Yet Another Moment of Truth

The Virginia Festival of the Book had provided my one seat-cushion-up-ass experience during the manuscript critique session. Little did I know that I would barely have an opportunity to dig out the cushion before I’d suck it up there again in the Agents’ Roundtable.

Agent or no agent? From what I’ve learned today about publishing, I need a staff. There’s no way I can negotiate the legalities, the paperwork, the deals, or the contracts. Not to mention the fact that I have no names to drop, connections, or clout; in short, why would a big publishing house give a rip-snort about me? Besides, as I learned in the last workshop, I don’t got no skillz.

As I sat waiting for the Agents’ Roundtable to begin, I noticed that Laura Rennert, Senior Agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, was on the panel. I had seen her earlier in the day in the session on publishing children’s books. She signs six figure book deals for her writers; maybe someday she’ll be shopping out one of my manuscripts. Erin Cox, from Rob Weisbach Creative Management, Jenny Bent, from The Bent Agency, and Simon Lipskar, from Writers House joined her.

Of all the agents, Simon Lipskar scared me the most. I really respected him, and I could tell he would be a formidable advocate for any writer skilled enough to work with him. He would be the least likely to put up with my shit, though, should anything I wrote ever cut his mustard. He said that while most agents had “literary psychologists’ couches” next to their desks to help writers who “suddenly couldn’t find the `e’ on their keyboards,” prospective authors needed to be committed to their craft.

“Writing is a job,” he said.

If we weren’t ready to dedicate ourselves to our tales in this way, then we should consider looking elsewhere.

“Don’t waste my time,” he said.

I totally agreed with him; writing is a job for me. It comes right in line with teacher, wife, mom, maid, laundress, diaper changer, chauffeur, and listening ear, though. The agents all emphasized that they expected us to have day jobs. But what would Mr. Lipskar think of my two-year-old daughter singing Jason Aldean’s song “Big Green Tractor” in the background while we’re trying to discuss business on the phone? I think my kid is damn talented, especially when she starts cranking the song’s solo on her flyswatter guitar like a badass. However, is this Big-New-York-Agency professional? If it isn’t, I don’t give a crap. I live for my life’s quirks.

The more I listened, the more I could tell that Laura Rennert definitely gives the big dogs a run for their money. I know my children’s manuscript Frank the Flamingo is good, but I’m not sure if I can convince her of that.

The agent I really felt I connected with as I listened was Erin Cox. She was extremely professional. She appeared knowledgeable and well-connected, but she was more low-key about it than others. I caught a down-to-earth vibe and an openness that I thought would work well with my personality. I sensed that she would hear my dedication to my work over the din of my life.

When the forum was over, I headed to Erin Cox’s end of the table. She was sitting next to Laura Rennert. I thought I would ask some general questions about marketing hi-lo fiction for kids to Ms. Rennert, and maybe I would get a chance to pitch my memoir or something.

A long line of children’s writers waited for Laura Rennert’s attention, but Erin Cox had a break. I struck up a conversation.

“Do you have any advice for someone putting together a memoir?” I asked. “I’m currently hard at work on one. I know you all said to query with the whole thing, but is it okay to pitch an idea about an incomplete project?”

“Sure,” she asked. “This gives us the opportunity to help you keep your work on track. If we see you going off on a tangent, we can guide you back in a direction that we feel would be more successful for you. What’s your story about?”

I gave her as brief a synopsis as possible. I couldn’t believe I was actually pitching my idea to an agent. I’d never gotten this far before.

“That sounds great!” she said. “Why don’t you it to send me?”

I gulped. “Okay,” I said, regaining my…snort…composure. “I’ll get right on that. Thanks so much for your time.”

From that point until the long drive back home, I was completely incapable of coherent thought. Oh, my God. Is it possible that this writing thing could become a reality? Then what? Talk about a seat-cushion-up-ass moment! I think I may have permanently embedded it up there this time!