In the agenting matriarchy, as in publishing generally, tough love still outweighs nurturing. When approaching a Binky or Baby Binky, the writer—emerging, midlist, or Sub-Performing Marginal—must abandon illusions about what she should be but, regrettably, is not:
She is not your analyst, your cheerleader, or your mother.
This is nonnegotiable, unless you make her a million dollars, in which case she may consent to pick up your dry cleaning. If a deal falls through, some empathetic agents who are also writers may provide counseling at no extra charge. “In college I had been good at talking people down from bad acid trips, and my skill returned in force,” confided Betsy Lerner. Bonnie Nadell of Hill Nadel Agency consoled David Foster Wallace and even gave him a haircut while he was detoxing at Harvard’s McLean Psychiatric Hospital.
But professionals mostly stick to business. Though often said, it is seldom understood: An agent is, above all, a salesperson. A Suck surrogate. But that doesn’t take the author off the hook for being a salesperson as well. Some turn to writing because they mistake it for a profession that will deliver them from the purgatory of sales. Most authors hate the business of the business. Many hope to get around the Woody Allen Showing Up Rule by getting an agent and having her show up.
It doesn’t work that way. Writing is a car dealership: No matter how many salespeople are out on the lot, the manufacturer has to hump, too.
The current publishing process is a Byzantine sales loop. The author sells her title to an agent. The agent sells it to an editor. An editor sells it to her house’s editorial board. The board sells it to their sales and PR departments. Sales sells it to stores, distributors, and book clubs, while PR sells it to reviewers, radio, and television. The stores sell to people. Finally, coming full circle, the author tries to boost sales with book signings, media spots, and viral blogging or Tweeting. Meanwhile, everybody’s trying to sell to Hollywood.
The critical link in the chain is of course the first: the author selling to the agent. Today it is nearly impossible to be published without one. The agent is the liver of the publisher digestive system. No shit gets past her. Theoretically. To ensure this, most use prefilters—agency trainees fresh out of a BA or MFA program. The trainee shovels through the agency’s daily ms. shit storm, and the next morning she deposits a few promising pieces on her boss’s desk. Using her judgment, taste, and marketing ESP, the boss weeds out the ones that have slipped past the trainee. Then she sends out the piece she has fallen in love with, hoping the beleaguered editor—then the board, then the sales department, then the distributors—will get a crush on it, too, perform publishing alchemy, and turn it into NYT bestseller list gold.
Now, the age-old question: How does the writer clear that all-important first hurdle and steal the heart of an industry gatekeeper?
Landing a good agent is like scoring Charlize Theron or George Clooney at a singles spot. They may be nice people, but it’s their job to play hard to get. And they’ve heard every pickup line. The writer’s job is to come up with a new one without sounding pathetic, desperate, or dangerous.
The catch-22 of the agent hunt is this: The lower your Suck and Luck quotient, the higher your need for an agent, but the lower your chances of getting one. So you must show extraordinary Pluck.
Let’s assume the most challenging scenario of the suck-challenged author. She is six-degrees of F-separation from an agent: She is not Family, not a Friend, not Fucking him or her, not a Familiar face, and she is not even a Fone or Fax acquaintance. In short, she’s a true Outsider in the Insider industry.
How does such an illegal immigrant get past the border?
First, get a coyote directory. INS AAR agent Jeff Herman offers the most helpful. In this guide, each of his colleagues defines “The Client From Hell.” Six types are identified: The Pest, The Complainer, The BS Artist, The Screw-up, The Sun God, The Liar. Though many writers may fit into one or more of these profiles, when seeking an agent, a cover-up, or at least an airbrush, is imperative.
Agents are unanimous on the single virtue of “The Dream Client”: She makes big money. In short, she is Biblically Talented, as earlier discussed. But, since the agent-shopping author usually hasn’t made a dime yet, she must show promise.
Now there are two possibilities: (1) The agent may sign him/her but be unable to make a sale, so the author will become a Complainer and a Pest; or (2) The agent may score a six-figure advance, so the author is now free to throw off the masquerade and become a Sun God or a Screw-up.
But reps have a hustle of their own. What makes a good one? Their reply is almost unanimous. The good rep will:
For Franchises, Bread-and-Butters, and Prestiges, this may be true. But for most midlisters, backlisters, and newcomers, less so. As Janklow & Nesbit vice president Eric Simonoff told Word Smitten a few years ago, “I’m often approached by people who are leaving their agents. What I hear cited as the number one reason for dissatisfaction from authors is—‘My agent never returns my telephone calls.’”
So when entering a singles spot and hoping to score, the writer must know that, just as she must be a bit of a BS artist, the agent might be one, too.
After the bachelorette has done her best to look like a Dream Date, the next step is to decide whom to hit on. This requires more boning up. Print and online agent profiles answer important predate eHarmony questions:
The writer must decide if she will approach a big Manhattan office with more muscle but less individual attention or a boutique operation with less clout but more TLC.
Practically nothing can be lost by shooting high and then working down as necessary.
Say you’ve just finished a Look Homeward, Angel sequel that is a shoe-in for the Thomas Wolfe Award or a Dracula follow-up destined to take the Bram Stoker. You enter the Four Seasons’ Grill Room, ms. in hand. Holding audience here is the Trinity: Lynn, Binky, and Esther. In the interest of equal opportunity, let’s say Mort Janklow, Andrew Wylie, and Sterling Lord are also on hand. Before them stand MFAs and refugee midlisters, each with a deli number. Noting that each agent holds a Bloody Mary in one hand and a can of mace in the other, you decide to learn more about your prey before striking.