Being a Debut Author with a Cheeky Agent
I have this certain habit.
Maybe it’s not a habit — a ritual? A tradition? A reflexive behavior that I can’t seem to avoid because of the hard-coded Pavlovian conditioning that has made its way into my bones. At any rate, its a thing.
Whenever I decide to pursue a new venture, or add a branching point to the narrative tree of my life, I always indulge in hearing the anecdotes of those who came before me. What was their catharsis? What were they doing when they were accepted to that big school? How did they celebrate that massive job opportunity? I don’t know why, I suppose I just like to hear about the joy derived following months (or years) of hard work — I think it gives me a little boost of bravado… or at the very least, it helps me momentarily ignore all of the late nights I’ll have to pull.
To pay it forward, for all of those times that I leeched the endorphins from the success of others, I figured I would tell you the story of when I was offered my first book deal. Hopefully, the writing-weary will stagger into this blog and inhale some of this second-hand, feel-good vapor.
***
I was sent to Tampa, Florida to complete a full week of training, per the biotech company whom I conduct research for. It was one of those obligatory, one-size-fits-all, 8:00am - 4:00pm, marathon weeks with group activities, company buzz words, and intermittent pop quizzes. So, long days. Necessary monotony. Lots of rosemary-mint hotel shampoo.
It was Wednesday, following a particularly long company session. In effort to not lose an entire week of my regular weight training, I headed up to the chintzy hotel gym. The plastic façade of the treadmill was dangling by an attached USB wiring harness, and the dumbbells capped out at 50 lbs. The sign on the mirror read, “Hotel guest rooms below. PLEASE DO NOT DROP WEIGHTS.” Everything was bathed in stale, yellow light.
Great.
Being a powerlifter — with training schedules that call for regiments of heavy squats, stacks of 45-lb. plates, and bulky combo racks — I made do with what I had. Halfway through my lackluster workout, I get a text from my agent, “Hey there. Are you available for a video chat? I just want to run some ideas by you.”
At this point, my book proposal had been on-submission for over 3 months (for those unfamiliar with the traditional publishing process, this essentially means that it has been submitted to publishing houses, and where they review the work and decide, internally, about whether or not they’d like to publish it). Many editors had read through it, but ultimately passed on the project. My agent had already begun to plant the idea in my head that I may need to rework the piece for an audience different than my intent, and subsequently re-submit to some pre-selected reviewers. Full disclosure? It wasn’t my first choice — it wasn’t my project. But, I was willing to entertain the idea, if it would resonate with publishing houses to a greater degree than… you know… not at all.
I dabbed my wet forehead, flung my towel into a sweat-soaked basket, and jogged back to my room. Following some technical frustrations, I was finally able to pull my pink, sweaty face onto the screen. After a very brief period of chit-chat and tinkling giggles (my agent is actually the best, and we’re eerily similar people), she launched into it.
Agent: “So, it’s been some time since the submission. And I was thinking more about reworking the book for [new intended audience - redacted]…”
Me: “Ok, yeah! I was just thinking about that.” (At this point in the story, I honestly deflated a little, but had accepted my impending fate)
Agent: “I was thinking we should start changing the text for [new intended audience - redacted], but then this BOOK OFFER CAME IN [[proceeds to hold up an official offer, mounted on a Blackstone Publishing letterhead]]”
She said it so quickly, with absolutely zero context, that I think I blurted out, “Wait…WHAT?!” She confirmed that I, in fact, was not hallucinating and that my brain had processed her verbal message correctly. I was so surprised that I honestly can’t remember exactly what I said (although, I can almost confirm that it included a series of “holy shit”s). She read the absolutely glowing review that one of the editors included in the letter, and my wide grin could have damn-near split my head in two.
She gave me a brief rundown of what to expect next, and how things would proceed from the business standpoint. And, if we’re being honest in this blog, I think I remembered half of it.
***
I can still feel the warm electricity of excitement, but now under the whips of the impending manuscript delivery date. For my book. The way I wanted it to be conveyed. With people in my corner who get it. I still can’t quite describe how validating that feels. Or how grateful I am to be able to convey my message to the masses. Or how many cool things Blackstone has planned for the project. It’s going to be incredible.
With that said, if you’re reading this and you’re waiting for your moment, don’t lose hope. Keep pushing, keep going, and keep being your own biggest proponent.
