you all had a very happy New Year full of sparkly hats and treacherous discount champagne. INTERN had a fine winter holiday during which she went 99% laptop free. Now that she's plugged herself back in, here's the news:

1. In a few days, INTERN and Techie Boyfriend will be moving to a highly dubious "ecovillage" in Northern California, where they will be contractually obligated to engage in a weekly drum circle with their newfound "community". Said ecovillage features such eco-friendly amenities as an "outdoor shower" (actually a rusty bucket full of rainwater) and a shed full of hula hoops. Why is INTERN moving to such a place? 'Cause that's what you get for surfing the housing ads on Craigslist at 2 AM on Christmas Eve after Techie Boyfriend's mother has mixed you too many pomegranate martinis. That's why.

3. INTERN got a Nook for Christmas and so has officially dipped her paw in the e-book revolution. While riding various planes, trains, and ferries over the holidays, INTERN realized that the worst part about e-readers isn't the reading-on-a-screen part (which is actually quite pleasant), but the fact that you can't sneak a glance at what a fellow passenger is reading (no cover or spine!) INTERN never realized how much she enjoyed scoping out other people's reading material until so many people started using Kindles and Nooks, at which point it became nearly impossible. Humph.

5. In other news, INTERN has decided to reinvent herself as an obscure Language poet known only by the pen name B'nan (like "banana" but so much more experimental). Look out for hand-stapled, limited edition chapbooks by B'nan showing up at a Walmart near you (yes, at a Walmart—B'nan is nothing if not a master of irony!) B'nan will also be available for live readings provided that a dinner of poached eel and pickled eggs is made available in the green room.

7. INTERN is also contemplating writing a line of business-and-marketing ebooks under the pen name Chad B. Winning (which sounds rather businessy to INTERN's ears). Said ebooks will be mostly fluff with the occasional pull quote taken randomly from a famous-quotations website and having no bearing whatsoever on the topic at hand. INTERN will also produce a series of business-and-marketing Webinars consisting of pitches for future Webinars. You are all invited to join INTERN in the tropical compound she will invariably purchase as a result of these enterprises.

9. But seriously—ecovillage. If you thought INTERN's hair was matted before, check again in a month.

That's all INTERN's news for today. What escapades, japes, and capers did you get up to over the holidays? INTERN wants to know!

now that INTERN has turned in her latest revision...

...she is going to:

1. Check herself into the nearest Sanitorium.

2. Change out of and possibly wash the black fleece Revision Pants she has been wearing for six weeks.

3. Eat something that hasn't been sitting in a #%@$#$ crockpot for a week and a half.

4. Apologize to the people she has alienated, snarled at, and/or wept on over the course of said Revision.

5. Learn a new juggling trick.

6. Identify a new sort of wild mushroom.

7. Make plans to write a second novel that is infinitely simpler, neater, and more obedient than the first one. A foolproof novel! A novel that will require no Revision whatsoever! A novel that will come out of the box pre-assembled and smelling like glue!

8. A novel that won't wrap INTERN up in a poisonous cocoon of self-doubt and despair! A novel that will leave INTERN feeling like a genius every time she writes instead of a bumbling hack! A novel that will assuage all INTERN's fears and insecurities! A novel made of gold!

9. Search India suitcase for leftover Valium.

10. Watch some Christmas specials.

11. Go for a walk.

12. Look up "perspective" in the dictionary.

everything INTERN needs to know about revision, she learned from her phlebotomist

A few days ago, INTERN wandered into a blood drive and signed up on a whim. The day was young; the cookies looked good; INTERN had nothing better to do.

The phlebotomist was a sandy-haired Viking in a long white coat who entertained INTERN with phlebotomy fun facts as he set her up on a rolling table and installed the needle. However, things got less fun from there.

Once the needle was in, INTERN lay on the table for what seemed like forever. Her arm ached like hell. Her blood dawdled out sluggishly. The lights on the ceiling buzzed. The phlebotomist wandered away to gossip with the Red Cross volunteer at the sign-in table. But INTERN's spirits were held aloft by the idea that all this discomfort was for the greater good.

When the phlebotomist came back from chatting up the sign-in volunteer, he unceremoniously yanked the needle out of INTERN's arm.

