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January 2002 - Issue 33
Contacts, Agents and Publicists The business of writing: The what, who, where ALSO... Visit EmporiumGazette.com We have our guidelines available for your convenience and have posted our planned monthly themes so you can submit your writing to us. Even our back issues are available. Sign up to receive the Emporium Gazette monthly.
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EDITOR NOTES & ANNOUNCEMENTS SO YOU WANT TO BE A WRITER TARGETING YOUR MARKET SPEED WRITING FOR NOVELISTS FROM ANOTHER ANGLE POETRY WORLD PUBLISHED
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Did you happen to notice the revised heading at the top? We are proud to annouce that starting with this issue of the new year, The Emporium Gazette now has its own direct domain name. You can now get to us very quickly by just typing in: http://www.EmporiumGazette.com Everything is there at your fingertips: guidelines, schedule, back issues and more. Be sure to check back since we'll be adding more in the next few months... keep watch! * * * * * Due to health constraints, the 4th segment of Mark Vass' marketing article will be available in next month's (February) issue. We regret any inconvenience this may cause. * * * * * James G. Rogers:For a newbie, few things are more difficult than writing a decent, reader-grabbing book. One of them is convincing a capable, competent agent to take a risk and represent it. If that's not enough of a challenge, try finding an agent who qualifies as capable and competent but doesn't charge a hefty reading or other up-front fee. Now, we're in the degree of difficulty range you see only in the Olympics. Yet, exactly that happened to one member of the Gazette's staff, Jim Rogers, earlier this month. Jim's second novel, Unjust Enrichment, is now under agency contract. When the New York houses reopen after New Year's, several lucky would-be publishers will have a chance to take a look. Landing an agent is no guarantee of a sale by any means, but it's an essential first step in a long journey down Publishers' Lane. It's also a measure of a book's marketability. No agent worth his or her salt will waste time on something not deemed worthy of the effort. Yes, it would be nice to be able to go to the publishers directly, but that's simply not the way this game is played. If you have any doubts, read the article on the subject of agents by fellow Gazette staffer, Mark Vass. * * * * Elyse Salpeter: I’m the type of person who needs goals. Many people think my goals are unrealistic or simply unattainable, but without goals, how could I ever strive to become a better person? I know of too many individuals who never set any expectations for themselves and later in life bemoan the fact that they never accomplished anything. I don’t want that to happen to me. I want that brass ring. Four and a half years ago, when I was thirty, I set a goal for myself to publish my first novel before I was thirty-five. Even knowing how difficult the publishing environment is, I set this limit for myself. I sent out query letter after query letter to agents and publishers, but no one bit for years. I can actually wallpaper my bathroom with the amount of rejection letters I've received. Still, I had a goal and I wasn’t going to let a stack of rejections stand in my way. It’s a good thing I didn't. A few weeks ago I received a packet from West Coast Literary Associates announcing that they wanted to represent my novel, FLYING TO THE LIGHT. I had gone through the entire painstaking and agonizing process with them in my attempt to get agented. I first sent them a query letter, then the first twenty-five pages of my manuscript, and finally the entire manuscript was read. I passed each stage and was ultimately sent a contract for representation. It’s the first step towards my dream of being published. I still have six months to go before I'm thirty-five. The good news is, I’m flexible. I use goals to keep me on track and to keep me motivated. If it takes me until I'm thirty-five or sixty-five, it really doesn’t matter. It’s the desire and dedication to whatever craft you choose, that’s important. It’s the journey that really matters and that’s what makes you a complete person and makes you feel alive. That’s my brass ring. And, if I can get published along the way, then how wonderful this journey would have been! * * * * * Susan Long Turner: Gwen Choate and I uncovered a bit of a minor brag via telephone. I entered two flash fiction stories in a Byline contest and knew I hadn't won a cash prize since it was past time for me to hear. However, Gwen discovered I had won Special Honorable Mention, one of six and that means my story was in the top nine. Then there was a category of Honorable Mention and there I was listed with my other story, "Dreams from Forever" in that section. Ordinarily I'm not too carried away with Honorable Mentions, but Byline gets entries nationwide and we figured out that winners average about 8 to 10% of entries. So that encourages me to continue with flash fiction. Contests are a good measuring stick before you submit--it gives you a bit more confidence before starting to market.
