Rotton Rejections

The following are stolen (quoted!) from the Rotten Rejections page, which advertises a book by the same name. (Holiday present? I should think so!) That page has more. Go, visit. And see that even the very successful writers receive rejections--and, sometimes, absurd ones. How do we know these are real? Well, we don't. But are they possible? Most certainly.

Jorge Luis Borges
'utterly untranslatable'

Anais Nin
'There is no commercial advantage in acquiring her, and, in my opinion, no artistic.'

Jack Kerouac
'His frenetic and scrambled prose perfectly express the feverish travels of the Beat Generation.  But is that enough?  I don't think so.'

Lady Chatterley's Lover by D H Lawrence

'for your own sake do not publish this book.'

Lord of the Flies by William Golding

'an absurd and uninteresting fantasy which was rubbish and dull.'

On Sylvia Plath
'There certainly isn't enough genuine talent for us to take notice.'

Crash by J  G Ballard
‘The author of this book is beyond psychiatric help.'

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos
'Do you realize, young woman, that you're the first American writer ever to poke fun at sex.'

The Diary of Anne Frank
‘The girl doesn’t, it seems to me, have a special perception or feeling which would lift that book above the “curiosity” level.’

Carrie by Stephen King
'We are not interested in science fiction which deals with negative utopias.  They do not sell.'

Animal Farm by George Orwell
‘It is impossible to sell animal stories in the USA’

Lady Windermere’s Fan by Oscar Wilde
‘My dear sir,
I have read your manuscript.  Oh, my dear sir.’

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
‘... overwhelmingly nauseating, even to an enlightened Freudian … the whole thing is an unsure cross between hideous reality and improbable fantasy.  It often becomes a wild neurotic daydream … I recommend that it be buried under a stone for a thousand years.’

Manuscripts...or cookies? Well, let's see...

After reading the Editorial Anonymous post, "Manuscripts Roasting on an Open Fire, Jack Daniels Nipping at My Nose," I do have to throw in my two cents. Yes, it's true that all editors and agents are different. But I do think that sending out your work just before the holidays is not the wisest move.

Of course we'll do our very best to be objective and concentrate well--but when we're suddenly committed to 4-5 events a week (we only see some of these people once a year, so all such events feel obligatory) and even the street signs are suddenly sporting red and green--plus, there's gift-shopping, card-sending, travel-planning--it's a pretty frazzled time of year.

I'm sure the average time spent on each manuscript is a little lower, and while we usually have some reading time on weekends, the holidays promise, for many of us, to be a whirlwind.

You've worked on your project for months, maybe years. As I've said many times: you can wait a little longer to make sure everything (including your timing) is perfect. Wait another four weeks and send it out in January.  At that point, we'll be looking for any excuse to stay inside and avoid the snow and mess and subway cars that taunt us with images of St. Croix. (New York goes into a sort of mini-hibernation for January and February.) Manuscripts and leftover cocoa sound mighty nice in comparison.

I wouldn't go as far as E. Anonymous and say that extra manuscripts will be thrown into a bonfire (though this is a yearly tradition with old friends: we go to the beach--with a Duraflame log, not manuscripts--and attempt the roasting of sweet sweet marshmallows). Amazing work will, of course, get its due attention.

It's just--like with all of these tips--in case we are on the fence about your work. A manuscript we'd set aside and think about (and then still have a pretty good chance of sending back) the rest of the year may, in the hustle and bustle, simply be sent back. 

But we are trying to clear our desks before going home and making cookies like these. And these. And, my very  favorite (chocolate butter cookies with almond extract), these.

Give your book its very best shot, and wait, just a little longer. 

More excellent book-gifts

As you can see below, I'm compiling a list of books that are excellent as gifts.

And once again--Blogger on formatting? Not my friend.

Thought of a few more while sipping crazy-chocolaty mochas and strolling around the Bryant Park holiday market:

The Three-Martini Playdate: A Practical Guide to Happy Parenting

Obviously *not* for the conservative parent, this cute little gift book shows a parent how to teach small children to mix strong drinks. Is it serious? No. I wouldn't trust a five-year-old with a cocktail shaker or my Dorothy Parker ("I like to have a martini...two, at the very most") martini glasses. Amusing? Totally. Also has a vintage-y aesthetic, so especially good for parents who are into the whole Anne Taintor thing.



Speaking of, I've seen a lot of these, but this version is the prettiest (and very reasonably priced). 

Each glass features Dorothy Parker's line: "I like to have a martini/two, at the very most/at three, I'm under the table/at four, I'm under the host!"






This bag, from The Strand, is just so darned cute. Can you believe it's $9? Me either: I bought myself two. The other side is plain damask, if you don't feel like advertising where you got it. People guessed it was from Urban Outfitters.

TONS of designs available, and good solid construction. One caveat: you can't machine wash them.

And, yes, Strand literally does have 18 miles of books (if you measure each shelf and put them end-to-end). Now, who wouldn't want a bag that advertises that?



Shoes: A Celebration of Pumps, Sandals, Slippers & More. Surely you have a shoe-aholic on your list. There's also a similar book on purses (Handbags: The Power of the Purse). Pretty photos, nice size.





Just Desserts: The Unauthorized Biography of Martha Stewart

Surely you have someone on your list who talks about being like Martha--or who attempts elaborate desserts and ridiculously complicated napkin rings. (You're not alone: I LOVED this video of Martha and Richard Simmons--he bounces all over the set while she attempts to teach him a craft involving doilies.)  This scathing (but oh-so-delicious) biography shows Martha in a most unflattering light. But oh, what fun it is.

Books I Would Have Rejected

I'm considering a new "blog column" (or running blog joke) entitled Books I Would Have Rejected. Are bestsellers on the list? Yup. Books that have won awards? Those too. Books that have changed lives? Most assuredly. Am I wrong? Maybe. Don't care. I tend to think that there aren't any objective standards of right and wrong in this business--we're just a collection of people who, at some point or another, have proven ourselves to be in possession of reasonably good (if subjective) literary tastes.

I personally don't care if I think a book would sell ten bazillion copies--if I don't like it, I'm not taking it on. Why would I spend my time putting something displeasing into the book world? Since each editor can only take on a finite number of projects, it takes a spot away from something good.

Today, after reading 27 pages of Eyes Like Stars, I threw it (not literally, but) into the NY Public Library's return bin. (One of the great things about the NYPL: you never have to talk to a human being when returning books at the main branch--and you can check them out by machine.) I'm not usually so return-happy; however, I was in the neighborhood (a new mother-daughter chocolate-coffee place opened up, and I had to try their mocha, which features two scoops of molten chocolate), and in theory my copy of Catching Fire was waiting. This was the second time I'd gone to pick it up--it was supposedly there as of Tuesday--and, nope-- "It's not ready yet," they told me. Grrr.

I think they should give priority to books that are in a series. Don't they realize the anticipation it's building?
Need. This. Book!

But. Back to ELS. I'm reasonably pro-fairy (they're cute and have a lot of story potential) and most definitely pro-theatre (having come to New York thinking I'd somehow take Broadway by storm).

But--and this is something that I know isn't just me--I hate openings that have more dialog than narration. Drives me up the (subway, in this case) wall. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Plus, the ridiculous fairy names (and so many of them! Could barely keep something-puff from something-flower) didn't help either.

Lesson for the day: IMO, you should ensure there's at least a 2:1 ratio of narration to dialog in your opening.

The Latest, Greatest, Save-Publishing-And-Show-Your-Love-For-Your-Friends Holiday Book Gift Guide

Now is the perfect time to order books for your friends for the holidays. Why rush about looking for sales when you can stay home, sip some peppermint cocoa, and order presents online?

I've created a list, below, of my favorite books to give as presents. None of them are books my company represents. I just, well, love them, and think your friends would too.

As soon as I post this, I'm sure I'll think of ten more to add, so there will be updates. 

These are also non-bestsellers (or they haven't been bestsellers for years), so the chances of your friend already having them are slim.

And though I'd rather you buy from strandbooks.com or powells.com, if it's between books or no books as gifts, Amazon will give you free shipping over $25.

So, in no particular order...these are arranged by type of person you'd give them to.  Leaf through them in a bookstore or read the first few pages online. You can, of course, get a better sense this way than simply from my descriptions.

And the lawyerly bit: I assume no responsibility for any harm coming from your giving these books to your friends. If your friend pokes herself in the eye with Proust, I'm genuinely sorry, but not my doing.

And Blogger re: formatting? Not so great. Many apologies. 

Okay! Here we go:

Proust Was a Neuroscientist

For the artist who feels it important to justify his/her career, and/or as an alternative to Malcolm Gladwell (whose work can be spotted in many American homes), send this work about how, in many cases, art discovered truths about our world before science did.

People on the art side seem to prefer it to those on the science side. Gave this to three writers who loved it and one serious scientist who looked bemused before defending his trade. Give scientists The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science.



How Beautiful It Is And How Easily It Can Be Broken 

For the hipster or highbrow type who enjoys middlebrow amusements, send this gloriously written series of essays on a number of pop culture works--everything from books to movies to celebrities behaving badly. Because the writing is so good and so thoughtful--he manages to write about B movies as if they're great literature--I enjoyed this, though I'm always the one in the room who hasn't seen whatever movie everyone is discussing. As I said while reading it--this one book made me feel well-read and culturally literate. Note that the book itself is hefty, but reads like something much lighter.




Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone

Send this to someone just beginning to experiment in the kitchen--new college grads or those young at heart. It's not for the food snobs. Rather, this work shows delightfully hilarious food mishaps. It's a series of essays by fabulous writers. Should probably not be sent to the culturally conservative, or those under eighteen, as it does contain some bad college behavior.

Momofuku Cookbook

For the food snob/NYC snob on your list, this foodie book features text and images from the famous restaurant that's created an enormous, er, stir.

Lots of text, and the recipes are pretty tough. This isn't a cookbook to use, it's a cookbook to look at. But then again, you'll probably be giving it to someone whose entire fridge consists of condiments and Pouilly-Fumé, so no worries.

Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of American Manners

Give this to the woman on your list who is always elegant in her social interactions--and include a note that says so.

This is a hefty biography, but incredibly readable. There's so much interesting history here that is little-known (for example, Emily's father designed the base of the Statue of Liberty). Also, for New Yorkers, there's a lot of opportunity for "I've been there! I'll go see her house!" moments.



For the same audience as above, but slightly more awesome.

You can get copies of the 1940s editions of Etiquette fairly easily. I was astonished to see that I could get one for around $10. It's delightful. Emily (excuse me, Ms. Post) mentions traditions like bowing and gloves and hats, and it's all very charming. It also just smells like an old book. I have my copy proudly on display.

The National Parks

For the nature lover/hiker/armchair traveler on your list. (I'm giving one to my grandmother...shhh.)

Beautiful photographs (many historical) and thoughtful text.

Expensive and expensive to ship, though.

The Year of Living Biblically

A very amusing memoir of spending a year attempting to follow all of the very small rules in the Bible.

Do not give this to someone who is devout. Rather, give it to someone who is interested in religion, and has a dark sense of humor about these things. There are great stories about communities performing unusual rituals (involving chicken swinging) and a man whose sole mission in life is to make sure no one mixes fibers.



The Situation and the Story

All of Vivian Gornick's works are good, but I found this one particularly quotable.

Give this to your academically-inclined reader friends, a Lit major (one who has an insatiable appetite for these things--not a burnt-out one), or a writer friend who likes to study the craft from a logical, rational perspective when not engaging in the creative (and therefore unpredictable) processes of writing. Short and pocketable.




Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess

As you can tell by the cover, this is a very sexy, very indulgent, very guilty-pleasured work. Don't give it to anyone who would mind reading about the author finding a new lover ever other chapter.

I gave it to my Parisian (and, naturally, very French) foodie friend, and she loved it. The descriptions of the food are the most decadent I've found in a food memoir, and because of that, I don't mind the occasional ridiculousness of the author.



The Life and Adventures of Miss Fanny Hill

While we're on the topic of "books you should not give to people under eighteen," this is a very amusing 18th-century work of erotica. I'm kind of amazed they assigned it to us in college--it's very racy.

But if you have someone on your list who loves romance novels and period pieces, this may be a good bet. Also short and pocketable.

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

I can't even believe how well she writes. I much prefer her writing in these volumes to her published works. (Confession: I disliked The Bell Jar.) Amazing, deep, and not always depressing. In fact, very interesting. Have lent to many friends. Lurve.






My Life in Heavy Metal

For the thirty-something who's still hardcore and/or of an artist disposition. A line from one of the stories: "We were ideally suited to the long-distance relationship, with its twisted calculus of wish fantasy and deprivation. We wrote long epistles full of desire and ardent grief. We perfected the art of nostalgia: extracting the finer moments from the tangle of actual experience, burnishing them with new longing. We took the inconvenience of our love as proof of its profundity." Not for readers under 18 or who are conservative (there's a story called "How to Love a Republican").




Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton

I like all of Alain de Botton's works, but I think this is my favorite. (It's also another good alternative to Malcolm Gladwell, though meatier.) A somewhat scholarly, literary examination of why humans get so, well, anxious when they compare themselves to others. A very pleasant read.






M.F.K Fisher's The Art of Eating

This is actually five books in one by the classic (and yet remarkably modern) food writer. Her prose is lively and fun, and there are wonderful stories--my favorite is of her first oyster, which transforms her from innocent all-girls school attendee to rapturous foodie. How to Cook a Wolf, one book of the five in this collection, was written during The Great Depression. Don't believe me when I tell you it's amazing? Read the first few pages on Amazon. It's too big to carry around, but great fun to read at home.Can be given to readers of a mature age; MFK was very very big in her day.



The Guerilla Art Kit: Everything You Need to Get Your Message Into the World

For casual artists, eccentric creative types, new urbanites, kids you trust not to harm public property, and kids who've been caught doing graffiti who could use a less-harmful option. This book is great fun. I haven't gotten around to trying their many ideas ("seed bombs"--unfortunately named--seeds and soil and plant food that could have Wall Street crawling with wildflowers was one of them), but just reading the book is an imaginative experience, and applicable to other crafts projects.



The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols

For literary types and those working with dream interpretation, this is simply the most thorough resource available.

I received a copy for my high school graduation and still have and love and use it.

Quite large, certainly not a book to carry around.



Les Liaisons Dangerueses (I like the Ernest Dowson translation--not pictured).

Give this to a devoted reader of romance novels, an 18th-century literature fan, and/or someone who loves the movies by the same name, Valmont, or Cruel Intentions.

Deliciously bad, but with beautiful language. I don't generally like epistolary novels--but this is so good, I didn't mind at all.




Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book by Brian Froud

Beautiful paitings of--yup--smashed fairies. Appropriate for goth or goth-sympathetic teenagers and the young at heart with a dark sense of humor. See a sample here.







Split: A Memoir of Divorce

For your friend who is unhappily single--this will make her so glad she is.
This memoir is both hilarious and touching (though mostly hilarious--darkly so, of course) and also beautifully written. You can listen to a podcast of the book (which is where I found out about it) here. It's great. You could also just skip that step and buy the book.





Still Life With Husband

For your friend who likes chick lit but--yikes! Has she read everything already?

Probably not this one. It's a mystery to me why this didn't do better. It's clever, fun, and resists the usual impulses of being too "neat" in its telling. Gave it to a friend who loved it.





The Jungle Effect.

A good alternative to The Omnivore's Dilemma/Animal, Vegetable, Mineral. I Loved this book. LOVED. The author takes a map of the world and charts the occurrences of the top diseases in America--and finds that there are certain "cold spots"--for example, hardly anyone dies of Breast Cancer in Crete. So she travels to these areas (there are at least seven--I can't remember all of them) and analyzes local diets to find reasons why the diseases are so rare. Then the back of the book features recipes organized by disease you'd like to avoid. Reads like a travel memoir/mystery/"health is possible" book.

Hating Women: America's Hostile Campaign Against the Fairer Sex

This is feminism from the Orthodox Jewish perspective.Author Shmuley Boteach, though he's politically conservative (and makes amusing threats in his work to any boy who'd dare hook up with his daughters), turns out to be a remarkably insightful, warmhearted, modern writer. Thought-provoking and a pleasant read. I have given this to feministy friends who were not of the Jewish persuasion.

Has many good books. I also read his Why Can't I Fall In Love? which is about how love requires an innocence that is hard to find in modern culture.

I just love A.M. Homes. And Aimee Bender. And Amy Hempel. To me, they're all wrapped together in a big hug of awesomeness. They're very quirky short stories that are not for readers under 18--but they're great fun. Note that the one book from these authors I would not recommend is Bender's novel, An Invisible Sign of My Own. It's good, but not a gift book.

Appetites: Why Women Want

This is a lyrical, insightful (dare I say brilliant?) work on appetites of all sorts--food, sex, money, everything--and how these wants are often subverted by modern culture. (If a woman wants any of these things, she ends up facing so many conflicting messages--all of which are described beautifully here). Sounds depressing, but it isn't. Just thought-provoking and eloquent.




Be Honest--You're Not That Into Him Either

Thank you, Ian Kerner. Someone had to say it.

Give this to anyone who was offended by HJNTIY. That group is larger than you think. Or, rather, give it to someone who says HJNTIY is their, like, Bible. O-M-G.






Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled--And More Miserable Than Ever Before

Very smart, lots of fun to read and--in some ways--true. Give (with several grains of salt) to the person on your list who's saying, "In my day, we'd NEVER..." or to a person of this generation--but be sure to include a note that says you think them lovely, not entitled. I've known several people of "Generation Me" who've read this and though it interesting and, in some ways, very true.





Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise

This book has two pleasures: one, the food writing (always great with Ruth Reichl--I also really like her Comfort Me with Apples) and, in this volume, you get to watch her disguise herself (wigs, costumes, characters) so as to not be recognized as the NY Times critic. Great fun.

(Nearly) everyone likes food, and most people like disguises. An excellent bet.


 

For kids (of course), anything by Klutz Press. My favorites include The Klutz Book of Magic, Juggling for the Complete Klutz, and Squashing Flowers and Squeezing Leaves. They're all "kits"--the latter comes with a built-in flower press. There are many, many available.

More book-related holiday presents

For the writer trying to get published, send the latest Jeff Herman Guide.

For the cultured (or wannabe-cultured), a subscription to The New Yorker is always nice.

For the person who loves paper mail, get a wax seal kit from Papyrus (around $20). They're not listed on the website, but they do exist--look near the cash register at your local store. There's a large variety of symbols to choose from, everything from initials to animals to castles. Warn your friend that 1) the wax is very hot and sticky, and 2) the wax will stick to the seal unless they lick it (or I guess moisten it with an envelope moistener) first. 

For the writer who loves beautiful things, Paperblanks makes beautiful blank books that look leatherbound--but that hold together with a very convenient magnet. Find them easily at (uggh) B&N. And if you're looking for Moleskins in a strangely large variety of colors and sizes, Strandbooks.com has them for half price.

