Finding an Internet Bride
'Someday My Prince Will Come' plays on the stereo as I flip one more time through the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook. The majority of agents seem to be interested in either women's fiction or children's, which becomes difficult when plugging an historical comedy about a bunch of guys building rockets.
My experience from the book launch the other night is that you have to find an agent you like. This requires me to be even more selective in my search, and on the basis of some of the agent photos on agency websites, pickings are slim.
It starts to feel kind of creepy, like finding a Russian bride online, especially as I'm looking at pictures of guys - it is a book involving rockets, after all.
Okay, so my prospective agent has to share similar interests, otherwise he or she isn't going to like the book. And I guess they have to look okay; I do not want to find myself in a small room, taking editorial advice from a heavy breather or someone with a leery smile. I want to find someone a little like me, but not too much, someone I trust, with whom I can share a drink, spend time with, who will be a good guardian for my story, and sit back with me and watch it grow over the years to come, and will hopefully produce with me more stories, possibly a series - a family of novels, if you will.
After ten mailouts and three rejections, it's still early days, and two of these rejections were very personalised responses, thank you very much. I don't know what I'll do if I run out of agents. Try America, where there's more of a market for my kind of book. And if I don't find one there? Maybe I can get a Russian bride with contacts in the publishing industry.
Friday 11 February 2011
Thursday 3 February 2011
The Launch
When people ask me what I do, I usually cough out an explanation along the lines of 'I'm working on my second novel,' because it's less pretentious than saying I'm a novelist (which I'm not), and it implies that when I'm finished with the manuscript, I'll go back into full-time employment. Well, I'm finished with the manuscript, and looking for a job.
I'm reminded of this as I take a seat at the launch of my friend's book, The Sun Hasn't Fallen From the Sky. It's her first, and already she has a deal with a major publisher, radio play, national reviews and an audio book, not to mention strong sales. And of course, an agent, who is sitting up on the stage with her, smiling proudly as Alison reads from her book.
I'm excited and nervous for her, and humbled by her writing. Her words make me wonder if mine are good enough, if my MS is worthy of an agent like hers, or the attention her book is getting. She's in a different stratum to me, and she has an agent, whom I eye greedily.
With one novel published and no agent, I'm a freak, worse than an unpublished author, and one whom some agents incorrectly assume has been vanity published. Published in vain, I want to say, but that's the complementary glass of wine talking. Sometimes, that first book is my albatross.
My own launch was a compact affair in the foyer of the publisher, with a small group of supporters, some balloons and a bowl of crisps, and which ended up in a pub full of ukulele players. This, in contrast, is by ticket only, in a large theatre in the public library, supported by the Propaganda Wing of the Arts Council. It's sold out, too. Alison deserves it, and despite the strong start her book is enjoying, she's keeping the day job, holding her nerve.
Nothing is at stake with the first book, especially when the world wants to read it. When you're writing your first book, you're afraid to take it too seriously, but by the time the second one rolls along, you're afraid not to. You ask yourself if the current story is as good as the last one, and hope it is, because by that point, you've invested so much.
I cheer her on, because I remember what it was like; first holding your book and wondering where it will lead. Listening to her agent and publishing editor speak about the unprecedented response the book has elicited from the media and the public, it's obvious it will take her far.
Afterwards she is beaming, signing books, agent and editor as standing off to the side, chatting, waiting for the queue to disperse. Do I go over and attempt to network? Nope. It's Alison's night.
When people ask me what I do, I usually cough out an explanation along the lines of 'I'm working on my second novel,' because it's less pretentious than saying I'm a novelist (which I'm not), and it implies that when I'm finished with the manuscript, I'll go back into full-time employment. Well, I'm finished with the manuscript, and looking for a job.
I'm reminded of this as I take a seat at the launch of my friend's book, The Sun Hasn't Fallen From the Sky. It's her first, and already she has a deal with a major publisher, radio play, national reviews and an audio book, not to mention strong sales. And of course, an agent, who is sitting up on the stage with her, smiling proudly as Alison reads from her book.
I'm excited and nervous for her, and humbled by her writing. Her words make me wonder if mine are good enough, if my MS is worthy of an agent like hers, or the attention her book is getting. She's in a different stratum to me, and she has an agent, whom I eye greedily.
With one novel published and no agent, I'm a freak, worse than an unpublished author, and one whom some agents incorrectly assume has been vanity published. Published in vain, I want to say, but that's the complementary glass of wine talking. Sometimes, that first book is my albatross.
My own launch was a compact affair in the foyer of the publisher, with a small group of supporters, some balloons and a bowl of crisps, and which ended up in a pub full of ukulele players. This, in contrast, is by ticket only, in a large theatre in the public library, supported by the Propaganda Wing of the Arts Council. It's sold out, too. Alison deserves it, and despite the strong start her book is enjoying, she's keeping the day job, holding her nerve.
Nothing is at stake with the first book, especially when the world wants to read it. When you're writing your first book, you're afraid to take it too seriously, but by the time the second one rolls along, you're afraid not to. You ask yourself if the current story is as good as the last one, and hope it is, because by that point, you've invested so much.
I cheer her on, because I remember what it was like; first holding your book and wondering where it will lead. Listening to her agent and publishing editor speak about the unprecedented response the book has elicited from the media and the public, it's obvious it will take her far.
Afterwards she is beaming, signing books, agent and editor as standing off to the side, chatting, waiting for the queue to disperse. Do I go over and attempt to network? Nope. It's Alison's night.
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