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Visit Cool Well! You'll find articles on writing, short stories, 3D art, and free web pages that you can use to build your own site. Go to: http://www.CoolWell.org to take part in the fun.
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So You Want
to be a Writer Let me begin this article with a story. My wife Karen has been training dogs for fifteen years -- about the same amount of time I've been writing. There are no college degrees in her field that proclaims the recipient "dog trainer extraordinaire." Over the years, many years, she has become very well respected. She attends seminars, reads, practices the craft . . . goes to workshops, reads, and practices the craft. Have I mentioned reads? One day, she emotionally blew. She showed me the multitude of phone messages and emails she receives each month asking, "How can I become a dog trainer?" My mind clicked -- her inquisitive callers could have been asking the same abstract question about writing. Over the past year, I've been receiving the same query - How do I become a writer? Here's how I respond. Many people, independent of experience, answer in one of three ways. The first answer is the traditional method - go to school and major in journalism. True, this is where a writer learns mechanics such as nouns, verbs, adjectives, participial phrases, parallels, etc. It is also true that any writer worth his or her salt must have a decent "toolbox" that will help him or her put each word correctly after the other. As in many life situations however, a person's brain can only offer so much help, while one's emotional heart is also required. So to with writing. A person can graduate with a 4.0 major in journalism, and still not have a clue how or what to write. Secondly, many notable authors have responded to this age-old question, with one word - read. Read everything you can get your hands on - good writing, bad writing, fiction, non-fiction, poetry, etc. They all make a good point. Any seasoned professional realizes that what they produce is at least in some way, a combination of good mechanics and personal life experiences. Yes, it is good to read bad writing. Hopefully, you'll learn what not to do. Reading good writing will show you what it should be like. Who, however, makes the decision what is good and what is bad? That is up to you. The quality of what you wish to produce is your decision. Also, realize that each writer needs to develop his or her own style as opposed to emulating others. Granted, we can learn from others, but our work must be our own. Finally, many authors, no matter what their experience, answers with the phrase - "Just write!" This is not a difficult concept. Put one word after another. Together they will form a sentence and/or idea. If done correctly, those sentences and ideas will hopefully form the final product - an article, story, or book. Just like any career, you must be involved. For example, each year the computer industry presents multiple trade shows. By attending these shows, industry professionals learn about new products, how they work, and what they can be used for. Writing is no different. There are hundreds of writer's conferences that take place across the country each year. Attending writer's conferences can be an invaluable resource. First, they offer multiple workshops on a variety of topics. Writers, agents and publishers present and attend the workshops. Secondly, writer's conferences are very conducive to a casual and relaxing atmosphere where one can talk freely and learn from others. Over the years, a few people have made the comment to me, "I'm not talking with anyone at a conference because people are only there to steal my ideas." Not true! Writing is unlike so many other fields. Everyone gathers to soak up experience, education and moral support. Let's face it, writing is a very lonely and singular profession. For hours, days, months, and years, we write what we feel, and only after we're completely comfortable with our work, we let others into our world to experience our creations. Because we are constantly subjected to rejection, solitude, and loneliness, we are affected. After all, we're only human. Because of these emotional burdens, we badly need to be re-energized once or twice a year. Hence, yet another reason to attend conferences. Those who are not writers, no matter how much they may love us or want to understand, are unable to comprehend our plight. When I first started writing, my wife would walk into my office as I stared out the window with my feet on my desk and wondered why I wasn't working. She's since learned that that is when I AM working. Tapping on computer or typewriter keys is only part of the process. Many say that conferences, PLUS reading, PLUS writing is the equation that molds a person into a successful writer. Listen, learn, read, and write. What other tools are available to the writer? I've already mentioned reading, but reading other's work is only part of it. Read about the craft. Visit your