Hi Everyone,
So, the way we usually do it around here is that on Thursdays I post to all subscribers, and then on Sunday I post to just our (magnificent, much-adored) paid subscribers.
Last Sunday, behind the paywall, I posted a little exercise and so, today, I want to break the usual pattern and talk about that exercise, while it’s still fresh in mind, with apologies to our free subscribers and, perhaps, a gentle nudge to get the heck over there, behind the paywall, where the exercises are kept, along with our deep dives into the mechanics of classic stories, and the arcane and ancient writing advice which may only be spoken once, in a whisper, but which changes everything forever.
But only if you want to. 😊
So, first, I’ll disclose the sources of the three Examples we looked at in last Sunday’s exercise:
Example 1 was from Abigail, by Magda Szabo, translated from the Hungarian by Len Rix, in the NYRB edition.
Example 2 was from The Leopard, by Giuseppe di Lampedusa, translated from the Italian by Archibald Colquhoun, in the Pantheon edition.
Example 3 was from The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Doestoevesky, translated from the Russian by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, in the FSG edition.
Only just now did I notice that all three of these were translations; this wasn’t intentional.
Each of these examples was taken, more or less at random, from somewhere deep within the book.
I thought your responses, in the Comments, were so interesting. Thanks for doing such a good job with those. It’s always inspiring, to see these intense minds from all over the world chewing on some in-common project.
As I mentioned there, one useful part of this might be to do a sort of meta-examination, asking, “Where did my mind first go? What was I immediately interested in? What was my natural way of assessing these examples?”
This might tell you something about your hidden, tacit assumptions about prose which, in turn, might help you think more freely about why you write, and where your unique abilities may lie.
I also urged you to not forget about the sound of the prose, and what I really meant by this was simply that we shouldn’t overlook the way the words come at us – the sense of them in our heads or throats or wherever; their rhythm; the pauses; the way the sentences roll off the (mental) tongue; even the timing of the little gaps between sentences: these are all part of the great game of persuasion that the writer is playing, as she tries to convince you to invest in her text and keep reading. That is, it’s not all about meaning, or what expectations, plot-wise, are being generated, although these are, of course, vital. But if we have, say, an action, or an image grossly in mind, there’s the whole question of how best to deliver it, and that decision has so much to do with how we are, in turn, perceived as writers.
“The water lapped up to the rotting pier with a certain jaded weariness,” vs. “The jaded waves, there beneath the rotted pier, came and came.”
Those sentences belong, arguably, to two quite different books. Write/choose one of them, and the next sentence is going to naturally respond to it. As will, in a sense, the whole rest of the book.
And now, on to this week’s question:
Q.
Dear George,
I have been a part of Story Club since nearly its launch and have deeply appreciated how transparently you've shared about your writing journey along the way. I'm in my mid-thirties and often feel "behind" other writers my age, and I regularly take heart from your somewhat unconventional path to literary contribution and accomplishment.
Along those lines, I don't think I've seen you discuss much in these posts regarding getting a literary agent, and I'm wondering if you might share a bit about your experiences and any wisdom gained regarding when, whether, and how to pursue such a relationship. I have read a lot of the conventional wisdom about the nuts and bolts of this process (re: how to generate a list of potential agents, write a query letter, choose comps, etc.), but I am deeply curious about your perspective on the topic more broadly and philosophically, especially as a writer whose career has not always followed the most well-worn routes and as a teacher who has mentored other writers.
A specific concern I have is that the project I feel almost ready to query is one I've been working on for the better part of a decade, and while it's a book I deeply believe in and feel proud of, I feel it represents much more of who I used to be as a writer and not so much the writer I am hopeful I am starting to become. I also suspect it might be an uphill battle in terms of finding a market as a book of linked stories by a writer with a slowly improving but still quite modest resume in terms of lit mag publications. (The conventional wisdom that rings in my ear is, "You can only debut once.")
For context, I've just spent a full extra year on revisions beyond when I thought the book was ready for the second time, and though this was time well spent, I am all the more eager to move onto other projects that represent more ambitious and interesting ground to me and already have several very different ones going in early stages. I am wondering if I should wait to finish another, stronger book before looking for an agent, even if it takes me another year or two or more, and/or in a parallel vein, concentrate on trying to publish the strongest stories I can in the strongest magazines I can in the hopes that an agent might seek me out (!)--as it sounds like it happened for you.
Alternately, I wonder if this might be a stealthy form of self-sabotage (and perhaps an attempt to justify shielding myself from the more immediate risk of rejection) and if I am making the mistake of "self-rejecting" my first book before I give the world any kind of chance to decide whether it's interested. (As you can probably tell from my self-conscious overuse of parentheses, and this after I've deleted most of them, I am just a wee bit of an overthinker.)