Also, don't forget the broad and awesome category of "old stuff." If they like an author--get the oldest edition of a book of theirs you can find. For example, The Joy of Cooking is a very safe, useful gift for, say, a new bride. But a copy of The Joy of Cooking from the 1930s (the "how to cook during The Depression" edition)? Way cooler.

If they like The New Yorker, get them old covers (available online and a number of holiday markets--at the Union Square Holiday Market here, a woman has a booth exclusively of covers since the 1920s for around $20).

There are also hundreds of authors in finger puppet form.

More soon!

Agent Inbox

I find Agent Inbox both disturbing and inevitable (and inevitably, eventually, expensive--seems there's always some new "must have" that takes more money away from writers).

I'm not pleased with the feature that allows agents to reject authors with three clicks. Click one: Delete button. Click two: choose from one of three options (one says something like "wrong for us," one says something like, "we have a similar project," and one has a space for a form letter). Click three: Send.

Wow. You'd think we were evaluating machinery, not writing.

Sometimes I wonder if it's only a matter of time before all authors post all of their queries on one big site (sorted by genres and searchable by keyword) and agents can just click and contact as they please.

There's something frightening and evil about that, too--but perhaps it could have features like, say, an "Ask for this" button that would store the agent's information, the writer's information--and it would send submission instructions to the writer with one click. It could also have a "this is good, forward it to my actual inbox/Kindle" button, several automatic steps so correspondence ("Did you get my manuscript? Does it open okay?") notes are unnecessary. It could (agents would rebel) tell writers how much time was spent reading their work.

It could also tell agents that the writer would never consider about work that they'd love--and connections that would normally have to wait for next year's Jeff Herman could be made immediately.

Okay. Convenience might, as usual, win.

Calgon, Take My E-Reader Away!

I'm a big fan of reading in the tub. (It's probably because it was such a popular scene in eighties movies--when the protagonist wanted to relax, she lit a few candles, got some chocolates, made thousands of bubbles--and Calgon took her away.)

But the Kindle seems about as safe as a plugged-in hair dryer, right?

Not so, says Nathan Bransford. "Put it in a Ziploc bag and it's more waterproof/sandproof than a paper book."

Huh. Good point.

Mistakes in Today's Mail

I'm usually far too nice to make fun of queries, but today I have a headache and there are more than 200 of them. Please consider this educational, sanity-preserving, (your) ego-inflating--but not out-and-out mean.

Are any of these "put it down and reject" mistakes? Two. I'll let you guess which ones. But the rest are things you may wish to avoid.

I post this mostly so that you can see that a lot of our mail is very, very strange--and those scary statistics you hear about the odds of getting published are misleading--needlessly grim--as they include the very odd submissions, too.

And yes, these are all from just today:

• Apologizing for your query in the very first line. Four people did this today. This is akin to saying, "I'm sorry you have to spend time with me. If you want to leave, you can" the moment you meet a romantic prospect. No no no. 
• Queries under fifty words. If brevity is (as Dorothy Parker wrote) the soul of lingerie, yours consists of one ribbon and one doily. 
• Writing a book about recreational activities while under the influence of illegal drugs. Bad enough, but then assuming a, "So, you know how...? Isn't that funny?" tone. I'm sorry, no, I don't know about going to a skate park after shooting up. And it seems somewhat impolite to imply that I would. 
• S&M queries in the second person.  I think Emily Post would agree that one should not include such things in business correspondence.
• Sending a beyond-deadpan query for a humor book. 
• Sentences like, "So far you are thinking, why am I reading this right?"
• Discussing your financial difficulties in your query. This makes one uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is pretty far from, "Yes! I must see this book!" on the emotional spectrum.
• If your work is called Poison, do not call your files, "Poison for [name of agent].doc." Actually, this one amused me, and I'll take a look. 
• Sending the work in seven separate emails (one chapter per). This makes it impossible to keep all your work in one place at one time (or apply my nifty multi-colored labels). Then I worry that I'll reply to one, and not others, then forget about it, then reject it again. Bad. Bad bad bad. Headache=increase. 
• "I won't lie and say this doesn't need polishing."
• Don't slip in and out of third person when describing yourself. 
• Four ellipses and three exclamation points in the first paragraph of the pitch...sigh!
• Quoting unfavorable reviews of your first project. You would do this...why?
• Saying, "Thank you for agreeing to represent me"--twice--before I've even seen the work. 
• "I have written what I consider, a good book, that I hope will intrigue you. I have never made an attempt at writing before, but I believe this book has all the elements of a best seller."
• Emoticons. No.  
• Spending the first paragraph talking about how your market is glutted.
• Saying of the competing works: "They are all full of crap."
• Eight footnotes in the body of your query = bad. 
• And finally, my very favorite: writing, in the very first line, that you would rather work without an agent. 

Reading on the Android

The brilliant and talented Gwen Hayes has written a fun, informative piece about reading on the Android.

I figured there must be a lot of people just like me out there—people who have a basic understanding of cut-and-paste and “click here”. People who love the idea of new toys and yet have no idea what to do with them. People who probably have no business operating handheld digital devices worth hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars.

This one is for you.

Queries: 216.
Manuscripts: 141
Paper manuscripts: about 1.5 feet

Angry author check-ins: 4
Polite author check-ins: 6

Authors whose work I can't wait to receive: 2. They're so cool.

Patience: thinning.
Headache: growing, despite gel-caps.
Coffee cup: needing a refill.
Herbal tea cup: delicious. I heart peppermint.
Water cup: good.
Emergen-C cup: Tangerine. Oooh, so sparkly.

Thanksgiving plans: changing. I could either be the cool aunt and tear around with four children under seven...or accept an invite to something swanky in the city. Either way: excuse for new dress. Dress can be less practical if I stay in the city, as it'll be less likely to end up with kid puke/marker/juicey-juice/graham cracker mush stains. (And you wonder why we wear so much black: any other color is, in comparison, impractical.)

Weather: finally feels like November, holiday season. Somehow, this is comforting.

Leaves: falling quickly, but still enough to swirl down gracefully.

My interns: awesome. Awesomer than usual.

Barometric pressure: steady.

Mood: rising.

The Weekend Read

I love hearing from editors on Saturdays. Not just because it's usually good news (bad news can wait until Monday), but because it means they love their jobs and their reading as much as I do mine.

Now, I know you're thinking you'd rather we read during office hours--after all, wouldn't a manuscript feel more, well, assigned during formal work time--and, therefore, wouldn't we read more of it?

Well, yes and no: first of all, more pages read most definitely does not equal a better overall outcome--if we're hating page 30, it's not like if only we kept reading we'd love pages 200-300. And the average number of pages read is lower during the week. But assigned, obligatory, yes: we have a bit more of that feeling in the office, which is exactly why the Weekend Read is perfect. Reading during the week (and on the subway--which seems like a drive-thru Egg McMuffin munched at 60 mph versus a formal meal) is hurried, sped up by the fact that lots of other things (emails, calls, appointments, interns, coffees) are flying though the air at an incredible rate. 

I think most of us use the taste-n-tell technique: if something's really good and obviously going to need a few dedicated hours, we mark it for the weekend. If I choose it over SNL (actually, I've given up non-Hulu programs, but you know what I mean), I know immediately that I like it. Same with editors, who are human and like television, too.

I've spent some of yesterday and much of today stretched out with a manuscipt on a topic I never thought I'd go for. It requires quiet, careful reading, as some of the best works do. Possible in the office? Maybe. Possible with my chocolate stash and one enormous chair? Abso-bloomin-lutely.

More good news for works for women, young adults, and "new adults"--Twilight's new movie is very nearly "guy proof"; that is, it would be a runaway success without a single male purchasing a ticket.

And nearly a third of the advance tickets were purchased by women ages 25-34. I didn't like the books, but I'm tempted to join that group: the writing is less annoying in dialog (script) form and, well, I'm curious. (But would I tell my friends I'm going? Certainly not. I'd hide out in the back with sunglasses and a big Audrey Hepburn hat like this one.)

Like me, the author of this article has some misgivings--if this is the next generation's image of true love ("spineless" Bella and "stalky" Edward--ooh, I do like the word "stalky"), I'm not sure I can fully approve.

So, as this writer states, we get into a strange place: the overwhelming mass power of the female-owned (transferred, I guess) dollar supporting a product of questionable feminist value. 

That said,

The question is, will the powers that be recognize young women as a robust market that's been largely ignored and condescended to, or will they write it off as a limited phenomenon? "Studios should look at this as a golden opportunity and not a fluke!" writes [Melissa] Silverstein [of the Women in Hollywood blog]. But tapping into the passions of young female audiences means "working to try and uncover things that are bubbling in fandom and even trying to come up with exciting ideas to engage the audience," not just waiting around for the next runaway bestseller.

More here: "Could "New Moon" be a feminist triumph? Forget the antiquated gender roles and the axed female director. This movie's box office could be a game changer."

Also, I've heard a lot of men complain lately that so darn many agents are female--well, as we've heard, 70 or so percent of books are purchased by women. Doesn't it make sense that we'd be the ones choosing which ones to sell (to publishers), too?

Gossip, Gossip...Yakkity Yakkity Yakkity Yak!

Okay, so for those of you who weren't in high school choir, the title is from a song about how gossip is evil, etc., etc. Real convincing coming from a bunch of kids in sparkly green cummerbunds.

But: things I've heard (and no, sorry, if you say you learned it here, I will deny, deny, deny):

1. Semi-underground website for editorial job-searching here. It's very hush-hush; they'll tell you if you can or can't mention the site when you apply. See the WhisperJobs section. 
1. It should be noted that not all jobs are as peachy as mine. I have 1) the best boss in the world, and 2) have paid my dues, so to speak. I could write a whole post on "stupid reasons I've been yelled at," but instead, I will simply state that one office was like that in Mad Men (minus the great clothes), one only recently decided its assistants were allowed to speak at meetings, and another very nearly patted me on the head when I had an idea. So. Don't go packing your suitcase with visions of sugarplum-coated manuscripts. Go in with a clear head and get a good sense of who you'd be working with.
   
2. Apple's version of the e-reader will be announced this January. Ish. At first I heard (from a friend whose dad is a big Comp-Sci guy in CA) that because it's called Tablet, we'd be able to (eeep!) annotate our reading. Now I see it's just, well...a really big iPhone. E-ink? Doesn't look like it. In other interesting semi-news, Steve Jobs thinks people don't read anymore. Which is pretty silly, given that much of the internet is, duh, text. And I don't see the internet going out of style anytime soon. 

Here's the Tablet in relation to an iPhone.

This goes with a great article here. http://gizmodo.com/5335942/an-insider-on-the-apple-tablet

And another great article, "Apple Tablet To Redefine Newspapers, Textbooks and Magazines" (with another great picture but I don't want to "borrow" too many) here.

A lovely post from Chasya, at Dystel & Goderich: "Why I Am An Agent."

Like much of NYC (you wouldn't believe how many coughs I heard on the subway--it's getting to the point where, if I had a small child, I'd find another form of transportation!), I'm under the proverbial weather. Not rainclouds, necessarily; my spirits are high and (almost as if I've been planning it--I certainly haven't!) I've got a stack of great books at home--and the best boss in the world, who told me to go home and get better.

Keep sending those apple recipes! If one a day keeps HMOs away, then surely I'll be well soon. :)

Cavewomen, Dunk Tanks, Writing Groups--and Applesauce, too

I joined a group that's writing about food for, well, the heck of it. At our somewhat disastrous first meeting, in an obscure Malaysian restaurant on a street that literally sells eels in buckets, I started to get really nervous. It felt like drama waiting to happen.

So, for any of you who'd like to put an agent (one who rejected you, say) in a dunk tank (that's so going to be a publishing-themed fundraiser someday--and I'll totes volunteer), please be assured that many of us write, and our writing buddies reject our work all the time. Or, you know, tell us they don't like it.

And--oh, snap. Consider me dunked.

However, it's hard to feel too sad while spending the evening doing Apple Fest (it's a yearly occurrence) 09--homemade applesauce, homemade hard cider, baked apples (core and fill a green one with brown sugar and butter and bake at 350 for an hour). I'm listening to Fats Waller ("There's Honey on the Moon Tonight") and fixing to go out with two of my favorite people. And I've decided (can't wait to read Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human) that I would have been an excellent cave woman cook.

For your own apple fest, a recipe. Keep in mind I'm the laziest cook ever, so this is very easy. And if you like cooking for those without hours to spare, I just met the guy who started Food 2, which is an online foodie channel with shows like Dorm Room Kitchen.

Best (Post-Rejection) Applesauce Ever:

You'll need butter, two green Granny Smiths, cinnamon, and sugar.And a skillet with a lid, but I imagine any lidded pan will do. And about fifteen or twenty minutes.

• Chop the apples into small pieces, excepting the core. Toss the core. My pieces were about the size of half a Wheat Thin. But it doesn't really matter--just chop 'em.
  
• Get skillet. Heat to medium. Add about 4 tbs butter. 
•  Throw in apples, stir to coat with butter. 
• Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar to taste. (Don't burn yourself while tasting.) You'll need a lot of sugar, since G-Smiths are tart. Splenda and Truvia work too.
  
• Add about a half cup of water. You may need to add more as they cook. Just make sure they don't burn.
  
• Cover, and stir every five minutes or so. All the water should evaporate--if it doesn't, uncover and turn up heat. When apples are soft, squish 'em with a fork.  Add final touches of sugar/cinnamon if they're too tart and stir in.
  

Seriously. Super easy, and your friends (and kids) will be very impressed. 

What are your favorite apple recipes...?

The more scary articles (It's end of books! We'll soon be illiterate and fighting saber-tooths with iPhones!) there are, the more we need a the publishing equivalent of Threat Level Elmo.

Because it really is starting to feel almost like a fear campaign. And what's the best antidote to a fear campaign? Humor, of course. 

Anyone? Anyone?

The Kindle ate my homework!

Well, Kindle's paying up--in promises and cash--after making all of Orwell's work disappear in a rather Orwellian manner. See "Amazon settles lawsuit over deleted Kindle copy of 1984," which I found via the Fine Print Literary Management blog.

So here's tonight's conversation:

"Literary Agents, bah! Who needs them?"

"Who needs an agent? You do."

Uggh. Frankly, I find all of this "Digital publishing will do away with everything but the writer and the reader and the internet between them!" stuff rather tiresome. I can understand wanting to think agents are unnecessary if, say, a few of them rejected you--or if you're this guy, who apparently threatened to kill his agent and would seem to be on the run.

However, Googling the guy brings one to this rather good article, which says:

The publisher William Heinemann speaks, in 1893, of agents as a canker "eating into the heart" of the mutual interests of author and publisher. Rudyard Kipling, by contrast, presents a rosier picture of his agent, A. P. Watt, as being "very kind and nice and does everything for you except - writing your book". And while opinion might have been divided on their good intentions, no one could deny that their rise was spectacular. In late 1870s Britain, the professional agent was largely unknown, but by 1914 no self-respecting author could be without a Mr Ten Per Cent to negotiate on copyright, represent their interests and help them sell their "stuff".

And Mr. Possible Agent Killer comments:

You have to wonder what Joyce et al would make of the profession these days as most agents (at least on the American side of the stream) are female and the business at large seems to be running male authors and men's interests out of the equation. These days we have to pretend to wear dresses, I suppose; add to our sentences rather than strip them down, all but grow a spare set of female genitalia in order to publish.

Charming.

But really--let's pick on another industry for a few days.

How about--cars? (Books don't get a bailout.) Non-internet television? (Hulu.com is my friend.) Sports? (I certainly wouldn't mind.) Anything other than publishing? Please? Pretty please?

MileHiCon--Speculative Fiction in Denver

My friend Josh, who's created some of the most beautifully written speculative fiction I've ever seen (and has written something like nine novels) attended MileHiCon in Denver. If you're in the area next fall and write spec fic, sci fi, or fantasy, it may be something to consider.

Here's his post (applicable to all fiction genres) about what he learned at the conference this year.

Carbaholics unite--Tonight in San Francisco!

For those of you who (like me) could live almost solely on the ingredients in Rice, Pasta, Cous Cous, there's an event at Omnivore Books (tee hee) in San Francisco. TONIGHT, Nov. 12 • 6-7 p.m. • Free. 3885a Cesar Chavez Street (click for map).

Do I have any idea at all where that is? No, because when I drove in San Fran, I was 16 and trying not to roll backwards (really, why are there stop signs at the tops of steep hills?) into the fancy cars.

And, as my fellow-once-Californian, fellow-Sarah Lawrence grad, fellow-agent friend would say: B-T-Dubs (btw): I only link to Amazon because they're the most searchable, user-friendly site I know of. Do I think you should actually buy the books I link to there? Heavens, no!

Try Powells.com or Strandbooks.com. Both ship and have very competitive prices.

And you won't be supporting, you know, evil.

Before I become a huge hypocrite, I should note that yes, occasionally, though I love independent bookstores (and dislike what Amazon's doing to the industry), I do sometimes order from them. Same for Starbucks, though my life would not be complete without independent coffeeshops.

There were some unkind but very funny jokes at the indie publishing event about a holiday present that could prove very popular among those in the biz: someone could make a plush doll modeled after a certain internet book company's CEO that would happen to be soft enough for the pins that would happen to come with it.

Me, I'm sticking with my Freud finger puppet/magnet (they also have slippers!), but for those of you on etsy, this could be your next project. (The closest I found was "voo doo doll on cupcake"--aww, cute and evil!)

Also, while we're talking about evil that is cute, you really must check out 100% Evil. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be available in the US (the link is to Amazon.co.uk) anymore, but it's the perfect present for the malcontent on your list.

Also, though I'll steal Freud and Cous Cous (but link to them, so I doubt they'll mind), I won't steal the amazing image you'll see if you click here, then click Samples, then click Next four times.

Really. It's worth it. Mmm, yes, quite.

From my mother:

Quite thankfully, this isn't one of those, "So about those grandchildren I don't have yet..." hints.

At least I don't *think* it is... :)

Thanks, Mom!

Pie Charts and the Sharing of Them

For your blog/site/anything you'd like visitors to share: see the little button below each post? The one that says "Share" and, when you mouseover, gives a list of all the niftiest ways of sending it to a friend?

With a few clicks, you can have your own--it'll even do the annoying "add widget" thing for you on Blogger.

Better still, it will make you pie charts of its use statistics.

And what's better than a pie chart?

For new visitors, I will happily direct you to two of mine--one about why I say Yes or No to YA queries, and one about why I say no to queries in general--based on six months of data-gathering. They're cute and if, like me, you're a fan of quantitative data--a very useful thing indeed.

*

The share button comes from http://www.addthis.com/.

If nothing else, their list of 174 sharing services makes me feel about as tech-savvy as the average great-grandmother. But it's good information. Surely at least a few are about to take off--and you can say you knew them when.