local bookstore and stop by the magazine section. There, you'll find dozens of magazines about writing. Find the one that's right for you. I've read most of them, and have only stuck with one - Writer's Digest. Next, peruse your bookstores writing section. A writer shouldn't be without a few specific reference books. If you have to beg, borrow, or steal the money, get a copy of the latest Writers' Market. They make a good attempt at listing legitimate literary agents, what they specialize in, and what they're looking for. The same information is also provided for publishers. Additionally, they have an on-line version that is kept up-to-date. For an annual fee, you can have access to it 24-hours a day (http://www.writersmarket.com). If you're new to writing, don't be afraid to buy The Complete Idiot's Guide to Getting Published. This book doesn't offer any revelations or unlock any secrets about getting published, and isn't really for idiots. It is however, a very good primer for both the beginner and intermediate writer. Don't forget about your "toolbox." One can learn the elements of grammar, composition and style from William Strunk's, The Elements of Style, or books like it. Finally, subscribing to and reading e-zines just like this one is invaluable. It's up to you as an intelligent human being to accept input from the mass quantities of information available, decide what is right for you, and formulate an action plan. Note also that that the term "successful" means something different to everyone. Some define the term "success" as having a large bank account. Others consider themselves a success if their work entertains or educates a reader. I just finished reading Stephen King's second non-fiction book, A Memoir of the Craft - On Writing. To paraphrase his innermost feelings on writing, he states that he gets a natural high from putting one word after the other and forming a line that makes sense. He also says that he feels that writing is not about making money, friends, or becoming famous - it's only about enriching the lives of who reads your work, thus enriching your life. In the end, success is what you make it - for you. T.S. Elliot once said, "Success is relative. It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things." Undo your thoughts, and put them on paper. It's your job as a writer to know that the tools you need are out there. It's also your job to seek them out, and use them how they best fit your needs. Most importantly -- just write! * * * * * Mark Vass, until last year, worked in marketing for multiple computer companies for over twenty years. Although he began his writing career on a part-time basis fifteen years ago, he now writes full time and has just published his first e-book (see ad elsewhere in this issue).
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Has winter weather gotten you
down? Visit the home-page of the EmporiumGazette's
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Targeting
the Market My opinion: one of the hardest things a writer learns is how to target the market. To ferret out that perfect editor who will not only enjoy but also publish the piece. It takes a mound of postage and dozens of rejection letters to sell one story. Editors routinely claim writers don't read their magazines before submitting. While this is probably true, I'm not sure reading would help. Often, the writer doesn't know exactly what style of piece he or she has produced, let alone how to match it to any particular magazine's seemingly elusive tastes. I've spent years trying to shoehorn submissions into almost every market. I suspect I have this not-so-unique ability to convince myself my short fiction is appropriate. Science Fiction magazine? Sure, I've the story right here. After all, one of the minor characters is a chemist. Mystery zine? Absolutely. I'll add a dead body. That'll cinch it. My manuscripts were Skud missiles, launched in the hopes of hitting something. Anything. Eventually, this ill-focused strategy brought me increasing guilt. The only hard criteria for submitting became the length of the piece, and my cover letters withered to an apologetic whimper. Ironically, one of these cover letters led to my first sale. I wrote a story about two brothers, the younger was dying. Naturally, I fired it off to a children's magazine, adding this caveat: "I'm interested in your comments, as this story may be too racy for younger teens." The editor wrote back that while she enjoyed the story, it wasn't too racy, it was too moralistic for what she needed. She recommended sending it to a religious magazine. (I never would have considered this type of venue for my story.) Giddy with this nibble of professional insight, I searched the Writer's Market and sent the story to Liguorian, a large religious magazine that accepts fiction. Six weeks later, they telephoned to say they were interested in purchasing the story. I played it cool on the telephone: not asking when it would appear or how much they would pay. The only detail of the conversation I