How Authors Obsess

Today, my agent sent me a list of editors who currently have my new novel on their desks. I've not been obsessing too much over my new novel because I've been busy obsessing over my short story collection, which, at this point in time, means approving artwork and copy edits and the use of this and the misuse of that and wondering if the people blurbing my book actually mean what they're saying, or if they're just saying stuff to be nice and, really, maybe I am just a sham and perhaps I should just pack it all in and get a job back in outside sales, peddling human flesh under the guise of temporary employment.

But then this letter came. At first I kinda ignored it, figuring, like other things my agent sends me, that I could read it once, get the gist of it ("They thought your work sucked," or "They liked your work and would like to pay you for it.") and move on with my day in either mortal anger or waves of alluvial joy. The problem, however, is that once you know who is reading your book with an eye towards offering you cash for it, it's difficult to disassociate from it. Enter Google.

I punched the first editor's name into the god-forsaken white space. Here's a quote from her saying that the problem with crime fiction -- which I guess my book loosely falls under the rubric of, because, well, that's where they keep shelving me -- is that the market is just way to glutted with, uh, crime fiction. Here's another quote from her saying she loves literary crime -- books where people die or do some crime, but it means something. That's me! I think. I'm up in that shit like Neil Diamond in a glass-beaded shirt. I click over to the publishers website and find some authors said editor edits. I notice a few books where cats solve crimes. I notice a few books where cats don't solve crimes, but apparently a chef or a socialite or a cafe owner does. This is looking dire. I find more books that seem like something I might write -- somber men in their 30s on the wrong side of the law, just trying to make it in the world today. You get the idea. But I'm feeling like this woman has already read my book and is now using it to wipe up cat piss from her duvet cover. But then I think, you know, maybe she's dog tired of these fucking cats in her life. Maybe what she wants is a novel where men do men things. Where women are strong and tough. Maybe she wants some darkness in her life. Maybe right now she's sitting in bed and thinking, I need me some Goldberg.

Yeah. I calculate what she's been paying other authors according to an unscientific poll I conduct via Sarah's blog, PW, and various industry sources. "That's a fine offer," I imagine myself saying. "That'll do."

I move to the next editor in the list. Her name looks familiar. I flip through the file I've kept for all the rejections I've received for both of my previous novels and find her, albeit at two different publishers. For Fake Liar Cheat, she said that the book was well written but didn't "grab her." Fair enough. For Living Dead Girl, she said that she loved the book, loved it to death, thought it was brilliant and that I was brilliant and that in a perfect world her bosses would look at it not in a dollars and cents way but in a literary way and we'd have a deal. Alas. I check out her list. No cats. No chefs. No socialites. Lots of men in their 30s on the brink of something. Lots of books that look like mine but are not mine. I wonder if she's sick of books like mine. I wonder if she's sitting in bed right now and thinking, "If I get one more book about a criminal minded 30-something I'll eat my fucking eyebrow. I hope to god I don't get one of those Goldberg books."

I check out what she's paying. Hmm. Okay, because she's been so indifferent to me in the past, and because she seems troubled in bed, I'll take a little less, but I expect marketing to support me. And if I get a publicist named Suzie, it's off.

I go through this same maddening process with the next five editors, two of whom are men and who I imagine in the bathroom instead of the bedroom, if only for variety's sake. By the end of it all, I'm pretty sure I know exactly who will buy my book, how much my advance will be and what I'll order when we go out to lunch in New York when I'm there on tour this fall.

Meanwhile, if anyone needs me, I'll be sitting here waiting for the phone to ring.

Comments

[Karen]

I hope you get exactly the editor you want, at the house you want. A place that will pay you big bucks. An editor who will edit perfectly. And may she/he convince marketing that they need to fucking do something for you. And forget about Suzie -- what you really don't want is publicist named Jacqui, right?

[Tanya]

Any editor would be lucky to get your book. And, when it comes out, I'll be the second person to buy it (after Wendy of course). :)

[Adam]

To which editor, in all of publishdom, would you most like to sell a novel?

[Tod Goldberg]

That's a good question, Adam, and the answer is: I have no idea. I've never really thought of it in that context, perhaps because it would drive me even more batty. In a pinch I'd have to say the editor with the stable of publicists over 22.

[Sarah]

Is it sad that I can probably answer Adam's question?

Or at least I have a shortlist.

[Adam]

Mmmmm, 22-year-old publicists ...

And give us the shortlist, Sarah! Is what's-his-name, Jonathan G., on the list? Sonny Mehta? I can't even name all the big editors.

[Tod Goldberg]

It's not sad, Sarah, it's just a little romantic -- these days, most editors are little more than project managers shepherding your work from one phase of publication to another. Maybe I'm in the minority here, but my experience, save for my present one with my short story collection where there's been a lot of hands-on work, has been that most editors don't edit much anymore. Most of the heavy lifting in that regard is done by my agent long before the book goes out, and then often in between submissions if we see that a similar thing keeps getting said about a book in rejections. So perhaps I don't have a dream editor in mind, simply a dream situation, where an editor improves the work, gets behind it and when I win the NBA, we hug in the aisle...

[Sarah]

That's very true, Tod, and also that I could think of a bunch of names at the top of my head and by the time I'm actually ready to submit anything, they could be a) out of the business b) at another house entirely c) not taking on the kind of work I'm writing or d) turn out not to be the kind of editor I want to work with.

I do know of situations where writers have had their work on submission and they made a helpful suggestion to their agent(s) about which house/which editor to submit to...and got a deal as a result. And it's not really that I would want to do the agent's job -- far from it -- but that for me, it's an additional font of knowledge, and the more I know, the better off I am.

[Guyot]

Grow some balls, man! Fuck them if they don't want it!

You sound like you're two books away from writing about a cat in his or her 30's (people years, not cat), on the wrong side of a litter box.

After that, man, you're touring with Lilian Jackson Braun.

[gena showalter]

At last! Someone with the same obsessive tendencies as myself. I do this too and thought I was all alone. Hope the dream situation happens for you!!

[Gendy Alimurung]

Cats who solve crimes are the shit!

[Elizabeth Crane]

I can relate... anyway, I'm loving your blog (I am obsessed with many things these days, from blogging to understanding Kevin Federline) and if it makes any difference, I am reading Simplify right now and planning to put my name on it with wholehearted sincerity. It's really great. Do you remember that we met at the book fair in Las Vegas? Or are we supposed to leave that in Las Vegas as they say?

[Elizabeth Crane]

PS I promise to say something more inspired than "It's really great."