A Comment on Comments

Knowing that these were all-around tech-savvy individuals, I knew I was taking a risk when I wrote about Al Katkowsky in this post. After all, if anyone was going to have a Google Alert--it'd be these guys. (See this article on Google Alerts, or just go to the Google Alert page.) I was actually rather worried that someone would think I had tape-recorded the whole conference and was posting it free online (I didn't--I wouldn't. But I wanted to share what information I could remember).

Instead, he left a lovely comment, which includes this bit of wisdom:

As a followup for those who may be interested in how to succeed in the app world, we selected very specific keywords when the app was uploaded to iTunes, and then had as many people as possible download it on the first day it was made available. This approach gives you a shot at spiking up the charts. We are still Top 30 in the Book category, which has over 13,000 titles. Question Of The Day will hit 100,000 downloads as a free iPhone app by the end of November, with over 600,000 views of the integrated video content.

So, you know, read the comments too. There's a lot of good stuff in there.

Also, I recommend clicking (or "ticking," if you're British) the little box that offers to email you responses to your comments. Sometimes I'm just not sure how to reach all of you.

Or just be old-fashioned about it and include a signature with your blog address and e-mail. I'll get back to as many comments as I can.

Hope you're well on this blustery, leaf-orange day.

Today's numbers

This post is dedicated to my dear friend, C8H10N4O2.


Queries today: 147.
Manuscripts: 146 + 10 on Kindle. Progress!

"Hi!...so, um, I think I was interviewed for NPR tonight...."

The great thing about book events in NYC is that they have a very high likelihood of becoming very quickly awesome. This is a good thing because, as a professor once said about me when I was giving a talk at Fordham--and I hadn't thought about it that way, but I suppose it's true--it's part of our job to go to parties. (There are seasons for these things, quiet weeks, and weeks where we hit two to three events a night. But yes, we do go, mostly because book people are our people, and it's always good to know as many as possible--not to mention have remarkably interesting conversations. I maintain that human beings are better-searchable, more interesting sources of information than computers ever will be.)

My friend and I attended the Celebrate Indie Bookselling event in Dumbo last night, which sounded, from the invite, like a walk on uneven streets (cobblestoned and far from the subway) in the cold (it's near the water, so...) in the dark (darn you, lack of Daylight Savings!). With, you know, books and stuff. But we dragged ourselves out of our steam-heated apartments anyway. And I'm so glad we did.

We arrive and it's an enormous, gorgeous space--twenty-something-foot ceilings, five-foot chandelier. That's one of the wonderful things about this area of Brooklyn--there are really amazing lofts available. There's a sort of arena set up--almost-bleachers that are made out of giant steps. A band, Jones Street Station, which is somewhere between Bluegrass and Pop and hipster in the very best way (mandolins, banjos, accordions, guitar, drums, harmonicas), had set up in the center, and as we arrive, there's a drawing of business cards from the raffle box. Both my friend and I won adorable tote bags with books--mine included the Momofuku cookbook (!!!), The Harvest Eating Cookbook (!) and a signed poster.

Then there are talks about how we can't let NYC become repeating "neighborhoods" of Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, Best Buy, H&M--and that homogeneity is the end of local culture. Yes! There were shouts, snaps, applause and free beer. And sandwiches. We were blissed out.

The band starts playing. They're amazing. Then a guy approaches us where we're sitting (the seats resembled church pews--and may have been, at one point in their history). "Hi," he said, "I'm from NPR."

"Seriously?" I ask. I really need to work on this thinking-before-speaking thing.

He blinks. "Um, no, I just go around saying that as a joke." Totally stone-faced. He blinks some more. Awk-ward. "Can I ask you a few questions?" He's wearing orange Converse and carrying what looks like an oversized, spiffed-up walkman and a big, puffy microphone.

"Sure?"

So he interviews us both about our thoughts on the future of publishing. I answer, scrunching my face as I think, thankful that won't be audible.

Someone says something about e-books and e-readers and how they haven't seen them, and I whip out the office Kindle--in the middle of this event about independent book selling. We giggle at this unusual combination. It's kind of like the time I brought my giant Starbucks latte into the Left Forum. To top it off, in a few minutes I'm caught--and I can quote perfectly because a totally well-intended girl from Housing Works repeated it back to me verbatim--saying, "Well, I'm a Luddite. On my blog"--she only repeats this first part, but the end of the sentence was, "...my followers say I need to use Twitter."

But for all of you pro-Twitter folks out there, who say that anyone with any modicum of technical knowledge is Tweeting away, I'll have you know that Mr. NPR barely knows what it is.

Anyway, so the odds are slim. He's got about two hours of very articulate book people talking about books, and needs to cut it down to five minutes. If it does air, it'll be near Thanksgiving.

But it's still enough to call up friends--something increasingly rare in a texting society--and say, "Hey! Guess what...?"

How I Live Now

The lovely and talented (and yes, she really is both) Suzie Townsend recommended, in her blog, Meg Rosoff's How I Live Now. While it's not The Hunger Games (lurve lurve lurve), it's really quite good. Imagine me saying that in a British accent, because it's about a young woman whose stepmother sends her to live with her cousins in the English countryside. At first it's a perfect setting: their mother, her aunt, is called away on business in Oslo, and so they are left to have gorgeous days swimming in the river and (in the case of the protagonist, Daisy, and her cousin Edmond) experience a little cousin-on-cousin romance. But then, of course, a war breaks out, and everything convenient and comfortable about modern life is stripped away.

There are lovely moments when, in their separation, Edmond "visits" Daisy, à la Jane Eyre calling out in the night for Mr. Rochester and having a sort of gothic ghostly (but living ghostly) visit/interaction.

It's almost as if, as the modern comforts are taken away, magic replaces them. There is also great description of the animals taking over the wild as the people are (with propaganda) forced to believe there's a smallpox outbreak and, therefore, they should always be inside--leaving the animals, like the children before the war hits, running wild.

Okay, so I'm only 2/3 done, but that's after, like, a day. It's not "cancel on your friends" good, but it's "take it with you everywhere and read it when you're not frantically reading Kindled manuscripts" good. 

Anyway.  If you live in NYC, there are like 30 copies that the public library has available. (A friend of mine is dating someone high up in the NYPL system, and promises an introduction. I have lots of questions about young adults and library usage.) No one seems to be checking them out, and they'll have them messengered to the branch of your choice. And, dude, it's a penny on Amazon (+ $3.99 shipping). Sweetness.

The Writer's Block

I know there are a ton of story podcasts out there, but--maybe it's because I was once (and until recently, legally was) a Californian--KQED's The Writer's Block is by far my favorite.

You can listen to all of their podcasts for free either through their site or through the iTunes store.

The stories are always excellent--very engaging. So much so that they can make me forget the screaming toddler to my left and the kid testing out every last one of his ringtones (twice) on my right--that is, they make my commute enjoyable--and it's much appreciated.

This morning, I listened to Alive in Necropolis. WB's sound effects? Not the best. But I love the message it came with:

Please note, this podcast is a little racy in spots--if you have a delicate constitution and choose to continue listening--good for you. 

Take it from someone who can't, and probably never will be able to, watch horror films--it's not that bad.

Today's numbers

Queries: 105
Manuscripts: 160 (progress!)

New Must-Read Pub Blog

Surely there are hundreds. But I like this one. It's written by Sarah/"JJ," who is the assistant to Dan Weiss, new "New Adult" publisher at St Martins. Check out her post on this emerging subgenre.

http://sjaejones.com/blog/

YES! New, slightly-older-YA publisher at St Martin's

Thanks Gwen!

http://georgiamcbridebooks.wordpress.com/2009/11/05/st-martins-press-has-new-publisher-and-good-news-for-ya-writers/

Apparently it's a big day for details!

Nathan Bransford and Michael Bourret (today) and the Waxman Literary Blog (Friday) have posts about overall feel versus tiny mistakes in queries and manuscripts.

I especially like this from Waxman:

...Time and time again so many of these smart, talented writers I met expressed relief bordering on elation when I or another agent said I don’t care if it’s Helvetica or Courier, I don’t care if there is one typo on page 219, I don’t care if your email and mine collude to strip the formatting, I don’t even care if I’m addressed as Mr Root–it’s clearly by accident, no really we won’t autoreject it, so long as the writing is amazing.

Writers, Take Note!

As backstory, I mentioned in an earlier post my love of 18th-century writing.

A writer, whose work I requested, wrote today to say that there will be a delay--there's an exclusive with another agent--but had I read the piece from the 1720s called "Woman Triumphant: Or, the Excellency of the Female Sex, Asserted In Opposition to the Male--Dedicated to The Ladies--by A Lady of Quality"?

She attached the piece, which is scanned with postmarks, historical typesetting (the Ss look like Fs, and some of the lines are delightfully uneven), and gorgeous drop-caps. The file came through easily, and is small enough to forward.

I'm pleased as peach punch.

And I immediately wrote back to ask if she'd read my favorite, "Fantomina, Or: Love in a Maze." If you haven't read it, it's absolute genius: it's about what happens when a very smart Lady (love the 18th-century capitalization) disguises herself as multiple women so as to keep one man's attention. Witty, no? Well, it's darn relevant even to modern relationships. Anyone see that awful "Womanizer" Britney Spears video? Same concept. (Amazingly, one day while channel-surfing, I saw an interview where Spears comes up with the concept. It's all "um"s and "ah"s and "like"s, but it makes me wonder if she's been playing dumb all this time.)

Naturally, though, Fantomina's way better. Sorry, possibly-secret-genius Spears.

But writers, take note. This is a brilliant way to strike up conversation with an agent. It's a fair guess that we like reading, and like people who appreciate our (sometimes unusual) reading tastes.

If you've gone to the trouble to find out what we like to read, or find out something of interest to us, and recommend more of it--well, you're on our Good list. No coal for you. Do we always have time to send thoughtful replies to these nice-making emails? No. But we'll read them and appreciate them.

One more 18th-century plug--that movie, Cruel Intentions, is fun on its own. But when you really know Les Liaisons Dangereuses (which it's officially based on), and Samuel Richardson's Clarissa (said by some to be the very first novel--with remarkable similarities to LLD), the movie is much more fun. There's one point where Ryan Phillippe asked the name of one of his conquests, and she replies, "Clarissa." Oh! I loved that moment. (And he's not bad, either.)

Errors (and Clippy) Must, Apparently, Die

I hear people in publishing say, all the time, things like "You could have the best story in the world but if I see typos and bad sentence structure right off the bat I'm going to pass." Apparently that's not always true.

Typos? Goodness, no! It's not true. It's not even close to true. For me. Maybe there are agents out there who read with a proverbial red pen in hand at all times, but I very much doubt that's the majority. In a query letter, sure, it will make me respect you a little less. (However, if you use advanced punctuation correctly, or--be still my little heart, a comma-dash--I'll immediately like you.)

Bad sentence structure...well, that's a little more difficult. We are, after all, trying to make an educated guess about the writing in your manuscript. One bad sentence among many great ones will most likely not ruin your chances--but, of course, it's not advisable.

Errors are much worse in queries than in partials, manuscripts and proposals. First of all, they're shorter, so a problem is easier to spot. Second, they're your first impression--you really, really, really should try to get it right.

But here's the other side of that. Allow me to share something remarkably unfair about publishing. Let's say that you've spent the last five years writing a book that is without a single error. You've combed that thing so closely, you would bet  your favorite pen, your beloved desk and your computer on its being error-free.

Then an author of absurd talent hands in a draft that has typos, misspellings, and errors. It needs line edits and big edits (take out this character, re-order those scenes, cut 100 of your 500 pages).

And their book gets accepted. Yours doesn't.

Fortunately or unfortunately, line edits are easy to fix. That special something that makes a book, well, glow? That makes it moving and new and exciting and enjoyable and seem to radiate potential?

Not so easy to add.

(Can you imagine? I'd love it if Microsoft Word--or even Clippy--had an, "It looks like you're writing a pitch letter. Click below to make it glow!" tip.)

That said, the absurdly talented writer would still get rejections--lots of them. As I've mentioned before, there are agents who just won't bother with doing edits, or won't do heavy edits. We're always doing a mental calculation--how much we like the piece versus how much work it would be for us to get it into salable form.

We'd have to like something a lot if it's going to get that much work from us. Keep in mind that we're working on spec--we're taking a risk (of time--sometimes months) to work on your book, never knowing for sure if it'll actually sell and we'll get paid until after all our editorial work is done.

I've seen books at publishing houses--in fact, as an intern, I was given first pass at some of the corrections--that would make a smart sixth grader (or, well, me as a sixth grader) cry. Wrong form of "its/it's/there/their" everywhere--horrible, seemingly random comma placement--misspellings on every page. But the message and its information (it was nonfiction) were, overall, very good--and, believe it or not, there were some amazing sentences in there.

I saw the completed version in a bookstore many months later. Every error fixed. Looked like a very smart book. Very strange experience.

So, no. We'll lose some respect for you if you don't bother to learn that commas and semicolons are not interchangeable. It does lessen your chances of getting a Yes. If an agent is on the fence about a book--we seem to spend a lot of time on fences, since it's a business with few absolutes--and your manuscript is filled with errors, it's certainly not going to help.

For whatever reason, the best writers usually also have the best grasp of the language. They are also usually humble, and just seem just, well, nice over email.

But is an error an automatic rejection in a partial or proposal? No. Not at all.

For more on Clippy (Microsoft Word's paperclip-shaped assistant), this is Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!'s piece, "Clippy Must Die." Note that it gets very, very funny around 2:00, so go ahead and fast-forward. Turn up the sound! Also note what Clippy comes up with at minute 3:03. ("It looks like you're trying to write a novel. Would you like me to...")

You know how I said I was purposely going to not figure out which of the incoming manuscripts were by younger authors? So, I was reading one and, wanting to see the query, searched for it. I was 26 pages in, really enjoying it, thinking, "My! The YA voice is perfect!"

And--yup. It's written by a 16-year-old.

Oh, snap.

Celebrate Indie Bookselling event

For those of you in the NYC area, there's a Celebrate Indie Bookselling event tomorrow in DUMBO. Live music, reading, beer and snacks, $10 suggested donation. I'm a bit sniffly, but if I'm better (and not too tired from the Women in Publishing event tomorrow), I'm totally there.

See below:
http://ibnyc.wordpress.com/2009/10/30/735/

Really enjoyed this article on Young Adult books (and a fairy theme): "Field Guide to Fairies" in yesterday's NY Times. 

On what *not* to say in book talks

Very much enjoyed this post by Editorial Anonymous.

It's so true: writers do tend to overshare much more than the average population. But then again--if they didn't have that tendency--a great deal of writing would be locked away in someone's drawer/computer, now wouldn't it?

A correction/addition

I mentioned two sites for finding blogs of similar interests--this helps because, if you comment on them and leave your blog/site URL, you'll soon have a lot of new visitors.

Many of you wrote in about Alexa.com. Yes, it's good.

Even better is Technorati's blog directory. You can search (at the top) by any topic, and then get results that start with the blogs with the most hits.

More Self-Publishing Expo Tidbits

Here are some more tips from the panelists (now the lawyer-ly bit: please note that all of these are straight from the panelists, and I know very little about some of these. Always use your good judgment--some are appropriate in some cases, and not in others. As always, if you have any questions, do ask...):

When you do your social networking, treat your followers as an exclusive group.
Yes, it's daunting. There could be thousands of them. But if you offer freebies, announcements, or something they can't get anywhere else--they'll keep coming back.

If you send out a newsletter, instead of (or in addition to) a blog, you don't have to pay for ConstantContact.com (though they make beautiful emails). MailChimp.com kind of blows my mind. It allows you to send pretty, sophisticated emails without any web skills--for free. And can tell you who opens the email, who clicks on its links, and who tweets about you and where. Watch the demo. I think we have a company that will either inspire Google (to rip it off) or soon be purchased by Google.

Consider an iPhone app for your book
An unusual and very smart way to publicize your book is to commission an iPhone app that ties into it. This was done for Question of the Day, which has its corresponding app. Author Katkowsky says he was able to get an app for between $500 and $1000. Not chump change, by any means, but it's a very clever way to target an audience that (if they have an iPhone) probably has a fair amount of disposable income. As always, though, keep in mind that you may not be writing for iPhone users--for example, if you're writing a book for five-year-olds, this may not be the best. On the other hand...they do have that "iPhone for Kids" app, don't they?

Before you try to get all of Barnes and Noble to stock your book, go meet with the manager of your local bookstores.
Have an informal proposal ready--don't just go in and ask to talk. Mention that, if they'll allow you to have a reading, you can guarantee 50 people will show up--and then make sure it happens. There's nothing worse than a reading without listeners. Note that many self-published book companies can make it possible for these stores to return unsold copies--this is standard for traditional presses, and many bookstores won't agree to stock anything they can't return.

Amazon.com, and other online retailers, will often take your work much more easily than a brick and mortar store. They don't have the storage logistics problems, and it sounded like Amazon could actually have a deal with, say, Lulu--once Amazon received an order, Lulu would then print the book, and then send it. Neither Amazon nor Lulu had to invest in the physical book before an order was placed, as it existed only as a file. Pretty spiffy.

What may seem like a disadvantage may actually help publicize your book.
Isobella Jade wrote her modeling memoir, Almost 5'4, from her local Apple store. (Once self-published, the HarperCollins edition comes out in February.) She was living on Dollar Menu, she said, and didn't have a computer or place to work. In part of her promotional plan (she really has promoted the heck out of her book--one woman in the audience, a freelance publicist, actually called out in the middle of the session, "I want to hire you!"), she hosted events at the Apple store where she wrote the work. One thing I thought was especially interesting--she emphasized the very real nature of her writing. (I haven't read it, so I can't comment.) "I'm not Grammar Girl," she said. "I'm telling you a story."

Many full-service self-publishers don't create physical books until they're ordered.
This prevents a garage filled with unsold copies--and doesn't require nearly the investment.

Some authors opt for Errors & Omissions Insurance.
This way, someone can't sue you if your (usually nonfiction) work can somehow be tied to causing harm in a reader's life. A year's policy is around $2600, and is often only necessary the first year. I can't comment on whether I think this is a good idea or not, but it's interesting to know that it exists.

You really do need an outside editor.
One of the panelists likened editing your own book to trying to do surgery on yourself. It just can't happen. No matter how much publishing changes, you'll still need a story and an editor. This could be anyone from people you met at a writing workshop to someone hired who does this for a living.

Think carefully before considering Publish America.
Yes, they do give you an advance--one dollar. For this, they call themselves a "traditional press." Unfortunately, also like traditional presses, they keep the rights--and the right of first refusal for your next book. Their site gives me the heebie-jeebies. They're saying everything a naive author would want to hear.

While a traditional publisher assumes all risk, you make far less per book.
With a traditional press, you may make 80 cents a book. With full-service self-publishing, though you've laid out around $1,000 to $2,000 to get the book published, it's more like $5 per sold, unreturned copy.