remember was the name of the magazine, and my realization that another editor had helped me to sell a story to a national magazine. Another example: About a month ago, I emailed a requested essay to an editor at another magazine. She'd enjoyed one of my previously submitted fillers (a great way to break in, by the way), and, even though she didn't buy this filler, she asked if I'd written any longer non-fiction. I don't write much non-fiction and what little I had available was, I thought, inappropriate for her magazine. (I must be improving my targeting skills somehow.) In my response, I stated I didn't think my essay was a match, asked her advice, and attached the essay anyway. She wrote back within a week, said I was correct that my submission didn't fit, but added that she personally enjoyed it. She also recommended a few specific markets. That day, I mailed my essay to the journals she'd recommended. I've often heard a writer should be confident in his or her cover letters, positive the submission matches the market exactly, but in my case, I've found the better responses come when I'm a little humble. Humility, I think, makes it obvious that any feedback will be greatly appreciated and carefully considered. Most of the time, editors still don't personally respond, but on those rare occasions they do, their objective and informed comments can help target the next submission. I also believe that if the story is well written, but targeted poorly, the editor is more likely to comment. I imagine, it's hard for any editor to deal with mediocre writing all day. They probably feel some twinge of excitement when they find a better piece, even if it's not the same twinge they'd feel if the story were also perfect for their magazine. I'll bet some editor's feel it's worth a moment's reflection and a quick note to encourage a good writer. So whenever I submit a piece for consideration, I try to end the cover letter with a provocative question, preferably one that can be answered with a simple yes or no. Something that won't require an involved explanation the editor might be unwilling to tackle. Try asking a question when submitting your best pieces and see if an editor doesn't help you to better target your next submission, that is, if the editor doesn't accept your work outright. * * * * * Patrick Riley has spent the last 17 years writing nonfiction and marketing materials for high technology companies. They have been published widely in trade magazines, internal company materials, and on the Internet. He has sold his short fiction to FUTURES and Virginia Adversaria, both literary periodicals, twice to CityTalk, a local Chicago newspaper with circulation of 180,000 and twice to Liguorian, a Catholic Magazine with circulation of 350,000. Patrick welcomes your comments.
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TAX - FINANCIAL WOES? Have your income taxes given your checkbook the financial equivalent of writer's block? E-mail your tax questions to James G. Rogers, C.P.A., a 26-year veteran of the tax code and an author himself. Mr. Rogers knows the problems authors and others face dealing with this annual chore. For a $5.00 fee, all of which goes to support the Gazette, you can have your answers e-mailed back to you promptly so you can get back to writing. You can even pay by credit card at our secure server. Go to: http://www.23house.com to leave your question.
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Speed Writing
for Novelists Late in October the Emporium Gazette's production manager Bob Nailor sent a message around to the editorial staff announcing that he'd signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in November. Having never heard of NaNoWriMo, I went to the website (http://www.nanowrimo.com) and read their introductory page. Briefly, NaNoWriMo challenges all of those writers who have been saying "someday I'm going to write a novel" to get off of their backsides (or in this case, onto their backsides) and spend 30 days getting it done. Between November 1 and November 30 NaNoWriMo participants are challenged to write a 50,000 word novel from start to finish. Plotting and notes can be made ahead of time, but other than that, the novel must not be started before midnight on November 1 and must be completed before midnight on November 30. I thought it sounded kind of fun, and being the fairly anal person that I am I liked the idea of focused, disciplined writing where the internal editor is turned off in favor of simply producing a completed novel, even though it would need significant editing at the end of the month. I already had a novel underway which I would be precluded by the rules from working on, but I've been working on that one for two years now and I was tired of telling people I had a novel in progress. I wanted a FINISHED novel! So, ignoring my better judgment which kept reminding me of all the deadlines and events I had scheduled in November, I signed up. Then I told another writer-friend. I was confident she'd remind me of all the reasons why