Agent

Because I’m the one who can get your story off the fucking pile. Without me, your manuscript will sit on the pile for months, maybe years. That’s why you need me and I have coffee with publishing houses. No, I know you can’t talk to a house, I talked to the people who work in the publishing houses and I see and ask what they’re looking for and that’s how people like you get published. By paying a meager 15% of the contract I can get you with someone like Random House or Penguin or any other New York House. The coffee you’re paying for is nothing compared to what I can get you and I’m a great negotiator. You need me.

Why can’t you have coffee with them yourself? Because you don’t know what to ask. You don’t have a college degree in agenting from Columbia. Damn it, you need me. How does that sound? It needs work. Sigh. I sound desperate. But I am desperate. Do you know what rent costs in New York City? Yeah, I guess you would.

How do I get writers to know they need me? Contests? There are billions of magazine contests. Look at the winners. Contact them. They always want agents Yes, I know all the agents want them. What do I have. I can’t get writers to want me as an agent without experience and I can’t get experience without having writers who want me and you don’t think it’d be advisable to sound desperate. How do I meet good writers?

Have I met the publisher’s yet? Well, no, but I know who to contact, what they like, and who in the houses to call to make this happen and I can disclose all of this to my clients if and when. I get clients, but I need to get clients first. Show me the clients and I can show them the money. What if the agents don’t want to talk to me. Yea, and what if planet Earth is flat and everyone is wrong? I need clients. Start a literary magazine? No. That’s a publisher’s job. I’m the in-between man. Yes, I know there’s internet now. No, shit there’s internet. Then there are emails they don’t read which is essentially a goddamn pile. I get publishers to read manuscripts. Because they don’t know who wants what and they’ll save a lot of time and everyone’s life will be easier and I’ll be able to pay rent, gas, electric, credit card bills, phone, and my student debt. Damn it. What’s in it for them? I already told you, time, money, fame. Then sell that to them. Ok. Soft sell or hard sell? Both at different times. (Sigh). Can you give me an example?

Ok, so how can I learn to do that? Watch videos of sales pitches. Start with the publishers and get to knows them. Build up more debt with no perspective writers. Right. If I want to make money, work at a fast food chain. They’re always hiring. That’s what I had to do in college. Kids stuff.

Right, or be a server. Maybe I can meet a few actors and actresses who could be in the movie if the book is ever made into a movie. Or Hell, I could go into a local gas station and buy a fucking lotto ticket since the chances of me winning the lotto are greater than the chances of me doing that. I just need an unknown talented writer. Right, could comb the local coffee shops and see if someone has a best seller. Or Hell, I could hack into the email of the publishing houses, find the gems, and solicit to the publisher after calling the author.

Try writing a novel myself? Why? That’s not my job. Yes, of course I know what the publishers want and could give it to them. Which one wants murder mysteries, sci-fi, farces, but . . . Fame? No, I don’t want fame. I don’t want to tour, sign, answer brain dead questions from idiots. My job is to answer the brain dead questions of the publisher, not the readers. Questions like which age group would this book best be marketed to. Why is this story different in a flooded market? How is it different? Do they have a following? That kind of shit. Me writing a novel? That’s hysterical. Imagine I’m a writer and I’ve put my heart into a novel, a novella, or whatever they hand me and it’s a goddamn piece of shit. I write them a nice note saying this doesn’t fit the kind of story I’m looking for right now and recommend other editors or independent publishers in butt fuck Egypt. And ask they don’t contact me, but at this point, I’d consider looking at even those.

Got to smile all the time and never be honest or dishonest. Like a teenager sends you something you know is crap and won’t sell. Don’t say that. Say I can’t accept it right now. You’re right. That’s not what you said. You said imagine I’m a writer. What would I do? I’d blow my brains out before 20 years of failure. That’s how most writers die, you know?

Before that, when there’s hope? I’d start going by networking. Going to bookstores, libraries, even look up the stats on Amazon, see what’s selling, what people want. Age ranges, interests, etc., then write the fucking book instead of writing a story you’ve always wanted to write with no fucking audience in mind.

I know; dream on. They look at list procs and don’t even do those right. “Write a story in the second person” and they write about the person who wins second place and how that feels. Read first, then write. No one’s ever written this kind of story before. I wonder why?

I know I have to be kind to the houses and the writers, and the lawyers who write the contracts, but I don’t have anyone yet. What I need is a winning lottery ticket.