If you're writing for children, target schools, teachers, and libraries
Elizabeth Uhlig, author of a number of children's books, started with a bad experience in self-publishing. When the company (a small, independent outfit) more or less took her money and ran, there was a conversation with her husband where he said, "You're a librarian--I'm an MBA. Don't you think we can do better than that [unkind word for the woman]?" (Incidentally, the thief is now in jail.) So they started their own press, Marble House Editions, and come out with new books for young readers every year. She sends free copies to children's librarians and schools, and then asks for speaking engagements (for which she doesn't charge). Before she arrives, she sends order forms (the kids bring the money to school in envelopes), sample lesson plans (questions the teachers may ask the children about the book), and several similar materials. When a child asked her what about the process she didn't like--knowing the kid expected her to say something like "editing"--she replied, "The only thing I don't like is when I can't find a parking space."

A Word of Caution on Self-Publishing Conferences

I've been to a number of conferences in which small publishers and self-publishing companies tell the audience, "Don't even bother with traditional presses. They're corporate and heartless/impossible for new writers/only interested in money/only interested in stealing your work and giving you a fraction of the money it makes/only interested in work by their friends and family/EVIL."

Yesterday, an otherwise very good panelist said:

Publishers are only interested in you as an author if you're famous or infamous. Publishers are gamblers. If you were to go to the horse racing track, would you gamble on a horse that's had a good track record, or one who's never raced before?

[At this point a woman in the audience stood up and cried out, "That's not true!" Another said, "Hey, what about debut novelists?" He continued:]

You hear about these things--they're newsworthy--because they're VERY rare. Fiction is all about selling a name. Unless you're a Picasso or a Renoir [not sure how we got to talking about art], they aren't interested.

Mmm...kay. This logic presupposes two things:

1. All current fiction writers entered the market as debut novelists WITH bestselling books somehow already under their proverbial belts, and
   
2. All fiction writers are immortal and will keep writing forever. Otherwise, by this logic, at some point, all existing Picassos and Renoirs would, eventually, die out, and we'd be bookless.

I also went to a panel in California where the panelists flat-out said,

Don't bother with traditional publishing. Take it from me: They are not interested in your work.

She said this without knowing anything about our work. Had we professed to being proud writers of alien abduction memoirs and "I love my cat" books? No.

I hope someone in that room sold a book to a major publisher just to spite her. And then spent some of the advance on a fancy website that says how much s/he loves the publisher.

So, yes. I highly recommend these conferences. But know that some of the people there may be in self publishing because they're angry at traditional presses. Keep your critical thinking cap on at all times.

Why in the world was I, an agent who works with traditional houses, at a self-publishing event? First of all, I wasn't the only one--a number of people who work for traditional publishing were there, if undercover. (Actually, I attend a lot of such events this way--one suddenly becomes very visible when attached to the word "agent" at a book event.)

Second, the world of publishing is incredibly small--and fortuitous meetings are likely. During one of the panels, a young woman raised her hand and, in her question, mentioned the title of her book. She'd sent it to me months ago, and so when the panel let out, I dashed after her and asked, "Hi! Are you ____? I think I had your manuscript..." We'd ultimately decided on passing, but I really like her writing.

We ended up having a lovely conversation, and it turns out she has another book that, well, I'm really, really interested in seeing--and that she might never have thought to send to me, since her previous work was for adults, and these new books are super-spiffy YA.

Things like this happen all the time in publishing. It's not just me. The world is incredibly small, especially in NYC, especially in publishing. We're writers, and the internet is writing-based. Our information travels very, very quickly. Don't burn bridges. If you do, sooner or later you'll end up falling off of one at a dinner party, and will feel like, well, a total troll. (Or you'll run into your ex on the subway the next time you haven't done your hair and it's sticking up, troll-like. Good times, good times.)

We went because we're curious. I think that's mostly it. Self-publishing, while not in my mind "the future"--is a part of the future. The cost and difficulty have declined, making it possible for a good segment of the book-writing population to see their works nicely bound and on Amazon--or, for $99 through several self-publishing companies, as a Kindle book.

And the stigmas are slowly easing away. Self-publishing is no longer just something you do when you can't find a traditional publisher. It's something to do when you want your work out immediately (one of the panelists had convinced Urban Outfitters to carry copies of his book--but, yikes, traditional publishing would take too long), or something to do while you promote your book, sell a lot of copies (5,000+ will get our attention), and then try for a traditional house. It's also a relatively inexpensive way to test the market--though it is, of course, an enormous amount of work. As several of the panelists said, "The writing was the easy part."

I mean, if it's a choice between not bothering with the book because you don't think an agent will take it, and self-publishing--just write the thing and get it out there. Even if you convert it to an ebook yourself (which will soon, I'm guessing, be much easier). Really. Writing is good for you, and the only way you'll get better.

Also, I don't know about you, but I think of my work completely differently when it's printed on paper than when it's electronic on oh, say, a blog. I think a lot of people have this feeling. Imagine what a printed, bound edition could do to your perception of your work!

That said, those who say that if you've self-published your book, you have a better chance of getting an agent--well, this just isn't true, unless you sell a lot of copies. Otherwise, I'm going to see it and (perhaps unfairly) assume you sent this to as many agents as you could think of--and they all said no. Will you get a fair read? Of course. But it's not the advantage some people make it out to be, and I know some agents simply dislike self-pubbed works.

There are many such stories, but I met Matthew Alper, author of The God Part of the Brain, last year. As he tells the story, he was sitting at home with a garage full of self-published copies. He sends out a press release, and a radio program invites him on. The radio program goes national, and suddenly he's gone from a full garage to having to order more--and sells something absurd like (don't quote me on this, it's just what I remember from a year ago) 100,000 copies. Sourcebooks picked him up, and now it's a well-known book.

Like I said--just one of many of these stories.

Tips for your blog, social media, publicity, and self-branding

Went to the Self-Publishing Book Expo today, which was pretty fabulous. I mean, most conferences have at least a few take-home tidbits, but this one was especially good. I love the feeling of bursting out of the (usually hotel) doors and thinking, Yes! I can't wait to tell people about what I learned today!

And I did. Right after. I dashed to a reading at Barbes, where I ran into a professor--the one who got a friend a publishing internship, which was then passed on to me. This woman set in motion, well, my whole life.

I was able to tell her a few tips about blogging and finding an audience. "This means a lot to me," she said. I was more than happy, of course, to oblige.

I was wishing, today, that I had one of those tiny, purse-portable laptops (with silent keys, though) so that I could live-blog from the panels--they were that good.

But here are some wonderful tidbits I learned today:

With regard to social media (much of this is from the lovely Cinty Ratzlaff, who's created the campaigns for more than 150 bestselling books):

• If you want blog readers, the most important thing to do is to find blogs in your area of interest and start commenting on them--leaving, of course, a polite signature with your name and blog/site address. Make sure your comments are relevant, and you can be sure people (including the owner of the blog) will see them and go visit your site. Instant traffic. Hint. Hint.
• Many of you leave lovely comments, but then forget to include your blog address! I know, I know, I can eventually find it if I click through your profile. But minimize clicks, include the URL, and you'll have more hits.
  
• To find the top blogs in your field (keep in mind that some have a larger readership than even The New York Times!) go to Alexa.com and Technorati.com and search by topic.
  
• You can also do this at the sites for relevant magazines. The comments section of New York Magazine always seems to read like a who's who of NY culture.
• If you write fiction, it's perfectly acceptable to write a blog from the perspective of your character. See kittencuckoo.com.
• Facebook is good. A Facebook Fan Page (the ones you see that say "Become a fan of ____!") is better. First of all, it's Google-able--no one need join your network to find this page. Also, you can use it as a discussion forum. Just be sure that when you form the page you like the title you give it--you're stuck with it and it can't be changed.
• With regard to (sigh) Twitter, as one of the panelist said, "120 is the new 140." If you keep your tweets to 120 characters, people can easily Re-Tweet you (that's when you see the RT) and your words will travel quickly an easily over the Tweeting interwebs.
• In terms of time, one of the panelists suggested spending no more than an hour per week. "Remember," she said, "this is a tool, not your master."
• She says she spends five minutes each on Twitter and Facebook each morning, makes one quick YouTube video a day (she demonstrated and made one in front of us--she seriously plugged in her video camera, clicked "Post to YouTube," and it was there four seconds later), and two blog posts a week.
  
• The most important things in social media are authenticity and transparency. So if you're making a YouTube video and you knock over your coffee, that's just fine. It makes you human and--though it's a very strange version of humanity, this YouTube--it works and gains loyal viewers.
  
• Remember: "Imperfect action is better than inaction." Typos are better than no posts at all.
• The point is to create what feels like a community online.
  

On publicizing your book (something, of course, very important to those who self-publishing but important to those going the tradition route as well--seeing as the 20-city book tour is, for most of us, a thing of the past):

• "First and foremost," one of the women on the panel said, "I'm begging you: watch television." Want to be on a show? Well, have you seen it? You may say, "I haven't, but my friends insist I'm perfect for Oprah"--well, that doesn't mean much. You may say you want to be on The View, the panelist continued--but have you watched it? If so, you'd see that they very rarely feature authors.
• Remember your local media. The fact that you live nearby means infinitely more than blind-press-releasing to everyone in the country.
  
• Can't get on television? Make your own show. A great example (again, from the panel) is Gary Vaynerchuk, who simply chats a bit and then tastes four wines on every episode. He has more than 850,000 hits a month. His book, Crush It, is right now #137 in Amazon book sales. Him on social media: "Your business is your hot dog, and then social media is maybe a mustard, at best."
  

Other tidbits:

• Rick Warren shipped 10,000 free copies of The Purpose-Driven Life to members of his online community. I imagine his publisher wasn't thrilled--but, of course, everything's worked out just fine. In this case. Not sure I'd suggest it.
  
• You could have a program by which a visitor can add their email (you know how at the top of some sites there's a small text box and a button you click that says "subscribe" or "submit"? One of those) and you will, in return (after adding them to your mailing list) e-mail them a chapter of your book.
• There is now technology in e-books that tracks--and sends the author an email--whenever the file is shared.

...And that's just two pages of my twelve of scribbled notes.

More soon!

iDream

Do you ever have those dreams with messages so obvious, you can't help but get up and follow through immediately? (I do--often. But I'm always a little disappointed that it's not something big and grand like, "Here's how you're going to save the world. There will be a man at 4 o'clock on the corner of Broadway and 37th...")

Instead of world-saving, I was dreaming about podcasts--and the pleasures of listening to a story.

Stephen Colbert once tweeted (see? Are kids now going to be tweeting their sources in school papers?) that he'd like to get an ipod shuffle just so he can punch it in the face--but I'm rather fond of mine.

Here are my favorites (all of which are free, and can be found by searching the iTunes store):

• KQED: The Writer's Block (I've found a number of books I've loved through this podcast)
• New Yorker: Fiction (seriously excellent. Always something wonderful. I just wish they'd update more than once a month! It's an interview with a writer, who's chosen something from the NYer archives to read and discuss)
  
• NPR: Book Tour Podcast (just what it sounds like)
• PRI: Selected Shorts (a wide variety read by actors and others with great voices)
  

What do you recommend...?

Clever Kindle Cases

I love the idea of hand-carded, then hand-drop-spindled, then hand-knit cases for the Kindle. We used to go on farm tours (yes, small town life) where we'd watch women at spinning wheels with angora bunnies on their laps, spinning their fur immediately into yarn. (The rabbits looked every bit as happy as a cuddly cat on a kind reader's lap.)

But, until I track down some of that yarn, here's a nifty sewing idea:

Click the above image for a link to how to make this Patchwork Kindle Case. It's not hard! It's got instructions like my favorite recipes. (Pasta: egg+flour+water+combine+flatten+cut+boil.)

I'm amazed these aren't at the Brooklyn Flea yet.

More soon.

On Agents and Editorial Work

At SEAK, one of the agent panelists said--rather bluntly, I thought--I do not do editorial work. I do not write: that's your job. I sell books. That's IT.

This both offended and intrigued me. What about all of the wonderful work that is 99, 98, even 80 percent there? He'd just let it go? He'd be okay with turning down the next literary sensation all because he didn't want to edit?! Geez. Really?

He also told off another agent on the panel, so I knew he wasn't known for his "I need everyone to like me" personality. Which, of course, one can't help but respect on some level...

I asked him later if his approach turned off would-be authors. (Fearing, of course, that he would have a few well-chosen words for me.) He said it didn't. And, when not in front of an audience, he was actually rather nice.

But I've had days of editing for five straight hours--line by line--misspelling by misspelling--misplaced comma by misplaced comma...and I was about to gouge out my eyes with the letter opener. The eye-gouging would not have be pretty, and I would never do so, probably not even if I had a contract with the powers-that-be that I'd end up with Tiresias's mad skills, a personal guide-for-life, and would still, somehow, be able to read and write. And check email. And do my job.

Was the editing worth it? Of course it was worth it. But the tedium! Alas.

It makes me understand this agent's no-editing policy. Would I ever adopt it? No. Never. But I understand.

I laughed and laughed while reading this blog: http://becomingabadass.blogspot.com/.

Seriously. More women need to be fierce like this.

So, today's wish list for books I'd like to see, take on, and sell for enough money to save/take over the world:

• Memoir or novel about a woman being, well, um, a badass. (Sorry, I'm still at that Should I use *s to censor bad language? Well...maybe...possibly...erm...stage.) Seriously, though. I'm down with the female ferocity, so long as we still like the protagonist/narrator. Badassness could be anything from radical political action to extreme travel to comfy NYC living with excellent take-no-prisoners dialog. Crime-fighting would be fun, too.
• A book, like A Reliable Wife, with high-brow writing and low-brow plotlines. I know I've said it before, but it's seriously one of the best things I've read in a very long time. It's Jane Eyre meets Jerry Springer. How could you go wrong?
• Period, historical women's fiction with themes relevant to the present. Par example: an 18th-century woman writer making her way in the big city. I have a soft spot for 18th-century lit and the women who wrote it. I mean, it takes serious (here I go again) badass-ness to have written back then--to help shape the creation of the novel--and to be so free with language and impact when so constrained in life, work, and dress.
• A novel about a young woman taking over the world/her high school via the internet.

Hmm. I'm feeling fiction-y and megalomaniacal today. But seriously, the actual wish list is much longer, and tomorrow, I may just be in the mood for a nonfiction work about, say, men, physics, and football.

Okay, probably not football.

More soon!

What *do* interns do, anyway?

As several of you have probably noted from previous posts, I'm a total control freak about my submissions. I also happen to have three and a half (one used to live here but now lives in another state--thank you, internet!) of the smartest interns anyone could ask for. Seriously, these ladies (much of publishing is female-dominated, as is our intern pool) are going places, and I can't wait to see what they end up doing--whether within publishing or somewhere else.

But do I let them reject submissions? Heck no. I don't let them correspond with the authors at all. If they tell me something they want me to say, sure, I'll note it. But direct correspondence? No no no. And yes, it does slow down the process a little. But I do think it's worth it.

Before you think I'm a huge jerk, consider the opposing alternative.

When I was a young intern at a smallish publishing house, I was charged, one day, with reading an unsolicited submission.

"Well, what'd you think of it?" the editorial assistant asked. He was wearing, I remember, a collar/choker necklace with spikes. He also had a shaved head. I'd describe him as somewhat punk rock, but 1) he wore really expensive jeans, shoes, and the most sophisticated black t-shirt I'd ever seen, and 2) his personality simply didn't match his appearance--I would have guessed that his apartment contained a beige sofa, beige walls, a beige lamp, beige table, and beige cat.

"Well..." I said, being new and not sure how much snarkiness was appropriate--sometimes it's rewarded in interns (it makes them seem like they fit in, if done correctly); sometimes it comes off as, well, prétentieuse. "It seems to have a one to one ratio of pages to explosions. And I don't think anyone who would like that sort of subject matter would also like reading."

He picked up the phone. A few punched numbers later and, "Hi, so, yeah. [Title.] I don't think the audience is large enough. Yeah. Thanks. You too. Bye."

I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you. Had I proven myself smarter than the average intern before this encounter? Well, I'd hope so. But really? Those two sentences from me were enough for him to call up the agent without even reading it?

But while this is an extreme case, it's apparently not impossible.

Keep in mind, though, that this was at a publishing house--which is much less receptive to submissions. They're busy, and that's why they have relationships with agents--each agent is sort of a name brand for a line of products, and they're not about to try store brand unless something looks exquisite. I'm pretty sure they knew the agent who sent it, and hadn't liked the last few projects he or she had sent, so they were pretty sure it was a goner. But still.

This was also the sort of internship where I'd be charged with intellectually stimulating, soul-expanding projects like xeroxing every single page of a book. So, again, before you think me evil to my interns, know that they're given unlimited tea and coffee and often artisanal chocolate, and spend much of their time reading.

It's valuable to have second, smart opinions. If they've read something before I do, though, I don't look at their notes first. This would be like looking at something of ambiguous color and having someone tell you that they think it's green. Suddenly it's everything from lime to kelly to emerald. No. Very bad. But if I've read something and have misgivings about a certain element of a manuscript, and see that someone else found the same problems--I know I haven't just made it up. All agents do this. We know it's a subjective business, and we try to minimize that subjectivity.

Are other agencies different? I'm sure. Everyone who works at this one is very, very lucky.

But if you have the idea that your proposal gets ten seconds of a gum-smacking, bored 20-year-old's attention--that's not how it works. It's tempting, I'm sure, to think so--and frustrating when you get a response that doesn't articulate the process, the why, the how. But no. That's not it, here or any agency, at all.

Here, kitty, kitty...

A tasty Twitter treat.

A confession: I do have a Twitter account. Got it months ago to watch what all these crazy kids were doing. My one-and-only tweet? A link to "Let Them Eat Tweets."And I spam-blocked all those "guess who is following you on Twitter?!" emails. Hated those things.

CTRL-Z!

Liked the Blue Screen of Death tee? Then you'll love the CTRL-Z shirt:


Because really, who doesn't like a little "Undo" in their lives? You wouldn't believe how many times Gmail's Undo Send button has saved me.

(It's also, of course, a test: if I hit Send and don't feel immediate panic and dread, does that mean it's a good idea to send that irate note about poor customer service/that rejection/that "I'm afraid you're just not a good match for me like, you know, as a human being" email? Well, maybe. And probable TMI: Have I thought about borrowing agency phrases in dating correspondence? You betcha.)

A well-known literary-business blogger joined Twitter about 24 hours ago. And what happens? His computer dies.

Not that I wish ill on anyone's computer, of course, but Twitter-faith? Decreasing as we speak.

To lighten the mood, I've added a Blue Screen of Death shirt, below. Apparently there's a whole computer-themed series of shirts like these from ErrorWare.com.

I want to live here.

A bookstore in Camden, Maine. You can probably tell just by looking, but the whole place reeks of book, in the very best way possible. "What's that, you say? Well, it would seem to be a 1960s vintage, with notes of yellow paper and faded ink."

Click for a larger version.