signing up for this project was a bad idea, but she let me down. Instead of scolding me, she signed up. She told others, and before we knew it we had a circle of about ten of us all pledged to produce novels between November 1 and November 30. Bob linked us together in a private e-mail circle, and we sharpened our pencils and waited for November 1. Start day came and I managed to write 450 words before I had to leave for an out-of-town family obligation. It was November 7 before I actually sat down and wrote a significant number of words. In the meantime, others in the circle were rattling off their quotas day after day, including one particularly productive writer who wrote something like 20,000 words in the first week, ending up with a severe case of repetitive stress in her hands and wrists. She fought off pain and frustration while she waited for her new ergonomic keyboard and tracking ball before she could resume writing. In the meantime, my word count crept up to around 12,000. It was after the 15th. I wasn't anywhere near halfway done, in spite of the calendar. I had geared my manuscript towards an audience 10-12 years old, and 50,000 words is too hefty a novel for that age group, so early on in the month I decided that rather than pad the novel to get the necessary word count, I'd write two novels: the original one and a sequel of the same length. By the 20th I had completed the first story at about 26,000 words, and with Thanksgiving looming ahead, I started on the second one. We had house guests for the holiday weekend, so I was making notes in my head and grabbing computer time during rare lulls in our holiday activities. And did I mention that my husband's parents moved to town that weekend as well? All of a sudden it was the 27th, I had 40,000 words and three days to finish. It took some marathon sessions, but I got it done. My final word count for the two stories was 50,188 words with three hours to spare. NaNoWriMo has some excellent lessons for writers. If, like me, you find it difficult to write without constantly going back and editing what you've written, NaNoWriMo forces you to turn off your editor and focus on just getting the story done. It also forces you to maintain production on a regular basis, day after day. Open-ended novel writing doesn't do that. You can work on your novel whenever the mood strikes. With NaNoWriMo you have to write when you have the opportunity, whether you want to or not. Just getting into that habit of daily, sustained fiction writing was valuable for me. I discovered the joy of getting into the "zone" where characters talk to you and do things you hadn't expected, and plot ideas come to you in dreams. There are no "prizes" at NaNoWriMo. No one even reads our completed manuscripts, although lots of exchanging goes on privately once the month is over. All we received was the opportunity to enter our names on the "winners" page, along with our word count and the name of our completed novel. But we do have the right to call ourselves novelists now, because each of us who finished does indeed have a completed manuscript. The best surprise for me was that once I had given the manuscript a week or so to rest, I went back and looked at it and found it to be a good, publishable story -- not just an experiment in speed writing. With the help of some friends I cleaned it up a bit and corrected some plot problems. It's now in the hands of fifteen review readers, each of whom is looking at something different and whose input will help me produce an even better final draft. Once the final draft is completed I can start shopping for an agent, who will help me get the story published. In that regard, I'm making careful notes about finding an agent from the excellent articles elsewhere in this issue! * * * * * Terrie Murray is a nature writer and novelist from Portland, OR. She serves as Travel Editor and Editorial Assistant for the Emporium Gazettte. You can find her website, which will have updates on the publication of her novel, at http://www.aviellasinkwell.com.
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From Another
Angle
So the hustle and hurt of your search for an agent
who will recognize your literary worth has wound you into a curled ball
of misery. You’ve approached agent after agent by mail and talked to
a few of them at writer’s conferences. The result? Zilch! That perfect
agent for your work doesn’t exist. Suppose for a moment that you’re
wrong. Perhaps a couple of fairy-tales-come-true will restore your dreams. * * * * * Susan Long Turner is co-author with Russ Turner of "Wings Born Out of Dust" which is available now from 23 House Publishing and is also available in trade paperbacks and hardback at other major online bookstores. Visit my Website
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** * * * * Robert Nailor is the Production Manager and Poetry World Editor for the Emporium Gazette. His first novel, a Celtic fantasy, "Three Steps to Reality," is finished and currently seeking representation. Visit him at Lore's Webs.