"What happens now?" said INTERN. "Is my blood going into the blood bank?"

"Nope," said the Viking, tossing INTERN's bag of blood aside like a loaf of moldy bread.

"What do you mean 'nope'?"

"We can't use it. Too thick. Next time, drink more water before you come in."

INTERN couldn't believe her ears. After all this waiting...all this aching...

"So what happens to blood you can't use?"

"We throw it out."

"YOU'RE THROWING OUT MY BLOOD???"

This was an outrage! This was unbelievable! Nobody throws out INTERN's blood! Especially not after making her lie on some table for an hour and a half!

INTERN's facial expression communicated as much, whereupon the Viking handed her a Star Wars band-aid and let her in on a little secret.

"Don't worry, lady. You'll make more."

**

Editors have been saying the same thing to writers from time immemorial.

When INTERN feels reluctant, indignant, rageful or wistful about cutting yet another scene from yet another draft of a WIP, she tries to remember that words are to writers as blood is to...well, everyone: We make more. That's just what we do.

Even though it's hard to see your blood thrown on the stink barge, it's good to know there's more where that came from. And if you drink more water this time, it might even end up in the bank.

all your e-mail are belong to us: in which independent bookstores get digital rabies

The other day, INTERN found a trampled but still legible coupon on the sidewalk for 15% off any book at a charming local bookstore on the little island she is temporarily calling home.

"Huzzah!" exclaimed INTERN. "What a find!"

She stuck it in her purse along with various other sidewalk finds (feathers, pennies, someone's bifocals) and went along her merry way.

Today, INTERN went to the bookstore and picked out a book to give to her big sister for Christmas (The Handbook of Natural Plant Dyes, in case you're curious—INTERN's big sister is a crafty lady). When INTERN took her purchase to the counter, she presented the friendly clerk with her coupon.

That's when things got peculiar.

"Write down your e-mail here so we can keep you updated on our events," said the (really very friendly) clerk.

"Oh, no thanks," said INTERN cheerfully. "I'm just visiting."

"You'll still want to know about our events," said the clerk.

"Oh, but—I mean, I'm not going to BE here. I'm moving to California," explained INTERN.

"Yeah," said the clerk, "but you'll want to stay updated on our events."

This was turning into some kind of bizarre stand-off. INTERN began to flail a little.

"But—I'll be living in my van. In California. This is literally the only time I'm ever going to be near this store."

"Doesn't matter."

She tapped the sign-up sheet for the e-mail list.

At this point, INTERN decided there must be something sinister going on. Perhaps the store had some kind of policy whereby employees would be fed to the hogs for letting customers escape with their contact information unharvested. If so, INTERN certainly didn't wish to responsible for this nice woman's demise. She scribbled down her e-mail address (yes, her real one—INTERN will never learn...) and hurried out of the store before the clerk could shake her down for a Facebook like as well.

**

This was a fairly benign experience as such experiences go, but it speaks to a larger phenomenon of people, businesses, and institutions jumping on the e-newsletter and/or social media bandwagon in an ineffective and slightly ridiculous manner.

The e-mail harvesting craze reminds INTERN of the time last winter she decided to make acorn meal. Like a greedy squirrel, INTERN gathered all the acorns she could find, conveniently overlooking the fact that some of them had black spots, some of them had been sitting on the ground for months, and some of them weren't the edible kind at all. At the end of the day, she had an impressive pile of acorns, of which only a tiny handful were actually suitable for human consumption. They ended up rotting in a bowl until Techie Boyfriend threw them outside.

You can have ten thousand newsletter subscribers and not reach a single person. What matters more than numbers is connecting with people who actually care. And for that you need to be a discerning squirrel, not a greedy one. Certainly not a rabid one!

INTERN is all for bookstores (and writers, and publishers) doing everything they can to connect with readers. But unless we're smart about it, all we're going to end up with is a pile of rotten acorns—or a bunch of newsletters for events happening 800 miles away.

**

Are you weirded out by having your e-mail address wheedled, bullied, or bribed out of you? Does anyone actually READ e-newsletters? Where do you draw the line between reaching your target audience and reaching some poor sap who doesn't know you from a spammer? INTERN wants to know!