Great Weather for the Breaking of Hearts

In a sort of destructive (I can't see the table! Oh my goodness, where is the bottom of the paper?!) panic, I've gone through and rejected every unsolicited, I-read-it-but-it-was-still-sitting-there manuscript in the office. Two feet of paper submissions: gone. Inbox: not empty, but (yes!) under 200 again. Hearts broken: more than twenty in the last hour. And it's not even lunchtime yet...

It's very nearly gifting season. And, really, what joy tops that of finding the perfect clever present for a literary friend? (Excepting, of course, I don't know, getting an agent who adores your book and sells it for enough to save/take over the world?)

I'll be throwing out suggestions of gifts that use words cleverly--books, too, of course--throughout the holiday season. (And frankly, for me, part of the joy of it all is having an enormous holiday card list. I'm already making it, checking it thrice--it's the one excuse for sending real mail--to anyone you know and like! I mean, come on--how can you not love it?)

First of all, if you don't know about these already, I very highly recommend UrbanDictionary.com's mugs. Any of their definitions you want--on a mug! Last night, for example, one of those "someone who has everything already and is therefore FAR too hard to shop for" people mentioned that she loves the word "snarky."

She's very much not an urban twenty-something, so I found this charming.

Me (thinking to myself): Yes! Snarky on a mug!

Today's endorsement: the Meh flask.

At Slice's Literary Family Feud, one question was, "What's something likely to be found in an editor's trash can?" One panelist immediately buzzed in. "Vodka!"

But wouldn't a "Meh" flask be that much cooler?

I'm not one to drink from a flask--I'd probably put, like, RedBull in it--but isn't it neat-looking?

In fact, please consider all products on ThinkGeek.com endorsed.

There was a segment on CNN, I heard last night, while munching (artisanal pastas! With truffle oil!) and sitting under the electric glow of gaudy chandeliers at Chez Josephine. The live piano played, and my carb-induced happiness and I were at peace with the world.

Apparently a CNN-broadcasted couple--the typical modern, overscheduled family--decided that from 5pm on Friday to 5pm Sunday, they and their children would turn off the television, turn off the cell phones and computers, and spend time with each other. Yes, this meant the kids had to give up some activities; it also meant email would have to wait until the week.

And suddenly--they felt like a real family again. The kids were reading--willingly. The weekends were no longer a series of errands, their calendars marathons of activities.

Yes: there's something to be said about the stress-reducing properties of turning off that which is electric in our lives.

After a quick glance at the ever-growing e-manuscript submissions (nearing 200), I'm thinking that it's about time for a relative vacation--only paper submissions today. (After all, there are enough of them--pile has grown to more than two feet.) There's something about touching paper, turning pages, that is so much less stress-inducing than scrolling, highlighting, editing. Of course I must keep the email on, must be accessible should an editor, or agent friend, or author need me.

But for now, tea and I, manuscripts and I, are peaceful. The city has grown yellow with leaves, and though Law & Order is scheduled to film here, the streets are relatively quiet below.

I'm almost ready with the data for the "how many pages read" chart--it's important, when creating such statistics, to have a large sample pool.

Hope everyone had a lovely Halloween. I went as Sylvia Plath and distributed baked goods.

I was worried, of course, about offending. But given that many Manhattanites use their ovens for storage and their fridges as near-empty condiment-coolers, this went over well.

A Theory-Slash-Rant on Why YA is Doing SO Well

One of the things agents do, just before sending out a manuscript, and just after asking publishing friends for editor recommendations, is go on Publishers Marketplace and see what's selling in the genre--and who's buying.

So, in perusing what's sold in Young Adult recently, I was so happy, so overwhelmed, and so hopeful. Not just hopeful for books, but for Young Adult books, and for the next generation--as readers and as humans.

First of all, one of the things I love about the genre is that there aren't rules. I hate rules. I was always that kid who'd stand up in class and demand to know why--never satisfied with because I said so.

(Of course there are some guidelines, but they're mostly rules of appropriateness. But we all know that clever euphemisms can convey the same thing just as well. If the kids understand what's behind the subtle language, we figure, well...then they're probably mature enough to read about it in a book where it is--we can only assume--responsibly portrayed.)

Adult fiction means fiction that's subject to adult logic. Since younger readers haven't yet categorized the whole world into "possible" versus "impossible," so much more can happen in these works. It's a great freedom--and means that the works themselves often do more with our imaginations.

In other words: I heart YA. (Yes. "Heart" is a perfectly acceptable verb.)

Publishers Marketplace will probably find and kill me if I list everything that I found on their site, all of the listings of amazingness purchased in YA book form.

That said, here are a few summaries (with identifying details omitted):

• A young psychic's return to her hometown where her premonitions become increasingly dangerous as she learns the truth about the mother she never knew -- and finds love for the first time.
• [Author]'s debut novel, [Title], set in a future where the dominant social network, [Network], knows you better than you know yourself, and two teens learn that they're pawns in the sinister [Network] 3.0 upgrade, poised to unite Friends across both space and time.
• A mature YA novel based on the personalities and careers of Keats, Byron and the Shelleys, transposed into the present as teenagers attending high school in [Town], Ohio
• A young teen juggling first love, a cake-decorating business, her dad's reality TV show, and a search for her missing mother.
• A teen girl who, in evading a murderer, discovers that she and her classmates are very dangerous thanks to genetic engineering.

YA has always, in my estimation, been rather high in Vitamin Awesome.

That said, why is this genre suddenly doing so well?

It's easy to give the standard, two-syllable response: Twilight!

Yeah, well, I don't buy it. (And no, I didn't buy the book. It was forced on me by my cousin just before a long bus ride from DC back home. Somewhere around New Jersey, I finished the book and started to feel ill.) Yes, I'm a contrarian; yes, I prefer books with oh, I don't know, good sentences.

I don't think that it's Twilight itself--I think the world was ready for a Twilight-like work--dark YA that captures the imagination. It was a niche waiting to be filled, and nature, as we know, abhors a (blood-sucking) vacuum.

Why was the world so ready?

Well, let's think about this: American education has come to rely on fill-in-the-bubble tests, preparation for fill-in-the-bubble tests, memorization, and questions with answers that are always objectively right or objectively wrong. Teachers are frustrated--they want to teach that which is real--I know this, because I know many. In some parts of the country, a fifth of the year is devoted to #2 pencils and a world limited to A, B, C, or D.

Is it any wonder kids are craving something that exists in the imaginative, creative, impossible, unrealistic, impractical, magical, emotional, nuanced, and so very human world of this kind of fiction?

Imagine receiving the message every weekday that all there is to learn about the world can be categorized into "correct" or "incorrect" by an unseen authority of government-regulated "academia" on high. Why? Because they said so.

Now imagine you've suddenly reached a stage in your life when everything seems a shade of uncategorizable (though not graphite) gray.

What, then, are these works? Downright life-affirming. Proof that there is something beyond the quantifiable. Proof that there is more to being human, an imaginative being, than that which your parents, teachers, principal, tutors, the SAT corporation--say is possible.

And, frankly--the fact that teenagers are making more reading homework for themselves to seek out that which is human?

Gives me plenty of hope for the next generation. Take that, collegeboard.com!

Agent Superstition

I just sent out a novel that I'm terribly excited about.

But do we agents get superstitious in such moments? Of course we do.

"Hi, it's your agent," I say as soon as the writer picks up. "So, your work is out. Now would be the time to light candles, incense, pray"--and I add the last part because it's YA--"cast spells...whatever works, now is the time."

Am knocking on a forest.

SEAK totally spoiled us. In addition to business-class trains, limo service, and tons of free time, my hotel room had this balcony:

I don't know why, but this strikes me as amusing. I only saw a few golfers. But did I want to go out and thoroughly annoy anyone there with my, "YES! I get to hit a ball with a stick really really hard and see where it goes and then drive a golf cart after it! attempts? Yes, yes I did.

Apparently the big companies getting together to decide to charge more for bestsellers is illegal.

Darn.

Looks like we have some lawyers/businesspeople reading the blog. Excellent!

On publicity in the recession

If you haven't read The New Yorker's Shouts & Murmurs piece, you really must.

It's hilarious and, quite unfortunately, not so far from what I've heard from authors recently.

Go Team Gale! Wooot woooooot

For whatever reason, SEAK has an incredibly large number of amusing doctor Texans.

I was at drinks with a group of them the other night, and hunting came up.

Where I grew up, I said, one of my kindergarten friend's dad's had a glass case of guns--something the mothers whispered about as if it were just the most evil thing ever: How could he?! And with kids in the house, too! They also lectured us about how we should know where our food came from. I'm still not entirely sure how the two line up.

We got to talking about a number of things--that humans are 3,000 years "out of the bush"--and simply can't evolve that fast; that most of us no longer think ourselves animals, and that we're so disconnected from where our food comes from. Give a kid a plastic-wrapped piece of pre-cleaned meat and--really? You expect them to make that imaginative leap?

Then I brought up, of course, The Hunger Games. You know how when you have a crush on someone you think of any excuse to mention them? Well, THG has gotten that treatment from me. What, trees? You know where else there were trees? In The Hunger Games!

An author recently asked me if I was on "Team Peeta" (ie, rooting for romance with Peeta) or "Team Gale."

Gale is the protagonist's hunting buddy before she's called away to try to kill all of the other children summoned for the reality show. He's strong, thoughtful, smart, and hardcore. Best of all, he knows how to survive.

Peeta...well, he offers sensitivity. That's about it.

So, yes, I'm solidly Team Gale.

Would you ever hunt? the Texans asked me. I thought about it. I'm a good, dutiful vegetarian--but I also live a Greenmarket-ed, Trader Joe's-populated, all-food-available-at-all-hours, spoiled NYC existence. Were I in District 12...

"I'm great with a crossbow," I said. "Years of Renfaire."

And for all you Chicken Littles out there...

...digital books are only 1.5 percent of book sales, according to Michael Palmer.

Will it increase? Over time, of course. Will Amazon do everything they can to make it seem like they're more? You betcha.

On age, and the offering of it

I'm having to take breaks from the queries--read 100--read some women's fiction--play with the office milk foamer--read another 50...

To be evil for a moment, I'm actually a little unbemused (un- definition 3) because so many of the queries are so good--and it's making for very tough decisions. There's simply no way I can read all of the manuscripts that go with all my inbox's queries. I'm already overloaded. But I can't just not request more--and risk losing something amazing.

One odd pattern I'm noticing today is that there are several (!) queries from young women who have me thinking they're professional writers--in that their writing is very good--until, just before signing their names, they say something like, "Just like my characters, I am an average American teenager."

Me: "Whaaaaaaaaa?"

So I'm having a debate with myself at the moment. Is it a good idea to broadcast one's age when it is not the submissions norm?

First of all, I belong to the camp (at least for my own work) that I don't think people are generally good novelists before they're 30. I'm speaking in general terms here. Of course there are exceptions, and very, very successful ones at that.

But the Ancient Greeks (and some today, when asked to think about it) thought of one as a "youth" until this age. How would someone who is not fully formed write a fully-formed novel?

I assume most of the queries I receive are from those between the ages of, say, 28 and 65.

Out of respect, I don't want to treat these young authors any differently--no matter how much I sometimes want to gush, "You are amazing! Go you! Achieve your dreams! Stay in school! Your query sounds like that of a real author!"

Then again--evil, steamrollered soul moment--I lost a bit of faith in the novels' goodness when I read the age of these writers. I requested, nonetheless--but a little bit of faith lost.

But, truth be told, I'm requesting so much that it's possible I'll forget--and forget to check--which submission belongs to the young authors.

In fact, I fully plan to not look it up. As a matter of fairness, impartiality.

As much as I think YA written by a young adult could take the world by storm...the odds of that are just so small.

So, again, split.

I'd say that it might be best to wait for an agent to read your partial/full and then disclose such information. They'll go in thinking someone of more experience wrote it--and then, if they like your first few pages, will be blown away and so much more attached to your work, knowing its source.

But again, might. I'm still not sure.

Pride and E-Readers and Zombies

If you aren't, like me, already obsessed with the idea (and it's perplexing, really--isn't this just one more corporate giant trying to change the reading process? Why does it seem so much less evil? Because it's late in the game and thus sort of an underdog?), read all about Barnes & Noble's e-reader, the Nook.

First of all, unlike the Kindle, the name doesn't bring to mind the setting of fire--thus implying books will be on fire when we declare them obsolete. (Grrr, Bezos. Grrr.)

Instead, I find "Nook" cute: it makes one think of windowseats instead of book burnings.

Second, you can lend books--even if just once, even if only for 14 days and you can't read it while it's out.

Third, and perhaps best of all--when you go into a B&N store, you can read ANYTHING B&N has--for free! No fighting with meanies (I mean the NYC employees, not the customers) in the most popular sections--find the most comfy spot and plunk yourself right down. No getting up when you want something new to read and having to fight for bookstore seating territory.

It also has a full-color touch screen on bottom, and a good reading surface (similar to Kindle's e-ink) on top.

I mean, so far, the only choice I don't like is what they've displayed as promotional material:

The group most likely to purchase one of these, methinks, would very much prefer,

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

That, and I think it a bit arrogant to choose The Tipping Point as the free e-book you get as a promotion. As if you'll see kids using the Nook and therefore it'll take over and catch on like all of the other trends Gladwell mentions.

I guess we've yet to see if it's Orwellian like the Kindle.

And what they'll offer in terms of annotation. I'd like this better if there were a special little pen for writing on the screen.

That said, so far, I'm very pleased.

Reading Update II

This book is not just miss-your-stop good--it's Cancel plans with your friends to stay home and read it good. (Which I didn't do, but just realized that I would.)

This from a reader whose soul should, by now, be steamrollered.

What's next? Miss your kid's ballet recital good? Cancel on your mother's birthday dinner good? ("Good" suggestions welcome.)

Well, we'll see...

Reading Update

So, just as my train went over The Manhattan Bridge, I finished the last page of section one of The Hunger Games--I've been reading slowly to savor every image--the televised interview with all of the tributes and Peeta's declaration. I had to bite my lip to keep from squealing on the train.

Eeeeeeeeeee!

It's so good.

For anyone looking for good YA...

I picked this up today and am loving it.

It's seriously miss-your-[subway-]stop good.

And yes--irony of ironies, I know--there is a Google preview. Look for it just below the book cover.

Just read the article my roommate was reading. It says in the first paragraph that a court settlement could "grant a practical monopoly on recorded human knowledge to global Internet search giant Google."

_____ you! I exclaimed.

But, being the polite agent that I am, I don't use such words.

Really, though. Please. Chill out, print media. What's next? "Tommy Smith of Des Moines, IA, dropped a book in a puddle today. It's the end of publishing as we know it!"?

On Squirrels, Google, Elmo, and The End of Publishing As We Know It

I came home to find my roommate terrified--not because of swine flu, not because of the current healthcare debates (I'm truly frustrated--may just take a news vacation), and not even because of the squirrel that's been scratching at our kitchen window. (Really, it's terrifying: once, at our last place, we left the window open and I came home to find a squirrel on top of our refrigerator, halfway into a box of cereal. I went into survival mode and started lobbing tostada shells at it. It smartly jumped out the window. Nevermore! We now have super screens. I tell you--the hazards of living on tree-lined streets! )

My roommate was worried, having read, and believed (it was by Amy Goodman, after all), an article that stated that Google's tampering with copyright could be the end of publishing as we know it.

Frankly, I think the print news media is taking advantage of an easily manipulated prejudice of their audience: if you're reading their publication, you like reading and, therefore, probably like books.

This is like placing an article in Fine Cooking that says foie gras--or, far more apocalyptic in my opinion, soft-ripened cheeses--will never be available ever again. Or like writing in Lacrosse Magazine that the government is considering banning lacrosse sticks (dangerous items as they are).

In any case--through fear, it gets attention--and thus readership.

But I'm really not pleased. (Imagine that several steps ruder: that's what I'm really thinking.)

I can't help but liken it to the news treatment of, oh, I don't know--Homeland Security threat levels a few years ago. (I loved those interviews with small-town women--remember, I'm from a small town, so I can make fun--who'd say, "Well, I'm really worried that they might try to knock down our silo...")

Let me say this: no one I know in the industry is worried that Google's breaking of copyright laws will singlehandedly end publishing as we know it. It's stupidity, and perhaps megalomania, on the part of a small fraction of an otherwise great company. Rather, we're annoyed that they're sending us stacks of envelopes that we (or our interns) have to stamp and re-address to send to our authors, so that they can receive information on their settlement checks. I mean, you're GOOGLE! Can't you send emails??

I think it's about time someone made good fun of the "this is the end of publishing as we know it" sentiment that seems to echo with annoying frequency throughout the news.

Remember Threat Level Elmo? He'd change colors (and Sesame characters) depending on how endangered we supposedly were.

Someone, please invent an amusing "It's the end of publishing!" threat level system.

In similar news, check out this Elmo Gone Evil, below.

And no, I didn't think the article in question was worth a link in this post. You wanna read it that badly? Google it!

SEAKing H1N1

I seem to have the worst travel luck: healthy as your proverbial, talking horse most of the year, then somehow of weakened immunity just before conferences.

At the last conference, I literally had to step down off the Agent Panel platform and leave the room to gulp water as an anti-cough measure. And I used so much Children's (it tastes better) Robitussin, it stained the inside of my purse pink. Awesome.

Now I'm prepping to go to SEAK, a conference for medical personnel who wish to write medical fiction.

Can you imagine?

Here's me: "And here's a pie chart of why I reject queries--*cough* *cough*"

Them: "H1N1!"

I picture a stampede of doctors, white coats, stethoscopes and vaccines produced the way stage techies whip out Leathermans and teenagers, texting phones. I'd probably be sent off the island (er, conference center) or, at the very least, given an uber-attractive Bird Flu-era mask. (Can I put lipstick on that?)

So, today (I tend to accumulate beverages; at my last job, I was known to end up with five cups at my desk), beverage count: water, green tea, coffee (as you can see from below, I have to be superwoman today), and Emergen-C, Super Orange.

Gulp.

Numbers upon returning from calm, pretty Maine:

E-Queries: 138, plus about 100 I dealt with while on vacay

E-Manuscripts: 127

Paper queries: 26

Stack of paper manuscripts left on my desk by my interns: around 14.5 inches tall

Manuscripts by authors who have other offers and need an answer today if not sooner: 3

Writers I put on my calendar to get back to and haven't yet: 12

Wish me luck!

What We Talk About When We Talk About Publishing Parties

I was terrified at first. The prospect of walking alone into a room of strangers--let alone publishing strangers, whose opinion of you can determine a part of your future as an agent--is, shall we say, not the sort of thing to inspire calm, contented dreams of sugarplums. (Maybe dreams of plum wine, but sugarplums--no.)

I was very young at the first party--invited by a friend of a girl I'd met once--and didn't know when she'd arrive. As I made my way up the rickety elevator of a three-story, tall and skinny, probably 200-year-old pub, I started to panic. I wasn't on the list! Would they let me in? Would they take one look at my short twenties self and dismiss me in favor of "real" agents? Would they ask questions like, "So, what have you sold for a million dollars lately"? Would I make horrible grammatical errors in my speech--confuse the "was" and "were" subjunctive, say--and then the room would grind to a horrified silence, and drink and I would be escorted out (perhaps picked up by the seat of my business casual non-fancy pants, and thrown through the windows--before or after opening them)?