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Published The President of Braynard Books paced the cloud-like
carpet at the head of the maple conference table. No matter how luxurious
they made a war room, Stewart Jenkins realized the stakes. He pretended
to study the downward sloping sales projections displayed on the office
window's photo-sensitive screen as he ran his fingers through his hairdresser's
masterpiece. He understood that this was a subconscious response to
the executive pressures closing around him. Smoothing his hair back
into place, he tried not to let his momentary panic gain a foothold.
Why should he let what these people thought bother him? The rigors of
running an international publishing concern would put gray on anyone's
temples. This was his big break and he'd nearly let one of his employees
nudge him down the elevator-tube toward oblivion. The company lawyer's voice droned behind him, giving one excuse
after another for their lack of progress. Not only was he battling his
many business enemies, but he had to keep an eagle eye on his own troops
to make sure one of them didn't shoot him in the back. Jenkins could stand the depressing display of statistics no longer and flipped off the display on the massive exterior windows overlooking the city. It was easier to watch the orange orb setting on his corporate ambition between the twin towers of Braynard's toughest competition. As the little fish in the international pond, he would have to remain vigilant to keep from being swallowed whole. It wasn't just his career that hung in the balance. He leaned toward the glass, staring into the street below, and watched
his army of employees trundle down the crowded street to hail floater
cabs or scurry like frostbitten ants into the jet tubs to be launched
back into the 'burbs. These commoners depended on him too, whether or
not they would admit it. It would be dark before he caught a floater home. How had he let
a talent like Electra slip through his grasp? If it had been anyone
but Maynard Packard who'd sent the author the rejection form, he'd have
fired the imbecile on the spot. For the moment he needed his executive
editor. While he already understood the cash flow of publishing, his
editor had a sixth sense about what made people love books, and he didn't
understand the emotional mush that the readers seemed to dote on. Before
long he'd figure that out, too. Details took time. He'd only seen his
left-hand-man blow one call, but this had been a huge one. Jenkins hadn't
risen to the rank of President making mistakes or allowing those around
him to make them. He had to sign this writer. The Mars Chronicle's literary editor
had compared Electra's talent to that of a young Shakespeare, and Jenkins
knew that was no publisher's hype. He'd scanned every page of both of
Electra's novels and had recognized his talent before finishing the
first chapter of each. One novel could be a fluke, but not two. A professor
of English literature in Wisconsin had discovered that by numbering
the words on each page, those represented by prime numbers formed a
series of thirty-six short stories that paralleled and defined each
chapter's plot and setting. There was no telling what someone might
find next. Critics would analyze Electra's books for decades, maybe
centuries. He let his legal staff finish their presentation before spinning
to face his advisors. "I don't care if Garrison has half of the
Supreme Court justices on retainer: I want a book by Johnathan E. Electra
published under our corporate logo. There has to be a loophole in their
contract." The lawyer shook his head. "As far as we know, Garrison has
no formal contract with Electra. That's one of the things that make
finding this author so difficult. The whole deal must be based on a
handshake." Jenkins licked his lips, letting his predatory instincts rise to
the challenge. "Even better! Maybe we can buy the rights for the
two books he's already printed out from under Garrison." "That's a bit underhanded even for me," the attorney joked. When the President didn't smile he quickly added, "No matter. We'll check into it." "We can't let an upstart web publisher like Scallion Press
scoop us on the best American writer since Hemingway. The board back
on Earth would fire the lot of us. You know how cheap labor is on Mars
with all the immigrants arriving daily from Earth." Jenkins glanced
over his shoulder toward the twin towers. "In another week we won't
be the only firm trying to sign him away, assuming those buzzards haven't
already started circling." "Why do you assume he is American?" a junior staffer asked.
"I assumed he was British or maybe Australian judging from his
style. The first book sounded English while the second had a colonial
tone." "It doesn't matter if he is a janitor in the Chinese Embassy.
