Month: October 2013
I’ve posted about the author-agent relationship here on Writer Unboxed, and have come to the end of the cycle…parting ways with your agent. As someone who has been fired well and fired badly (it’s happened to every agent I know) I’d like to share what I humbly think one should do and not do.
First Step: Reconsidering
First, ask yourself why you want to part ways with your agent. If it’s just that your agent hasn’t been able to sell your book, that might not be enough of a reason. Sorry, but it might just be the book. Or the market. Or the sad state of affairs of publishing–trends, bad track, etc…
So, take a step back and assess the situation.
And backing up farther
If the agent did their job in honing the book and getting it into the right hands, and the feedback was that the book wasn’t there, then it might be a case of needing to rework the project.
(I ask myself that question before I take on any new project. If I can’t sell something right out of the gate, is it a book I am so passionate about that I will be excited to work on it through several more iterations? If I am not, then I ultimately step to the side.)
Hopefully, after asking these questions, you will come to the conclusion that it might be a matter of shifting gears, and even more hopeful still, you will be able to do this gracefully, with your agent championing your new approach.
Second Step: The Tough Talk
Of course there are a million reasons I can think of to fire your representation. I have heard some horror stories (and would welcome anyone to share stories here as I think it’s worth having an open dialog.) I work with an author who came to me after her prior agent sat on her book for a year. Yes, one year, without reading it. That is a pretty good sign that you are not a priority in that agent’s eyes. Or the agent who just ignores, point blank your calls or emails. Not acceptable.
But what about when things aren’t so black and white?
Read MoreI’m currently working on a novel called Dreamer’s Wood, first installment in the Blackthorn & Grim series, and my deadline is getting uncomfortably close. Indeed, the story is so much in my head at present that I really had no choice but to write about it for this month’s post.
Dreamer’s Wood, a historical fantasy/mystery for adult readers, is designed around contrasts in voice. Three major characters–Blackthorn, the disillusioned healer; Grim, her taciturn sidekick; Oran, the dreamer prince–take turns narrating chapters in first person. This framework allows emotional intensity to build between the main protagonists and provides good contrast within the narrative. It should allow the reader to get very close to the three central players. First person suits a character-based story, and although Dreamer’s Wood has a plot line that includes a double mystery and a fairy tale element, its real heart is the emotional development of these characters.
I started the project really believing in the triple first person narrative. The three characters came to life with their different voices, and the writing really raced along. I’ve done this sort of thing before. In another novel, for instance, I alternated first person, past tense sections for the female protagonist with first person, present tense sections for the male protagonist, who was suffering from memory loss. I thought that approach served the story well. But this time around, with the major part of the novel written, I’ve started having a few doubts. Am I becoming hung-up on the chosen format? Am I letting the structure overwhelm the storytelling? Are my control freak tendencies getting the better of me?
I hope not, as I simply don’t have time for a major structural rewrite before the deadline–my efforts will mainly be focused on getting the novel finished. But I am loosening the structure to ensure I maintain tension, pace and flow. The changes of narrator should enhance, rather than detract from, the unfolding of the story, otherwise why write the book that way? I’m taking note of the following:
Read MoreYou see a lot of types in New York City.
In my neighborhood are hipsters with Victorian beards and tattoos, looking detached. Near my office your see look-alike fashion students with pop-eyed doll faces, frosted lipstick and hair bleached white. Rounding the corner is a paunchy guy near sixty who’s emulating a Western outlaw, striding by in black boots, black duster and black gambler hat like he’s on his way to a shootout. (Probably he’s on his way to a Neil Gaiman bookstore signing.)
Even the more mundane types fall into categories. There are skinny, fortyish Ivy League moms with sunglasses pushed up, having urgent conversations on cell phones and steering British-made strollers. There are suits hoping they look creative because they’re not wearing a tie. There are off-duty pole dancers looking demur, their profession not quite hidden in their gym bags. There are waiters waiting for their break on Broadway. There are smarty chicks sporting in-your-face glasses. There are immigrant taxi drivers in tee shirts jabbering in a hundred languages and driving like they’re still in Karachi, Kinshasa or Dhaka.
When others look at me what do they see, I wonder? Look at him…white guy, slim, salt-n-pepper hair, almost getting away with skinny jeans, a backpack and a young wife. Votes Democratic and thinks he’s one of “the people” even though his kids go to private schools, he has a platinum credit card and gets upgraded on United. Does something minor in the movie business, maybe, like make documentaries or production accounting. Yeah, that guy. Thinks he’s cool. Maybe he is.
We’re all types. And we’re not. In fiction it’s possible to sketch type with a few details and also to go against type. Neither is wrong, both can be good. There’s a time for each. Stereotyping is shallow, generally speaking, but there’s also a third way to look at character typing. It’s an opportunity to deepen your protagonist.
Here are some questions to show you what I mean:
Read MoreA member of our Writer Unboxed Facebook community (hey, Karen Lauria Corum!) posted something last week that caught my attention. She wrote:
“I had my mentor tell me early on to never love one book too much because you would at some point have to let it go off into the world…”
It’s interesting advice. And while I understood the letting go concern–though I think that’s more a product of fear than anything else–I couldn’t get beyond the “love” part of her mentor’s instruction or the idea that there could ever be a “too.”
Love a book too much?
I responded:
“I think you should love the hell out of every work-in-progress, because you’re going to be with it for a long time, and love is the only good antidote I know for the resentment that can otherwise build up in a long-term, intimate relationship.”
Truth is, I’d been there, and not done that. Learned a few lessons, too.
To share this with you, I have to spill some of the Uncomfortable Real that Sarah Callender mentioned in her last post. My debut novel didn’t sell as well as my publisher had hoped following the generous deal I received in 2008. Granted, it isn’t an uncommon situation, and my book sale did come about seven-and-a-half seconds before our economy crashed here in the U.S., but the reality of my numbers left me with a big steaming pot of woe-is-me. On top of that, I had to write a second book because I had a two-book deal, and that second book carried a lot of weight on its embryonic thread-and-glue spine. It needed to, if it could, earn more than my first book. Be as good as if not better than my debut. It seemed then that my career–at least in its current incarnation–might have depended on it.
The one word that would describe my state of mind while writing the first draft of my second book would be disillusioned. Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be after you’d worked and worked and sold your book in a fabulous deal and had so much support and love, and reviews had been good and expectations high, and…
Life isn’t always fair. Buck up. Carry on, old chap.
Got it.
But the chasm between reality and what I had anticipated (and been told to expect) was wide, and I began to feel bound to the second book against my will. Oftentimes while writing the first draft, I felt an edge of resentment for all of it–the work, my contract, others’ easy confidence that I could get through it when it felt anything but easy. And you know what? It showed. When I submitted that first draft to my editor at the time, she told me what I already knew: It wasn’t great. In fact, it was a long way from finished. [Quick aside: I love both Top Chef and Project Runway, and there are times when the judges critique a plate of food or an outfit and correctly guess that the contestant was in a negative head space while working. I think it’s safe to say that emotions trickle down to our art.]
Things began to turn around for me when I started […]
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