I've always been bad at walking in heels, particularly tall ones, particularly tall ones when I'm scared. I wobbled to the obligatory sign-in desk--every party has one, where sticky name tags are distributed. (I'm still not sure how one applies these things to shiny fabrics gracefully, or removes them without tearing off half the shirt, in fuzz, in the process.)

The women at the desk were my age--good! It was dark; I couldn't see much, but I was pretty sure they weren't wearing designer clothing. They added me to the mailing list, smiled, welcomed, handed me a blank name tag, marker, and a drink coupon.

And then I had my first experience of what would be my calming, saving grace throughout my years of publishing parties: an editor came up, introduced herself, and the proverbial overhead compact florescent went on: We are here to get along, feel each other out, get a sense of what the other would like to read. There's a high enough likelihood of our working together in the future that they have to be nice. And if their bosses get wind of their having alienated an agent, it would not be good.

Within minutes, we discovered our commonalities: we both live in Brooklyn, love the local Superhero Supply Shop, and think the best solution to NYC dating would be a modern Lysistrata.

"Let me introduce you to some people," she said. She took me to a group of young women--all, like me, short brunettes with glasses, geeky humor, and a fondness for YA. Success! I felt, immediately, like I had new friends.

Then: "You said you have adult nonfiction? Here, let me introduce you..."

And so I was plunked in line to speak with the one young, adult nonfiction editor in attendance. After a few moments we realized that we have a friend (by then in Colorado) in common, live in the same Brooklyn neighborhood (and have strong feelings about the R train), and have a similarly dark sense of humor.

It just so happened that we had a humor book that was about to go out. I told him the title--it's one of those brilliant titles you bring into an ed board meeting and could quite possibly get cheers--okay, grins, at least--and he said, "I'd love to read it. Send it on over."

A few weeks later, he bought it.

And thus the purpose of publishing parties. Houses will (less so now, but before this economic slump, quite often) throw parties and tell their editors to invite the agents they know. This way, should the stars align and the agents have something they're about to send out that's a good fit for someone in the building, that editor--having forged a personal connection--has a better chance of getting the book, if they want it. Because it's not just about money. It's about our finding the editor who really gets your work.

Kind of like how you want an agent who gets your work, and can take your vision and run with it.

Anyway, it's not always so dreamy, though my stress with regard to these parties has decreased significantly.

And after each one, my boss always asks for two reports: a general "who you met" report, and a cheese report.

Because, really, who can throw a good party without cheese? (Admittedly, this started when my boss asked me about a book party, and the first thing I said was, The cheese was FANTASTIC!)

Last week, I was worried about a party at a house I hadn't visited before--a smaller house that focuses on visual (coffee table, etc.) books. Sure that this meant they had gorgeous, designer-clad editors and that, therefore, I had to look, well, awesome, I stressed for an hour that morning about what to wear. I promptly spilled hair product on the dry-clean-only shirt I'd finally settled on. (At that point, I texted my boss, Fashion emergency! Be there soon!)

We (my boss, intern/assistant and I) arrive, and everyone, though certainly pleasant-looking, is also friendly-looking, warm, and kind.

There's also an excellent selection of soft ripened cheeses.

Soon I fall into chatting with an editor who tells me that she just did a book on beer, and that her boyfriend brews his own in their apartment--and even grows hops for this purpose. Wow!

It's not always like this. I went to a party once, where every editor in the room had good reason to be unhappy. It was just after the recession really hit, but it was clear the food had been ordered before--tons of shrimp, and similarly expensive edibles. (And, yes, cheese.)

There were also--not sure who came up with this; it's not like offices made of that gray, push-pin-able cube material will look romantic in such light--probably about thirty candles with large, exposed flames. All of the women were tall, model-esque, and chilly. They wore diamonds, designer clothing, and--I'm pretty sure--had all attended Ivys and Seven Sisters--and could out-Math and out-SAT anyone at the other parties I'd attended. (The truly book-minded, I've discovered, are often lacking in the fill-in-the-bubble skills. I like to think our worldview is too nuanced, too multifaceted, for multiple choice.)

In other words, these were the sort of people who make me fall into conversations like:

Them: Where are you from?
Me: (Knowing they're from Connecticut, Cape Cod, Boston, Newton, or somewhere expensive in New England)
Me: (Knowing the more accurate answer of, "From a small town in California with sheep across from my high school" is not especially glamorous)
Me: (Not lying, but): I'm from Sonoma County--wine country.

I got pulled into a circle of people discussing authors. "Uggh, if I have to hear from one more author today...!" one threatened. "KNEW I should have gone to law school."

Yes, I thought. Please go to law school and open up your job for one of the thousands of people who'd love it.

(I should note that this is rare. The VAST majority of people in publishing love their jobs.)

And then the absurdities started.

I guess it makes sense when you have a lot of literary (even if unhappily so) people crammed into a small space with a lot of fire.

A lit candle fell on an editor's head and dripped wax down his shirt. A girl's napkin caught fire. A girl somehow "accidentally" got wine in another girl's eyes. A huge wine glass shattered. A girl's hair caught fire. And an editor made the same exact speech three times--down to the "um"s and "ah"s--all while pretending she was making it up on the spot.

Needless to say, I did not sell any books that night.

I've more or less come to the conclusion that those I get along with--those with whom I have an instant rapport--are those most likely to get the books I get, appreciate them, and want them.

In any case. I'm writing this from a coffeeshop in downtown Bar Harbor, one that looks remarkably like M. Rohr's on the Upper East Side--with the addition of old-wood rocking chairs and granny square blankets. And I'm freezing.

Until next time!

Having broken all of her rules at once, our heroine...

Today was the deadline for story ideas for our foodie digest. Everyone just CC’d everyone, and so I sent off my own little version this afternoon.

You know how it’s so easy to describe other peoples’ work, but so difficult to describe your own--never mind the temptation to include disclaimers? (My mother’s writing group actually got to the point where they made a big wooden sign that says “Disclaimer,” so as to save time and “my cat ate my mouse” stories.)

So I sent descriptions of my two stories to everyone else in the foodie digest thingy today—one a fifteen-pager I really rather like—it’s complicated, though; one a three-pager I wrote in about half an hour. It’s gimmicky; it’s silly, it’s the sort of thing one writes to amuse oneself, but not others.

One guy writes back to say he likes the three-pager better (of course) because the first one “sounds like it doesn’t have any conflict.”

And what do I do? I break all my rules—at once.

@[my friend]: Of course there’s conflict! I write back—immediately, on my smart phone. (Yes, I caved. I am a wired sheep.) This happens, and then this happens, and then…oh no! [Conflict!!!] Whatever will she do?!?

Haven’t heard back. Sigh.

Writing tip of the day--er, week--er...

So there's a little three-season porch here, with windows, couches, green carpet, electric lamps--and more sunlight than I know what to do with. (Were it still summer, I could tan out there.)

It's become my impromptu office as the deadline for my first piece for the foodie fiction zine approaches.

And I've discovered the best method yet of motivating myself to write the darn thing: No email until it's done.

Blogging is a gray area of cheating.

But I'm ten pages into the story (it has to be shorter, but I always write long and cut) and it seems not entirely terrible.

When I return, I'll get to work on that new pie (actually line) chart, write a bit about what in the world agents do when they send out your work, and chat about the social elements of the business--a substantial part of what we do.

In the meantime, leaves:

Yes. It's ridiculously pretty here.

I was reading the website for a "new style of literary agency" a few months ago--and one of the FAQs was, "Where's your office?"

"Sometimes we feel like we do most of our work in airline terminals," the site administrator wrote.

"Huh!" I thought. "Interesting!" (As if my job couldn't get any better--the idea of doing it from anywhere!)

Since then, we've made much of our submissions process electronic--and, therefore, portable.

I'm sitting at JFK, waiting for a flight to Maine (and praying for a flight experience somewhat better than Janet Reid's): the family's meeting me there for a week of photography, food, and (yes) leaf-peeping. It would appear that we've timed everything just right: the red leaves have just begun.

And what am I doing? Not reading my sizable pile of books (Banana Rose, Fat Kid Rules the World, The Romantics, The Hunger Games, My Life in France): reading manuscripts, answering author emails, and feeling generally very productive.

Add in a latte (oh wait! I can have one delivered--thanks, JetBlue!) and I might as well be in the office.

Twitter, sabertooths, and Martha

Seriously, woman... how are you not twittering these things????

http://twitter.com

come on sign up...

*

I am a proud Twitter Luddite.

Anything that makes Martha Stewart (not my favorite human being in the world, but she's usually known for, I don't know--elegance? Refinement?) sound, frankly, cavemanish...is not going to please me.

I'm not saying that I think everyone should forsake their dear, sweet Twitter. (I love how everyone always rushes to its defense.) Some of you have written in to say that you wouldn't have found this blog without it--so, of course, I'm duly appreciative. I'm just saying that it's not something I'm likely to do anytime soon.

Regina Spektor

If you like Regina Spektor, she was just on the Barnes and Nobles Upstairs at the Square 8/18/09 podcast episode with Kurt Anderson. It was cool.

I was there! I got to Union Square's B&N (not my favorite place in the world: I've been yelled at there for--get this--reading in their bookstore) at around 5; there were already hundreds of fans. By the time the show started, my nose was--count them--six inches from the guy in front of me's back. Ew. Music fan sardines.

I literally got a mosquito bite in the store. That's how gross it was in there. Thank you, summer-in-NYC.

But it was worth it. If you listen to the podcast, you'll probably hear someone yell for more Regina in the middle of Kurt Anderson talking. The overenthused fan was about four people in front of me. Good times, good times.

You can listen to most of Regina's new album for free here.

Tea

I busted out the tea that arrived yesterday. (And we reached a perfect compromise: it's to be tea for the office and our writer guests.)

Vanilla Earl Gray with flower petals: O. M. G.

I should note...

...that most everything about that day (it was last Thursday, actually) was typical except for the number of manuscripts read. There were many (more than usual) works that I wanted to read--and keep reading--and keep reading...mostly because they were novels and I wanted to find out what would happen. I can read fiction more quickly than nonfiction--one can enjoy the story as would a bookstore reader, rather than evaluate each proposal sentence.

I also didn't have a lot in the way of the putting out of fires that day, so there was more time for tea and manuscripts.

I'd say a day of reading is usually between 70 or 100 pages (if I'm busy) and 350.

But I also have the awesomest boss ever, and a situation that lets me read more than the average agent.

I won't point out that with 138 manuscripts in your inbox, 9 in hardcopy and average stopping place of page 28.5, you have 4189.5 pages to read before you can clean out your requests. Yikes! You are much braver to face those numbers than I could ever be.

Happily, 1) I read very, very quickly, and 2) much of the reading is quite pleasant. After all, I chose it.

Also, at 28.5 pages average (higher than usual) and 12 manuscripts a day, that's still just 342 pages--a very doable amount.

I figure that if I read and request approximately the same number of manuscripts each day, at least I won't fall behind--I'll have the same amount hanging over my head daily.

And I don't aspire to completely clearing out my inbox. As long as I get back to everyone within our two-month (less than many agents'!) time frame, I think everything's all right.

But now that you put it this way (thanks!) :) ...yes, I suppose, yikes.

Whoa. Awkward.

So I found an unopened box at the office today: around ten inches by fourteen by six, ten pounds or so--and dated about two weeks ago. Huh.

I worry, first, that it's a manuscript--a 600-page, unsolicited manuscript.

Then I hope that it's a present--who doesn't love real mail?

It's neither: it's a present from an author, an author I've emailed once--which isn't really a present. The note says that she hopes I will enjoy it while reading her work. Inside the box--a shiny, copper box--is some of the most gorgeous organic tea. A tea catalog. A selection of tea storage devices. And a "perfect tea maker."

The beauty of it, the obvious expense of it--and the fact that I haven't seen the box until today and haven't said thank you yet--delivers a series of uncomfortable emotions: no matter what I write now, it'll be a rudely belated, ungrateful-seeming thank you. I can't really say, Hi, thank you, this is beautiful (all the while thinking she broke our submissions guidelines). I can't say, Wow, excellent, I'll keep this in mind while reading your work because that implies bribery.

I can't toss it because it's beautiful--and that's wasteful. But I can't really drink it, either, without feeling guilty. Regifting? Maybe. Also guilt-inspiring. Maybe I'll give it to the interns.

And, worse--I realized with a start after opening the box--since it was sitting unopened for so long, what if I'd already rejected her work, never mentioning the tea? (I hadn't. Thank goodness.)

If authors are trainable creatures, thanking her excitedly, as I would if a friend or relative or anyone else had sent the box--well, this is positive feedback for poor behavior.

Finally, seeing that my boss had just brought a milk foamer for the office, I grumbled, "Screw her tea. I'm having coffee."

Typical Day

Caffeine: 1 gorgeous homemade latte + cinnamon

Commute: 37 minutes

Podcast: Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter on WNYC

Books: Nick Hornby's How to be Good and Zel by Donna Jo Napoli

Rating: Hornby: sentences: 8/10, drawing of relationship: 9/10, ability to make me want to read more about these incredibly unhappy, incredibly well-drawn characters: 5/10. Napoli: 11 out of 10, just because I've loved this work since I first read it as a teenager. Proof that publishing does not steamroller everyone's soul.

Walk from subway to work: Regina Spektor, "Fidelity" and "Blue Lips"

While thinking of: This Is Your Brain on Music

Caffeine: 1 tea, English Breakfast

Queries: 63

Queries requested: 14

Manuscripts in inbox: 138

Hard copy manuscripts in office: 9

Manuscripts my calendar says I must get to today: 7

Call from rude author: 1

Emails from rude author (another): 2. Wants to know 1) "When [he] can expect to hear [I] love it," 2) if we can have a phone meeting "before this goes any further," and 3) WHY he must send sample chapters (like everyone else) and what, specifically, I think is lacking in his proposal that I'd want to see sample chapters (again: like everyone else).

Manuscripts reviewed: 12.

Average pages (for this day) before deciding they're not right: 28.5 (Note: there were several good manuscripts, which means that the number of them reviewed is lower than usual.)

Emails sent with bullet-pointed lists of suggestions for author: 2

Caffeine: 1 tea, green-ginger; handful of chocolate-covered espresso beans.

Literary events added to calendar: 2. Slice Magazine's Literary Family Feud (publishing houses sending reps to compete against other houses in a trivia show with "all the craft beer one can politely drink"), Reboot's "People of the Book: Are We Born to Wander?" event with A.J. Jacobs

Favors for friends in the business: 2 (pitch edited, editor suggested)

Errands: 2.5--library books, Trader Joe's/TJ's wine store

Check-out lines that wrap around the perimeter of the store: 1

Fistfights over last package of organic, free-range spinach: 0, though they seemed imminent

Bags' weight: Approx. 30 pounds. Who needs the gym?

Collisions with other commuters: 3

Angry looks: 1

Evil sentence composed but not uttered: 1

Podcast: 1. KQED: The Writer's Block. Suzanne Finnamore reading from her darkly comic memoir, Split.

Book I plan to buy because of podcast: 1

Magazines perused: New York Magazine, Time Out New York

Magazines that, I realize, could be read on Kindle instead of crumpled in my bag next to melting chocolate-covered espresso beans: 2

Work emails replied to from home: 4

Manuscripts from the day's reading that stayed with me through the day: 2

Well-earned television: 1 episode of Glee. I heart you, Hulu.

Soul, steamrollered

"Publishing steamrollers your soul," warned the friend who got me into the industry. "You can't help it. It just happens."

She no longer works in publishing--she's taken up the life of a writer. But this not-quite-warning--rather, this prediction and its supposed inevitability--stayed with me. How could written works--which, I feel, make me more human--become, when taken in unedited excess, something that make me less so?

I decided to do an experiment--to find, and re-read, the YA I remember loving--books I've kept through several moves but haven't opened in ten years. The words are the same. Since my first reading of them, how have I, as a reader, changed?

I wanted to know: if they were submissions--would I reject them? Would I see their exuberant paragraphs, the sentences that once led me to imagine towers and flying ships and great plagues and bayous and coal miners and underground labyrinths and dusty planets and robots and open air markets and castles--and merely say, "I don't like that comma there"? Would I sniff? Would I think them cheesy, melodramatic, and everything stereotypically teenage?

Books will be added as I find them.

Notes on a few:

Zel, by Donna Jo Napoli: I loved this book, and read it at least five times before I was 20. It's a retelling of Rapunzel, but it's really about mother-daughter relationships, magic, and obsession. The descriptions of the world are wonderful--there's an incredibly powerful metaphor throughout (won't spoil it for you), and I so enjoyed the magic: Zel's mother, in this version, has the power to grow and shrink plants/trees at will. Re-read and am impressed with the pacing, the juxtaposition of three viewpoints (Mother, Zel, and the prince), and masterful telling. Grade: A+. Yes, I would take this on.

Pearl in the Mist, by V.C. Andrews: I had this on my shelf and a recent house guest commented on how much she loved this book. She wanted to borrow my copy (complete with its pressed-flower bookmark, from when I first read it), but I requested so many promises of its safekeeping that she decided against it. The plot seems incredibly melodramatic to me now--twins separated in early childhood, one raised in high society, one raised near the bayou. They're reunited at a boarding school where the first twin has decided to get in as much trouble as she possibly can, while the second is (though well-intentioned and good) blamed for everything her sister does. Grade: B+. I wouldn't take it on, but I'd send the author an email telling her what I like and don't like about the story.

Matilda, by Roald Dahl: Genius. Pure genius. The voice is spot-on and just as much fun as the first time I read it. Yes, would absolutely take on. And yes--it's far better than the movie.

Stonewords: A Ghost Story, by Pam Conrad: Unfortunately, I don't have my own copy: this was read to us in school, and we'd sit on the classroom's '70s orange carpeting and listen. Yes, storytime. Yes, cheesy. This book, however, is gorgeously written. You can read the first few pages on Amazon. The writing is sophisticated, and it's the sort of story makes one grin with the pure joy of watching the characters.

Lesson for today: it's the YA works that are multilayered, emotionally sophisticated (often using symbols to express truths teenagers can't yet articulate but intuitively understand), and original in plot and concept that hold the interest even of the cynical (that is, everyone in publishing). All of these are, in their way, as sophisticated as novels for adults--but with an extra helping of imagination.

[On friends asking to read one's work]: My heart skips a beat, I stutter, and then I usually say something like "Oh, yeah. Sure--let me just email that to you." And then I never do.