If I were your student (and I hope you'll consider me as such), what would you counsel?
Thank you very much for making it possible to send you such a question, and for being a writing mentor to me over recent years, through your work as well as this remarkably accessible shared space known as Story Club.
A.
This is a very wise and insightful and urgent question, for any writer, and I’ll do my best to answer it.
First, I know what you mean about feeling “behind” other writers your age but I’d do my best not to worry about it. All it takes is one great book or story and…there you are. Beloved and read forever. And people rarely read a great, timeless classic and, feeling full of gratitude and admiration, suddenly stop themselves, and go, “Wait, hold on: how OLD was she when she wrote this?” and then, if the person was, you know, old, change their minds.
Just go for it. All of us writers, when we are being great, are the same age, which is: ageless, timeless, eternal.
Second, about my experiences with agents.
In 1992 I got a story, “Offloading for Mrs. Schwartz,” in The New Yorker, unagented, via the slush pile. On an earlier story, I’d gotten an encouraging letter from an assistant editor there (David McCormick, who is now an agent himself) and sent them two additional stories that were rejected, and then they took this third one.
So that was exciting, of course. The senior fiction editor at that time, Daniel Menaker (may he rest in peace), was also a writer and was a client of the legendary ICM (now CAA) agent, Esther Newberg. Even before the story came out in the magazine, Dan sent it to Esther, wondering whether she might want to take me on as a client.
She wrote me a sweet, witty letter (as mentioned in the link in the question, above), and we got on the phone, and I very happily signed on. It was, for sure, starting at the top – she has had so many great clients and is the hardest-working, most dedicated agent in the business, with impeccable taste and great energy. We’ve been together since, and she’s become a dear, beloved friend, who I’d trust with my life. She’s guided me and my career magnificently since that time. And we’ve never had a sour word or the slightest disagreement – just fun, and more fun. So, it’s been perfect – a dream come true.
But it’s not always like that with agents, for sure. I’ve heard many, many stories, enough to make me understand how lucky I’ve been.
As is often the case, then, and as described above, I got my agent by way of a personal contact - my New Yorker editor’s recommendation to my future agent. People still get agents like that: at writer’s conferences, or through MFA contacts, and so on. It also still happens that an agent will come across a story in a lit mag and get in touch with the writer.
But however it happens, it’s a big deal.
I think it’s safe to say that, these days, the agent is the primary gatekeeper. Once you get one, many problems and worries vanish, or at least dissipate. I think it’s fairly unheard of these days for people to send books directly to editors. So the agent is your best and most essential literary friend when you’re at that first-book stage.
Well, and forever after, too.
Regarding agents, there’s, of course, the business aspect but there’s also a psychological/artistic aspect.
The great blessing of working with Esther, for example, is that I have always felt that, if I just paid attention to the art, she would take care of the rest perfectly, using a sense of judgment that exactly matches mine. She understands me and my work the way I do, if that makes sense. Or, we might say that she represents me the way I’d represent myself, if I had her knowledge of the business and was a far better negotiator than I am.
And that’s magic, a real blessing, because it takes the pressure off of me. I just do the best work I can, knowing that Esther will make sure the world receives the work in the best possible way. (I will not be misunderstood or under-represented under-valued, not with Esther running things). Because she values my work, the world is going to value it, and is going to understand it at the highest possible level.
In other words, she sees me at my best and then passes that perception on to the world.
The real benefit of this is that I never have to feel any confusing crossover between the artistic- and business-sides of the thing. If a project fails, or doesn’t sell, or if the response is less than I’d hoped, I know with certainty that it wasn’t because of the agenting – it’s on me, on the art. (This is also true on the publishing side of this, regarding my editor, Andy Ward, but that’s for another post).
And that feeling is super-clarifying. I know many people who have had bad experiences with their agents, and, over time, it can make an artist feel bitter, like: “I did my best work and it went out into the world in a way that I suspect didn’t do it justice. Dang. Was that the work or the marketing? What a waste. Now what?”
With the right agent, that worry gets neutralized.
Here are a few “conventional wisdom” items I usually share.
—A prospective agent should never charge you to read or assess your work.
—A prospective agent should be willing to share her ideas about edits needed to your book, and should be willing to talk about who she might send it to, at which company, and why. They might also be willing to talk about recent sales – maybe not in great detail, but enough to, say, inspire confidence.
