Your Anti-Monkey Rhetoric Makes Me Sad.
When you’re a young writer seeking an agent, you always think getting an agent will be like it is in the movies: They’ll buy you an expensive lunch and then start sending you plenty of contracts. In other words, we all think getting an agent is pretty much the same as becoming rich and famous. And then you get an agent and you discover what it really means is there’s someone to tell you how incredibly annoying you are, and that if you weren’t such a genius writer they would certainly have a restraining order against you.
This past week I tortured my lovely agent excessively with a series of oddball contracts, opportunities, and mysterious contacts from mysterious people. I had the following conversation with her at least three times:
<phone rings>
ME: Hello I am required by court order to inform you that I am not wearing pants.
AGENT: What in the sweet sainted hell is this?
ME: A short story contract.
AGENT: Who wrote it? Monkeys? DID MONKEYS WRITE THIS CONTRACT?
ME: Uh —
AGENT: IS THIS A JOKE? ARE YOU PRANKING ME? I Swear if you are pranking me I will have you killed.
ME: Uh — No prank. Is it okay to sign?
AGENT: Jebus. Yes, I’ll mark a few changes and you can sign it. Tell whoever wrote this contract they should plan carefully to never meet me in a dark alley.
And so on.
I did earn the ultimate compliment from my agent, though, when I sent her something on Saturday night around 10PM and happened to catch her still checking email (and a version of the conversation above did in fact occur), when she said “You really do provide the most entertainment of any client I have.”
Frankly, if I make you swear and then tell me I’m entertaining in the same breath, I figure I am doing my job as a writer. Right? This is why you need an agent: A lot of people out there think they know how to write a contract, or how to run a magazine or publisher, or how to do, well, anything. As a writer I have realized that the ONLY thing I know how to do competently is write (and believe me, there is a long string of Day Jobs where world-weary bosses will back me up on that). There have been plenty of contracts large and small that I would have signed without hesitation, only to pause when I spied the rictus of horror my agent’s face had taken on.
Am I saying that without my agent by now I’d have signed a contract written by monkeys and would be, in fact, working for Monkey Overlords and being paid in abuse and grooming sessions? That is exactly what I’m saying.
Very funny and helpful, both. Thank you.
And that’s the result when you’re sober. After an evening at the bar, you’re looking at spending big bucks on salon expenses for your new wife who’s a bit hirsute shall we say!
Thanks, Jeff, I’m convinced agents are indispensable, especially someone like Janet.
Love your books. Your voice is killer.
I don’t know. A grooming session sounds kind of nice . . .
I, for one, welcome our new monkey overlords.
Hah! Well said! But I think that your picture is of an ape, not a monkey! Unless of course you meant to imply that anti-monkey rhetoric also makes apes sad. Monkeys and apes do belong to the same order, so perhaps some mutual sympathy is called for here.
TG, I believe I meant to imply that writers are morons.
No, I got the part about implying that writers are morons (about anything other than writing, that is). It’s just that you had a picture of an ape saying that your anti-monkey rhetoric makes it sad, and I was going to correct you that apes are not monkeys, but then I realized that apes could certainly be made sad by anti-monkey rhetoric as well. Oh never mind.
This is precisely why I want an agent. So I can call him/her up at 3 in the morning with an obscure contract question. Actually, it’s so I can reply to all my kids’ questions with “Please talk to my agent.” 🙂
So what you’re saying is having an agent is a reason to answer the phone? I dig.
(though you make me nervous about short story contracts. Though I’ve only signed one to date. And it mentioned nothing about owning my characters from now ’til kingdom come or anything screwy like that)
(Also, on your Vantage post, just before this one? I spent a couple of attempts trying to wipe the stray dog hair off my screen, but nay, it was a mark on the scanned letter you’d uploaded. And my dog’s hairs aren’t that long, so I should’ve suspected)
I am always amazed at the things my agent finds in short story contracts. Also, that there are such things as short story contracts. There was a time when short stories were sold for first NA rights with an email.
Finally: It’s cat hair!