Yes. Me too. Recently I catsat for a friend's two kitties, and had a sudden idea for a story while watching the cats watch the Roomba. Since I wrote it at his place, naturally, my friend wanted to read it. (Never should have said anything.) It's been about four months, and I pull the darn thing--probably all of ten pages--out of the drawer (well, off my computer desktop) every few weeks to tinker. (Apologies to a writing professor who once said, "We wrestle with our art, the great angel of inspiration. We DO NOT TINKER.") But after thinking about it for four months, there's no way I'm giving this baby to just anyone.

I'm still not quite happy with it. As you can imagine, my day job gives my internal editor quite the workout. I hate coming home to my own work and seeing that it shares problems with manuscripts I've rejected that day.

I think I did literally say, "Oh yes. Sure. I'll e-mail it on over! Yay." He asked about the missing story the next time I saw him. "Oh! Yeah. Sorry. Forgot. Oops!"

But then there's the other side of it. You can't exactly Google your missing pieces. However, it's slightly awkward to say, "I need an idea for an amusing invention that would be especially useful to a woman who also inspired the Roomba. And oh, um, she's dead, and watching over her husband, and wants to make sure he's okay. Any thoughts?"--followed immediately by, "And NO! You CAN'T read it!"

On bravery, eels, ego and editing

We were out to Malaysian--a tucked-away place in Brooklyn on a street that literally sells eels swimming in buckets--I'd just returned from a weekend chasing around two kids under five, and suddenly, over Tsing Taos and fried cubes of spicy rice, by the light of a tank of fish whose fate, I knew, couldn't be good--I was hit with a very sudden realization about the sensitivity, the ego, and the great risk involved in letting another human read your work.

We're starting a little foodie zine, an e-digest of short fiction and memoir with recipes--so that one can, as my friend pointed out, actually eat a part of the story. We're all going to edit--the writers will be, mostly, our friends; we're also charged with writing--sharing little moments of our lives, the food that fed us as children and our feelings that go along with it--nurture, sustenance, indulgence, deprivation.

But it was when we discussed how we'd get these pieces into shape--we'd each be in charge of editing, and publishing, the work of someone else at the table--that I started to feel a great sense of unease.

"There is, you realize, a huge potential for drama?" I asked the table, six of some of the smartest people I know, people with skills ranging from advanced mathematics to gourmet cuisine to graphic design to fine art to Japanese language and culture. Only two of us considered ourselves writers; the rest can write but, often, don't.

"They'll just have to get over it," a friend of mine said. "If they get upset with people fixing their work, they shouldn't be writing anyway."

She isn't a writer, but this shocked me: Hmm, maybe I shouldn't be writing, anyway. I had considered some upset inevitable. Heck, I take it personally when someone comments on my clients' work.

Another piped up with, "That's life. They'll get over it. What are we going to do, print something bad?"

They shared smirks. Of course they wouldn't print something bad. This would be top-quality email. If there were awards for such things, we would get one. Surely.

Then the arguments over format: You do realize that [a suggestion of a layout] is unprofessional and just CAN'T be done, right? said one. We CAN'T allow this to become newsy. [General chatter about how pieces with lowly journalistic elements--restaurant reviews, etc.--would drag down artistic vision of the project.] I want to hand-bind this. What do you mean, just email, just an e-version? We're doing something special here.

I looked over at the fish, naively swimming in their tank with its too-powerful aeration jets. Every once in awhile a tail or fin would get caught in the stream, and there'd be a flash of fluorescent-lit, upended scales. I sank lower in my chair. I'd lost my appetite.

"Don't worry," a friend said, "I can help you learn how to tell writers that their work isn't good enough."

I didn't correct her, remind her I do this often--but never terms of not good enough. "But they're friends," I said.

"This is supposed to be fun," a fellow diner reminded us. Yes. Fun. Of course. Incredibly productive fun that just happens, with minimal effort, planning, and feelings hurt, to be genius. Uh-huh.

If I knew every person whose work populated my inbox, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to get anything done. There is a certain distance required--when one has to break hearts and deliver disappointments en masse, detachment is necessary. I'm too much of a control freak to outsource rejections to my interns--some agents do, and I understand--that way, you are always the person saying Yes, never the person saying No, except when it's a No of the, Try X, Y and Z and You Have a Good Chance variety.

I worry sometimes that my writer karma is irreparably ruined--having rejected thousands of works, surely some of that will come back to haunt me. Perhaps now. In the form of a essay about, and a feeling that matches, deflated soufflé.

What my friends didn't realize was that I wasn't worried about saying no to others--that I've done so often, and have learned to, I hope, sensitively. It's not like I was without illusion--I had visions of sending prettified final versions back to the authors that would make them think, Oh yes, now don't I write well? or, Yes, that's exactly what I meant--thank you.

I was worried about sending pieces to my friends. Perhaps they're the harshest, most subjective critics. Or perhaps they'd never notice my misuse of every bit of punctuation ever, my tendency toward too-long sentences--and I could start inserting bigger and bigger mistakes just to see what they'd let me get away with. I'd write fan fiction about Martha making cigarette cakes in jail and Paula Deen deep-frying not just an ottoman, but a library.

I suppose what I'm saying is that the feeling hasn't gone away. Do I worry more than the average NYC bear? Yes, yes I do. But.

But I can't decide if it's more or less scary to send work to your friends (I used to bribe mine with lattes; then again, I knew who would tell me I was a genius no matter what I wrote--and who would think me insane) or to agents--to know your readers, or to know nearly nothing more than an ad in the Jeff Herman Guide, all the while knowing that this stranger's opinion could change your life forever.

Actually: I vote for the latter. I really vote for the latter. No hanging chads here. You're not writing little pieces about Mom's cookies or Grandma's lasagna. You're writing--sometimes for years--on, I assume, that which means most to you. All on faith.

I suppose what I am saying is: kudos. (Or 70 percent cocoa, locally grown, hand-pressed, hand-dipped, agave-sweetened, organic kudos.) You, my fine, writing friends, are doing something very, very brave. It's moments like these that remind me, and remind me to remind you. You are exposing your written underbelly to a system of professional strangers who undergo a mysterious process that spits back sometimes-inscrutable replies.

You. Are. Brave. Do know that we know it--and very much respect it--and that many of us would be afraid, and are, to do the same ourselves.

"Oh, that's just a line..."

Announcing: the winner of the pie chart contest! (Never mind that it will be a line, not a pie chart--and never mind that part of my excitement has to do with dusting off old math skills, plotting dots on graph paper, and sharpening a no. 2 pencil. Is it just me, or do those wall-mounted metal pencil sharpeners, the old-school ones with their big hand cranks--well, how can you sharpen a pencil and not grin? Even the smell of their curly, blossom-like shavings is pleasing.)

I had to think seriously about this, because this is data that could, potentially, make an agent (me) look bad. Very bad. Very very very bad. Worthy of hatemail and scorn and bad karma and tossed tomatoes. Do I know how hard it is to write 200 pages? Well, sort of. (I've considered cranking out 200 pages just so I know.)

But our incredibly busy schedules limit the time we have to spend with each manuscript. (And though I'd LOVE to simply drink tea and read all day, unfortunately, there are other things to do as well.) We know we have to get to the good ones ASAP, or someone else will snap them up. So where to our time constraints, and your readability/publishability/writing ability, intersect?

For the greater writer good, I am risking wrath and giving you an inside look into what actually happens when we receive your manuscripts--and I will make a line graph of the number of pages it usually takes me to reach a decision about whether a manuscript works or not.

You see the potential for unpopularity: no one wants to write 300 pages, only to be rejected after the reading of one. Alternately, no one wants to assume that we get to page 299 loving it--and then there's a twist that changes everything--so close, so close and yet so far! (Truth be told, if we get to 299 and love it except for page 300, the vast majority of us would tell you how to fix it. So don't worry too much about that. Also, unless you insult me personally in the first page, I will read more.)

I'd like to get a good sample--the other charts were based on more than 100 queries, so for purposes of statistical analysis, it'll be awhile before I feel like I have a good number.

That said, there are currently 144 of the best crop of manuscripts I've ever seen in my inbox.

So, not to worry--plenty of material to work with.

The Espresso Book Machine

I don't know about you, but I find this a little terrifying. The Espresso Book Machine (shouldn't it be able to crank out lattes? Or tea? I mean, really--is that so much harder?) prints on-demand books in under four minutes that are, it claims, "indistinguishable from the factory original." First of all--"factory"? Yes, I suppose so, but that makes it sound like there's an assembly line of writers sitting there with typewriters, Kindles, laptops and a conveyor belt of zip drives. I do like the humor of the thing--if you look carefully at the screen when they show it, there's a button that says, "Cancel! STOP!" as if someone is running, shrieking across the room: "Nooooooo! Not that booooooooook! Noooooooo!"--which, I suppose, could happen.

But the scariest part is that they say that making books now "requires minimal human intervention"--as if that's a good thing!

Do agents keep track of how many times they have rejected you, as in, for example 'two years ago I pitched my last book and I was less experienced at query writing' etc? How much of an effect do old queries have on new projects?

It depends on the agent, their method of storing submission information, and chance. When I get the sense that something looks familiar, I search through our e-query account, may find something identical--and then think something along the lines of, Hmm, I rejected this before--why? If there isn't an immediately obvious reason, and the project seems to have vastly improved (and/or the query suddenly sparkles with potential), then yes, I'll ask to take a look.

If you resubmit often enough that we recognize you're just shooting us query after query, yes, you're going to make yourself something of a pest. But two years is probably long enough that you're no longer in an agent's records/email/memory. Unless you have a very unusual project/writing style/personality/name, it's likely you won't be remembered--keep in mind that we receive so much mail. Especially since we're talking queries, not more memorable partials, fulls, or proposals--don't worry too much. We get a lot of similar projects.

And even if you're "caught," while it's not the best thing in the world, it certainly won't throw you out of the running. It's not like you lied--you simply resubmitted. As I mentioned before--if you're really worried, you could change your name around (initials versus written out), change your email, re-title your work--it's a little sneaky, yes, but certainly not evil.

In terms of second chances--if you'll forgive yet another such comparison--it's like having a surprise introduction to a love interest while in your ratty bathrobe with your hair mussed because (how silly!) you thought no one would see you when you went out to get the paper. The second query is then running into him again after having dressed up. You're still the same you. He may remember your bunny slippers--but your favorite little black dress, and all of your preparation, will help him forget. He may, however, have preferred the bunnies. Or he may be wrong for you, no matter what you wear (or write). You just never know.

"Have you ever repped a book you didn't particularly like JUST because it fit perfect into the current trends and fads you were seeing in the market? "

Goodness, no. I'm sure agents do. I'm sure I've said no to books that will go on and sell brilliantly. But: I'm in it for the love of books, not the love of money.

Fit? What do you mean, FIT?!

In a world where we know our sizes for everything--down to our shoes, socks, mittens--it seems strange when we can't predict what will fit and what won't.

Especially when it comes to manuscripts.

Of course there are some guidelines. And I've certainly received emails like, "You say you represent my genre. How, then are you not a good fit? You lied. You all lie. Agents--you're just a bunch of...[insert unflattering descriptions here]!"

And a comment on the pies brought this to my attention again: I think it's interesting that very few of the queries are rejected because they aren't a good fit. Especially when the majority of form rejections usually say something to that effect.

This is a very good point. "Fit" can be both very broad (things that are not a good fit) and very narrow (things that are). It's difficult to classify. It has to do with timing, usually has to do with genre--it has to do with skill and preparation and sometimes platform and often research, editing, and planning. It also has to do with chemistry. You can predict a person's taste in manuscripts (and books) about as well as you can predict their taste in significant others--but for both, you have to know them well--and, even then, you can't be sure.

The truth of the matter is--EVERYTHING in the pie charts below can fall under the umbrella of "fit." Writing, concept, voice, appropriateness, uniqueness, timing, saleability--it's a combination of all of these things. What "fit" really means is "right for me" or "not right for me."

So, in my pie charts, this was a slice of pie that simply meant, "I can't articulate it. It just isn't right for me--I just don't love it."

At laaaast...my piiiiiiiiiiiie has come along...

Hi everyone! Two apologies: one for the delay (Blogger freaked out and stopped formatting the posts--so this is all hand-done--who knew HTML circa 1998 could be so useful?) and one for the cheesiness of the title, but I just couldn't resist. I'm having one of those days where I'm tempted to listen to music all day and thoroughly annoy my officemates. Solution? Singing. In my head. Occasionally mouthing lyrics. And trying, trying, trying to not get caught by my interns. "What are you doing?" Oh, me, nothing...great manuscript! Really, um, evocative.

So, with that in mind--the unveiling of the pies.

I've hidden all of the submissions, and I still haven't told the winner--though I've picked a response--because, um, her replies will be in a future post. She sent a great idea, but one not suitable for a pie chart--better as a line graph, and I really like the big, colorful nature of pie charts for conferences. (And markers. I bought new ones for the occasion, in lots of bright colors.)

This new idea requires a bit more data-gathering, so it will be a few weeks. I will alert the author this week and then announce the topic here.

I did a little data-collection on why I say Yes and No to Young Adult queries. Why YA? Because it's expanding faster than any genre. And why just queries? Because you're going to write what you're going to write--you have to. But in terms of queries, which (as I've mentioned before) are a separate skill from book-writing, there is a lot of information out there that can help you get your work to the next stage.

A note on the data-gathering: I went through queries and applied all applicable labels. So, yes, some got a favorable/unfavorable response from me for more than one reason. In such cases, I put a tally in each pie wedge's list.

Here is the Yes pie chart:

37 percent: writing. This makes a lot of sense--the writing for a manuscript, especially fiction, must be excellent. These queries had writing that thoroughly impressed me and, for that reason, I asked to see more.

22 percent: concept. Sometimes I read about the idea for a work and it rocks my little socks. YA has so much opportunity for creativity in this regard--take advantage, and I'll want to read your work.

18 percent: I just want to read it. When you get down to the subjective nitty-gritty, your query exists in order to make people want to read your work. Sometimes I look at a query and, though I can't pinpoint why, I'm just intrigued. Hence this piece.

18 percent: voice. Voice is so incredibly important in works for YA readers--if you can create a vivid and likable and/or super interesting narrator, you're well on your way to a successful novel.

5 percent: author credentials. If we know the author personally, or they can list impressive accomplishments, we'll likely say yes to seeing more if the work has even a small chance of being right for us.

Now for the NOs.

35 percent: writing. As previously mentioned, writing, especially for fiction, must be excellent.

18 percent: voice. Young adults are brilliant at detecting inauthenticity--and making fun of it. Voice, for these queries, felt off. And if I, several years out of the YA reading audience, feel this way--surely teenagers will, too.

The rest of the pie chart, actually, has to do exclusively with plot/concept. Keep in mind that this is something very much within your control.

8 percent: inappropriate plot/concept. Keep in mind the age of your readers. If you're writing something that would have every parent in America wanting to set your book on fire, we're going to think twice about taking on your work. Yes, yes, it would get kids reading. And we can all agree that reading is a good value. But if suddenly all of the teenagers in the country start doing something dangerous that you described as incredibly fun? Well...that's not ideal.

11 percent: audience. Similar to above, but with a twist: sometimes we get queries for works that really should be novels for adults. I know it's tempting to smush what you've been writing into a genre that you know is selling really really well, especially if your work has paranormal elements, which are more difficult in the adult market. But--I can't say it enough--write what you are meant to write. Don't write what you think will sell.

9 percent: derivative plot. You'd be amazed by how many works we get that are about young women new to their schools who happen to fall in love with vampires in the Pacific Northwest. Yes, Twilight did well. That does not mean that if you do everything Twilight did, so too will your work. Be careful. Does this mean vampires are too saturated and any vampire work will automatically be turned away? No. Just be aware of what's out there and ensure your work is different.

9 percent: concept that reads like a Public Service Announcement. We all want to teach kids good things--do your homework, eat your vegetables, stay off drugs, stay in school. But young readers, if they feel this is the motivation for your story, will be completely turned off. Think about it--would you have spent your allowance on books that sound just like your parents' nagging? Didn't think so.

6 percent: depressing concept. If nothing good happens in your story--if it's a series of unfortunate events--you're going to have a hard time keeping readers.

4 percent: fit. Sometimes it just isn't a good match for us.

So. There you have it. New chart announcement coming soon!

Post-conference, Pre-Autumn

Well, I'm feeling very thankful. It's a gorgeous nearly-fall day, I have a beautiful latte in front of me (foam with well-crafted little bubbles and cinnamon); I have a very smart intern, a lot of fabulous work in the office to read, and I met some wonderful authors and agents at the conference this weekend. (One agent was wearing jeans and red Converse sneakers--I knew immediately that I'd like her.)

Every author was well-intentioned and, for the most part, well-behaved. There was just one teachable moment (ie, not advisable at your next conference): I was standing with a writer friend, and just after my panel, a man came up to me and, smirking, said, "Did you see your picture?" His face, bewhiskered and bemused, said everything: this was not going to be good. I flashed immediately to a moment in middle school, when the yearbooks were released with an awful candid picture of me and a girl kept yelling, HEY EVERYBODY! Turn to page 43!!!

Idon'twanttoseeit! I blurted. Nope! Not interested! So, how bout this conference? You like coffee? Good coffee, right? I love coffee. How bout them Yankees? Ooh, look at that, a book. A whole TABLE of books! Let's--

"It's both the worst and the most interesting picture," he continued. "See? See? It's off-center, all weird-like." He waved the program inches from my scrunched nose, close enough that I worried about paper cuts on my eye. "But it's like you know something, too," he said, and chuckled. Mona Lisa smile, er, that's me.

"Uh...thanks," I said.

Lesson for the day: do not make fun of an agent's picture. I think he was probably trying to be funny, to gently joke and set himself apart. Well...he did. But ideally your work will do that for you. Incidentally, I hate any and all pictures of myself--I'm one of those people who's always moving; I don't think stills are accurate--and have been known to dive behind couches, hide behind newspapers, and to threaten cameras with beverages/violence/sporting equipment. (None have actually been harmed, of course.) That in mind, I didn't think this picture was so bad.

He left and I flashed a, What! What was that?! look at my friend, who mirrored it with big eyes and amazed gestures. We then heartily agreed that we should blow that popsicle stand (er, 40-story hotel Mariott Marquis, complete with awesome elevators and chanting kabbalists sharing the floor) and trade conference food for grilled cheese. (Carbs + cheese = lurve).

But I am very happy for having had the overall experience. I love meeting editors and agents, with whom I often have a great deal in common. The fact that it's part of my job to hang out with people I like and tell them about my work, which I very much enjoy--it's amazing.

The new pie charts will be posted in the next few days, with explanations. New charts to come, too, requiring new-old (remembered) math skills. May even dust off the old (really old) graphing calculator. Some will be line, bar, scattered dot charts with intriguing X and Y axes.

The winner of the Pie contest will, also, be notified this week.

Hope everyone is enjoying the beautiful weather, and that all is well with you and yours.

Pie in the Contest Sky Continues!

The "choose a subject for my pie chart" contest is still going! You have until tomorrow evening (I need a *little* time with poster board, markers and math, after all) to come up with the most helpful quantifiable data you'd like.