—One thing I’ve noticed in some of my students is that, because they (correctly) understand getting an agent to be a big deal, they are sometimes somewhat cowed once they get an agent, and are, to my taste, a little timid about communicating with the agent. The agent does, after all, work for the writer. (And with the writer, for sure - but there has to be some power-sharing.) So, I think it’s important to establish a relationship of mutual respect, that involves frequent and timely communications, for example, about where a book is being sent and when, and what is expected to happen after that. I know some people whose agent has sent a book out and then there’s radio silence for months and months, and the person feels reluctant to call the agent and inquire about it. I don’t think that’s a healthy situation.
—Not all agents are “reading” agents; they might have good confidence about what will or will not sell, but aren’t as comfortable prescribing fixes. Other agents are essentially editors, or actually have worked as editors. I don’t think one type is better than the other, but it’s probably important to know what style of agent you have. In my case, Esther is both: a great reader and editor who also keenly understands the marketplace.
—If you don’t have any preexisting contacts, a good starting place is this reference book called Fiction Writers Market, that lists nearly all agents and editors working in the U.S. and provides information on the kind of work they prefer, who they represent, and on their submission requirements. (Although, just now, trying to find a link, it may be that this series is no longer in print - maybe someone has some information on this? Or maybe there’s a similar reference some of you recommend?)
Now, as stated, I had (I know) extremely good luck in all of this, with Esther. She’s an absolute powerhouse and is so good at what she does and loves her job and books so much. So, it was like going to the park and someone says, “Want to play some two-on-two? OK, you’re going to team up with Michael Jordan.”
What’s not to love?
I also know not everyone is so lucky, and I suspect that the publishing world has changed a lot since Esther and I first teamed up, back in the (gulp) George H.W. Bush years.
So, I definitely want to defer to the group here, in terms of what things are like now in the getting-an-agent realm…and if you have other questions about the basic mechanics of how to try to get an agent, please put them in the Comments and we’ll try to get to them.
As for your more specific second question, dear questioner….my instinct tells me that you should try to get an agent with the book you have in hand (i.e., the story collection you mention). Why?
Well, it sounds like it might not be bad to see if you’re in the ballpark. There’s nothing that says that the agent, once she accepts you, has to send that book out. It could be that the book is enough to get an agent’s interest, and then you can share with her all that you’ve shared with us above, and get her take on the situation, and she can advise you.
And, if I’m understanding the question correctly, I think that, yes, you should “concentrate on trying to publish the strongest stories you can in the strongest magazines you can.” That’s a good play no matter what. An agent might indeed seek you out on the basis of a story in a good magazine (as happened, indirectly, to me). But also, down the line, she’s going to find it easier to sell a collection of stories if one or two of them have appeared in one of the better magazines. This just makes editors feel more confident, I think. I know that, because several of the stories in my first book, CivilWarLand in Bad Decline, had appeared in The New Yorker and Harpers, it was much easier to sell that book - we had people interested in it and calling about it even before it was finished.
The whole agenting thing is, I think, a little more gentle and forgiving than we might imagine. If an agent expresses interest in your work, she won’t forget you. Let’s say you send some work and the agent doesn’t quite think its ready but expresses a willingness to see more at a later time. I’ve known some people to get a little panicked in this situation, as if the clock is running out, and then they might rush things a bit. But all it takes is a line in your cover letter, reminding the agent that she’s responded positively to your work in the past – and there you go.
This post is already too long, so let me just say I’m happy to field any follow-up questions in the Comments.
And I know others will have thoughts and advice too.
I haven't seen anyone mention it here yet, so I'll toss out the Acknowledgments Gambit: Pull together a stack of books similar to yours, as well as a few you really enjoyed even if they aren't similar. Go through each book and read the acknowledgments. Authors (almost) always thank their agents. That's a short list you can start with--the agents who have worked on books like yours, or books you like. And if the same name comes up again and again, that's the one you try first.
My heart flapped & twinged at the mention of your feeling "behind", as you put it, dear questioner. I felt similarly when I was your age, that I was "behind" and miles away and, oh, when would I catch up!, until I came upon something that the great John Cheever said, which was basically that writing, for whatever else it may or may not be, is not a competition. By which he meant that you are where you are, and that where you are is exactly perfect. And that where you are along your path has nothing to do with anyone else. As Ezra Pound put it, it doesn't matter who wrote it (or at what age), only that it is written. They may card you at the bar or at the polling station or the DMV; you may or may not be offered an AARP membership, asked if you remember Watergate or are eligible for Medicare, but you will never be asked your age if what you put down on the page is your truest heart as best as you can manage. This, to me anyway, is one of the glories of writing: doesn't matter the age at which you do it, only that you do. At which point you will have arrived.