Make sure you provide some method of contacting you in your reply (ie, if you sign in with your Blogger account, make sure there's an email attached).

Winner and pie chart will be unveiled next week--the conferencegoers get first look, of course, but you get the data for more than a few seconds of panel.

A Note on the Making of Fun, Part Deux

You've heard a lot of this before: agents talking about finding the right manuscript in terms of falling in love.

So where, in this metaphor, does all of your preparation come in?

Think of it this way: you wouldn't go on a first date (your query letter) without brushing your hair, picking out a nice outfit, and making sure that everything is just-so. Same too with your author-agent correspondence and manuscript editing.

It's entirely possible you will find your true love with broccoli in your teeth and electric-shock hair. They may see past your nervousness and find it adorable. They may love that you're wearing one pink My Little Pony sock and one that's lime argyle, and the smell of your garlic breath may remind them of a candlelit dinner on the Italian seaside.

But would you, in perfect hindsight, choose eau de garlic (or pony stationary, or nervous mistakes)? No.

It's a matter of improving your odds. Do everything within your writerly power--research, customize, edit, and edit again. Style your sentences. Groom your e-mails.

And then wait and see what happens.

On corresponding with agents

If an agent I admire gives me personal feedback on a full can I send them a handmade card thanking them for my rejection? Or does that make me a weirdy?

Not weird--we get these occasionally. But email is a bit more the norm. Stick to 3-5 lines about how much you appreciated their time. Don't tell them you'll resubmit ASAP or that you disagree with them. Also (I know you wouldn't, but some authors do) sound sad, defeated, or angry. Wait until you feel better.

If an agent asks for a full, and I submit--but then decide to take my first three chapters and throw them in the garbage, can I resubmit?

Errr. Well...it's better if you don't. Sometimes authors resubmit four or five times, and then I get mildly miffed--especially if I read one version already and now I have to read the thing again. You might, instead, send a cordial note saying, "Hi. I've had a friend/outside editor [if it's true] look at my work, and we agree that the first three chapters can go. Just in case you haven't read this yet, it might be wise to start at the beginning of chapter four, which is page ___. I'm sorry for the inconvenience--I know you're busy."

If I made a fool out of myself and queried my novel with the lamest-est (that's right... so lame it deserved an extra -est) query ever then when I get my act together, should I send it to Agent McDream again?

Wait on that. This is why we suggest being absolutely, totally, 100 percent sure you're ready before sending your query. Often, authors feel a strange urgency--as if they must get their work to the agent that very moment or else...it's too late! (I'm not sure where this feeling comes from, but many authors get it.) Many people will say that the official answer is, "Too late, too bad, you get one shot."

Unofficially (she says in a stage whisper) you don't only get one chance. Wait for this round of rejections (if that's what happens--you may be surprised!) and if everyone says no, then wait six months, re-title your work, get yourself a new e-mail address, change your name around (use the initials of your first and middle name + your last name, say), make up a perfect query, and send it again. But other agents may tell you this is evil advice. You certainly won't get in trouble--the agent likely won't notice--but my colleagues would not be thrilled at my advising you to make more work for them.

When an agent addresses me by my first name in an email, do I start my response email with "Dear First Name" or am I supposed to remain on last name terms... and if I DO remain on last name terms, do I look like a kid trying to wear her daddy's suit?

I can't give you a definite answer there. I think it's kind of amusing when people call me by my last name preceded by a Ms., but I'm on a first-name basis with all of my authors. The best way to know is to look and see how they sign their correspondence. If it's their first and last name, stick with Mr./Ms. If it's their first name only, and they've been uber-casual, you can go ahead and use that. But you won't look like a kid in Daddy's suit--you'll look like a professional.

How far back to you send letters to agents that have your partials and fulls letting them know you HAVE representation? How do you get through that end sticky part where you are getting offers, etc. and have to pick an agent so that you don't burn bridges?

Well--that's a good question. Another reason, also, to try to send all of your queries out in one big round--that way, you get all of your answers, and do all of this notifying, at once. I'd say anyone who got your partial or full in the last 4-5 months and hasn't replied should get a quick note. If they don't know who you are, or don't want your work, they won't respond. No harm done.

More soon on how to pick an agent...!

On professionalism, networking, friendliness--and avoiding Elevator Pitch Face

A lot of people are talking about it lately--probably because it's the end of "summer business casual" and the beginning of more formal attire--the end of outdoor picnic concerts and the beginning of the opera season--and, most of all, we have a new season of conferences waiting.

How does one appear at once human and professional, jovial and competent? As you know, many business transactions--hirings, firings, team building--are based on much more than your qualifications on paper--they're based on your likability. In publishing, it's even more so--as so much of the industry is subjective, if we like you, you have a much greater chance at a lot of benefits:

1. Personalized feedback
2. Faster turnaround (depends--sometimes it takes us longer because we want to give you a more thoughtful response)
   
3. Willingness to forgive mistakes (rather than thinking, "Oh, that author's not paying attention," we'll think, "Oh, ha ha, they mentioned their quad-shot mochas--mmm, that sounds good right about now--well, I guess they must have had a few too many of them. Next page! Onward!")
4. Better advice at conferences--if you have a one-on-one, and if the work doesn't fit, we'll try harder to think of suggestions.

That's not to say that we're judging your outfit and making decisions based on whether we think your blacks match and your heels are high enough and your belt is so last season. Not at all! (Many of us are, truth be told, kind of...geeks. NYC geeks, granted, but geeks. We look fancier at conferences than we do in the office, trust me.)

It's not about your appearance. We'll forgive a lot in that department, as long as you look more like you're at something for work than on vacation. Just think business casual--not jeans, t-shirts, sandals. (And you may wish to leave the neon mumus at home--same with open-toed shoes. Once I had a woman approach me in head-to-toe purple, with a braid sprouting from the top of her head and sticking straight up for the duration of our speed date. Her work wasn't for me, but I did listen attentively.)

We're very good at sensing literary sensibility. If you're obviously smart and literate, we'll forgive poor word choices and grammatical mistakes.

We'll even forgive you if you drop your conference snacks on us.

Chuck Sambuchino, editor of the GLA blog, had a wonderful post on how to behave at conferences. He notes that the most important thing--rather chatting only about your project--is to treat agents like humans.

That's right--humans. And humans who, unlike our robotic brethren, need a little downtime--time to think about things other than work.

In other words: you can always pitch to us. You can always send us queries, send us your work--even if you're in Fiji without electricity and a waning Blackberry battery and we're on August break, probably swimming with fishies somewhere far, far away from New York.

But meeting us in person is a rare opportunity. I've seen a lot of authors make the following mistakes:

1. Being afraid to talk about anything but their work, for fear of seeming unprofessional
2. Thinking that if they run over their allotted author-agent speed-date time (ie, if they just talk to us long enough) we'll decide that we like them and will take on their work
3. Coming to a conference with a big box of thirty copies of your proposal. You may recall that we like personal notes with our work--we hardly feel special when we see you reach into a giant box and pull out an identical copy that's addressed to Dear Sir/Madam.
4. Taking every "I'm afraid that's not a good fit for me" as a personal rejection, and thus having to pick themselves up again before visiting with another agent.

What's the best thing to do? Find something to say to an agent that you'd also say to a new acquaintance at a dinner party. Chat about anything but your work--good topics include the conference site, where the agent is originally from (if you know they're from your part of the world, even better), recent travels, how this conference compares to others, good lines from the other speakers, the quality of the food--goodness, even the weather! If we see someone approaching us with Elevator Pitch Face, we automatically clam up. If you smile and comment on the cute bread basket, we'll be more open and friendly.

Something to note: you can always look up agents before you go, and then prepare a line for your five favorites, if you do meet them. (Though don't try to say hello to everyone--you'll wear yourself out. Sometimes these conferences are like Disneyland as a kid--you *might* meet Mickey, and Minnie, and Donald Duck--but don't count on it.)

Elevator Pitch Face is easily remedied by chatting first with your other conferencegoers--warm up, feel friendly, feel chatty. Keep in mind that most agents and editors are very nice people. (I call a lot of them; I would know.)

And what are they, at this conference, really judging you on? If you're nice.

Yes, I said it--if you're nice. It helps if you're also not pushy (but not timid), respectful but not stiff. I hate it when people say it, but it's true: be confident about your work. Give yourself a pep talk about how great your work is, if you like. Smile and it will (the pop psychiatrists say) make you feel better. Space out your sugar/caffeine consumption so that you don't crash at crucial moments--and take care not to drink more than two alcoholic beverages.

A few things to remember:

1. Just like when you're meeting new people, ask a lot of questions, and try to politely figure out if you like them. This takes the pressure off of you and, like most people, agents and editors like talking about themselves. Even, "Gosh, so do you read, like, 100 manuscripts a day?" is better than, "So, I have this book about cats--oh, and I'm Jeff, here's my card, here's my manuscript, so can I hear from you next week?"
   
2. Do have an elevator pitch prepared--but only give it if the agent asks. That said, you must have this, so when someone asks, "What are you working on?" you'll have a good answer.
3. Don't keep your elevator pitch the same down to each word. And don't take a huge breath before, as if you're going to say something recited. Think about each word as you say it; pause briefly to picture your characters and scenes. Act natural, not rehearsed.
   
4. Have a number of back-up plans in place. ie, "What if they ask about ____?! OH NO! That'll be TERRIBLE!"--then, well, have an answer prepared.
5. Smile.
6. Say "please" and "thank you"--as you would, I hope, normally.
   
7. Make sure your hands aren't sweaty before you approach an agent to shake them. The awkward hand-on-pants wipe? Not so suave.
   
8. Be warm, kind, happy--not nervous, clammy, scared.
   
9. If you are nervous, clammy, or scared, be sure to make a friend at the conference and hang with them before approaching anyone scary. All of the other writers are in the same boat, and most are available for nervous laughter.
   
10. Some say not to ask for an agent's card--but to let them offer it to you. I think this was the rule back in Emily Post's day--but it's not terribly practical now. We'd end up with a huge stack of cards and no clue how to match them with the hundreds of faces and handshakes. That said, if it would be awkward, just make a note of their name and find their e-mail online later. Most agents are very easy to Google. If all else fails, try [their first name]@[their agency domain].com.
    
11. When you get the card of anyone interesting, take a moment to write a line or two about who they are and something they said. This way you don't end up with a huge stack of cards and no clue who anyone is.
12. Within 72 hours of meeting someone, send them a quick email that references something they said or you talked about together--ie, something from the notes on the back of your cards. Then, even if they don't reply immediately, they have a record of who you are.

You'd be amazed at the behavior of some conferencegoers. Knowing what you know here, you'll be far ahead of everyone else.

Good luck!

A Note on the Making of Fun

Several of you wrote in mentioning that you were relieved that I didn't list your queries in the section (several posts below) where I noted author mistakes.

What I should have said is this: the mistakes that register on our radar are so very different than yours--if you're here, you not only do research, but care about the feelings of agents enough to read their blogs.

If you make genuine, well-intentioned, well-meaning mistakes, 95 times out of 100, we will forgive you. We've taken on works that had barely average query letters. (Not that you should aim for mediocrity, mind you.) We've ignored so many spelling and grammatical errors (even my least favorite, the wrong "it's/its"), you have no idea. (Again, not advisable, just letting you know.) We've taken on work by authors who insisted on calling us down to the lobby to drop off work in person. (Grr.) We've even taken on work by those who dared send us sweets. While all of us are on our respective diets. (Triple Grrr, she says after a fistful of Godiva.)

In other words: if you are (again) a nice person, we'll let a lot go by. Especially if you are a nice person who has work we love. Then, well, you could theoretically make all the mistakes in the book, as long as you're still nice, responsible, honest, trustworthy and hardworking. I haven't tested this hypothesis--our writers are well-behaved--but, well, you know.

It's the authors of ambiguous (or not so ambiguous) intention we're worried about. In the years I've been in this business, I've seen all kinds of strange behavior--authors writing in second-person about horrific torture-murder scenes (you try to like someone after they've just written, "And then I tie you to a chair--and then I pull your hairs out, one by one"--and worse!); one manuscript arrived with a bloody fingerprint (we were pretty sure it was real blood), and several authors have seemed to know a little too much about the crimes committed by their protagonists.

I share the work of the ill-intentioned and under-researched to reassure you. You are doing research. And you are, if I interpret your comments correctly, really rather nice. Research + nice equals you ahead of a good section of the rejection pie chart.

In other words: worry not. Write on.

Author Mistakes You Won't Make

Dear Authors,
We expect some mistakes, and are as forgiving as we can be. However, the writers below have exhibited behavior that is not ideal. Please learn from their mistakes.

Amusing opening query lines:

Basically, I'm a young, good looking, highly marketable, STD-free author that you can send on Letterman and I'll get laughs or on Oprah and I will not only jump on the couch, but also any coffee table, chair or ottoman present on the set. I get attention.

Lesson: Perhaps you are attractive, and this does show the author's ability to get attention--and some degree of voice. However, your personal medical records have no place in a query (unless you are writing a medical memoir or something otherwise related--this author was not) or professional correspondence. Also, I know publishing is made up of many, many women--but it's insulting to imply that we're going to give you a favorable response just because you say you're attractive.

Pasted below this letter is a sample of Death by Cucumber, which might interest you. This novel, if it must have a label, is “soft-core” literary.

Lesson: Puns are tricky. I giggled to myself when I read this, which put me in a good mood for the rest of the query. However, this is very risky. I ended up passing.

Here's a response to our rejecting a memoir of a man's quest to bed as many women in as many places around the globe as possible:

Well I can't say that I'm NOT surprised the book is being passed up on and must say this is a HUGE mistake because when the book is published its going to be ADORED by MILLIONS of readers, women especially, and easily for sure will be more popular then any other book you might take on and sell to a publisher...

Lesson: It is never, never productive to write to an agent when 1) angry, or 2) in the first five minutes after receiving a rejection. Always wait a day--sleep on it--and limit your comments to "Thank you for your time" or some variant thereof. You must be careful about not burning bridges. Again, the world of publishing is very, very, very small.

Correspondence with a manuscript (this is attached to draft number three of the same work):

Hi,

Here is a sexier and more complete proposal.

How long do you think it will take before I hear how much you love it?

Thanks.

Lessons: First of all, don't send us three drafts of your manuscript. Don't even send two. If you need more time before your partial is ready, ask for it, or say something like, "I'm so pleased to receive your request--I will send this to you within two weeks." Try not to send one version and then, a week or two later, write something like, "WAIT! DON'T READ THE LAST ONE! READ THIS ONE!" First of all, whatever edits you have made are very unlikely to change our mind with regard to whether or not you're a good fit for us. We aren't looking for perfection--we're looking for that which inspires us. (If you do decide to make an overhaul that will change everything, send a quick note to summarize proposed changes.) And certainly don't send three versions. Two is forgivable; we know you're human and that send button is just so temping--three is...inadvisable. I know email seems much less formal, but please, please don't do this. It drives us crazy. And assuming that we'll happily read your work three times (if we read the earlier two versions) is just, well, rude. And unrealistic. Also, please try not to use "sexy" to describe your work, especially if you are a man writing to a female agent. If you are a female writing to a female agent, especially if it's with regard to a romance or women's fiction, go for it. Otherwise, can feel unprofessional and rude. And last but certainly not least--don't be arrogant. Unless this work is really fantastic, it's going to be an uphill battle for this writer, as it already seems he thinks himself worthy of diva treatment.

From recent calls:

Him: Hi, I'm calling from London. I want to send you my work.

Me: Okay, please send us a query. To ___@____.com.

Him: Oh, you want me to mail it? Okay, I'll try to get stamps--

Me: No, please email. To ___@____.com.

Him: But the [LMP] says you want paper submissions.

Me: We used to. Now please send an e-mail.

Him: Are you sure?

Me: Yes.

Him: Really? Okay, so it says here your email is [not our email].

Me: No. It's ___@___.com.

Him: ____s@___.com?

Me: [Still in a sweet, patient voice] No, ____@___.com.

Him: Can I send you my manuscript?

Me: Please send a query letter first. By email.

Him: [Sounding truly defeated] Okay... [Hangs up]

Lessons: First of all, don't call--do your research. If you must call, please listen. The people who pick up the phone--whether an intern, assistant or agent--are likely well-versed on the submissions guidelines for their company. Don't treat them like they're dumb. This does not make you endearing. On the other hand, don't get intimidated. We don't make up rules to insult your work--they're there to make the process as efficient as possible for everyone involved.

I have a genre specific question. For women's fiction (specifically light women's fiction) are agents open to books with a female protagonist in her 20s these days? It feels like the genre is now saturated to the mommies/housewives in their 30s audience. Are 20 somethings no longer a desirable demographic?

(I'm registered for the conference. I look forward to the glass elevator!)

First of all, come say hello! That's what I'm here for. I'll be on the Ask the Agents panel on Saturday morning and will jump in at least one elevator.

And I can see what you mean about there being so many mommies, housewives (desperate and not), nannies, toddlers, preschool interviews, sandboxes, juice boxes and suburban settings. They've taken over everything from books to television to stationary. About the time of Desperate Housewives' debut, fashion too took a 1950s turn. (Some say this has to do with our involvement in Iraq and an edge toward a more conservative culture. Not sure what I think about that.) Actually, my guess is that, because this 30-something housewife theme is close (I'd venture 2-5 years) to saturated, it will (like anything once very popular) soon be decidedly unpopular--and it will be another ten years or so before we rediscover them. So, if you're writing in this thirty-something suburban housewife category--and have been dragging your feet with regard to finishing and sending out your novel--git r done! (I'm from a small town; I'm allowed to say that.) And, like with milk, I mean the 2-5 years as a sell-by--sell to the publisher--date. This of course is just a prediction, and if you happen to have the next Little Children in five years--even if decidedly unpopular at that point--you should NOT give up all hope.

Back to the twenty-somethings.

Keep in mind one element of the subjectivity angle: people love reading about characters like themselves, and many people in publishing (like yours truly) are in their twenties.

That said, you have a similar challenge to that of a YA writer: to write about someone of a particular age, when designed for readers of that age, your (written) voice, details, and sense of place must be spot-on.

But if you have all that--well, of course twenty-somethings are a desirable audience! They also read Young Adult, and (though perhaps less so recently) have a fair amount of disposable income relative to their expenses. They also, on the whole, have enough free time to read and care to do so. And many older women love to read about this age group as well. I imagine many of The Devil Wears Prada's readers and espeically viewers were far older than the protagonist.

And this is without mentioning all of the advantages of having as a protagonist (and being) a twenty-something: at this age, one has so much freedom and fewer responsibilities. In other words, this is probably one of the most flexible choices, as there are few "Oh, but someone that age can't do that!" constraints. (Tell that to your writing workshop.) Plus, twenty-somethings are just (if I say so myself, from my rather subjective view, and I do), fun.

To sum up: keep writing. And find me at the panel. Just don't tell the organizers it was my idea if we get caught bogarting the elevators.