That just demonstrates this author's flexibility. I want him locked
up in our stable." The lawyer raised a calming hand. "Electra is apparently a
silent partner in Scallion Press, sir. We keep getting the message that
he refuses to speak to us. No one will tell us how to contact him without
going through Garrison. Maybe we should start a search for a talent
of our own." "Damn it, a talent like this appears maybe once in a century.
We wouldn't find much better than a third-rate copy. Your legal beagles
must chew a hole into Garrison's wallet. His tiny company doesn't have
pockets deep enough to pay Electra nearly what he's worth. Offer the
backwater hick whatever it takes, and sign Electra to a series of books.
The more, the better." "Garrison won't sit still for that kind of corporate piracy,
sir. He's sure to raise a legal stink." "Good, let his own lawyers eat up his publishing budget."
"But Electra's books are his biggest seller, and they're just
starting to garner recognition. Consumers are only now starting to find
them in the national chains. Scallion can't sign independent printers
fast enough to keep up with demand. He must realize what this talent
is worth." "Can you imagine what sort of trouble a tiny firm like his
must be having, handling a best seller? He couldn't have budgeted for
such a success. The turn around time for payments in our business is
nearly a year and he will soon be printing hundreds of thousands of
copies. Besides, if he had that kind of money he would have immigrated
to Mars after the first plague, not risk staying on Earth or getting
killed in the Tech Wars." "You can't believe Scallion Press is that close to bankruptcy, do you?" Jenkins shook his head at the stupidity of his staff. Once the board
finally gave him a free hand, he'd clean house and hire people who didn't
need to be led around by the nose. "For heavens sake, man, Garrison
runs his operation out of a bedroom. The guy drives a beat up hover-truck
with a bolt-on camper, distributing books personally. Make the guy an
offer he can't refuse. Better yet, have one of our subsidiary printers
contact him to bid on printing all his books. Make it so cheap he can't
refuse. Once they have the contract, we can stall his deliveries. We'll
have him in our pocket before he realizes what happened. A guy operating
on a shoestring couldn't possibly muddle through that kind of cash flow
reversal. He does pay printers in advance, doesn't he?" "Yes sir, but even if we manage to convince Garrison to sell
Electra's services, that doesn't mean he'll write for Braynard."
"You're a lawyer, so I don't expect you to understand this.
Writers with this kind of talent live to write. These guys have words
pumping through their veins. Hell, Electra would write for free, and
for all we know, maybe he is. How do you think this company survives?
We use that to our favor. Let's face the facts, boys and girls. Electra
can't be much brighter than Garrison seems to be. The fool didn't even
bother hiring an agent to negotiate a contract with Scallion."
Like Ahab nailing the gold coin to the mast, Jenkins slapped a wad of
hundred-dollar bills down on the table. "I'll bet this writer has
no clue what one of his books is worth, yet. Any takers?" When no one accepted, Jenkins continued, "In that case, I want
him under contract with us before we're forced into a bidding war for
his rights." He left the bills on the polished maple to let the greed stew in his staff. With the re-valued dollar, this was enough to keep any of these fools in cigarettes and pizza for a year. The only person who didn't seem interested was Maynard Packard, his executive editor. Jenkins caught
him with his steel-gray gaze, and watched him shuffle his stack of notes
before rising to speak. Was he still worried he'd give him the axe?
Maybe that East Texas university had pumped more common sense into this
tater-head than he'd given the old fart credit for having. The senior editor spoke with the confidence of experience. Maybe
the fool didn't care about his job. "Nobody has ever seen this
character, sir. Electra has done a couple of radio interviews but both
were taken by telephone. I'm not sure if even Garrison knows who he
is." "Someone has seen him. Somebody must know where he lives: a
secretary, a typist, a lawyer, or maybe Garrison's accountant. Scallion
will have to send his royalty checks somewhere, right? I want this guy
under an ironclad contract. The European presses are giving this writer
more columns of publicity than the Pope and our President put together.
The company who lands him will reap billions each year from international
sales for decades to come." Packard raised a finger before adding, "We're pretty sure that
Electra isn't his real name, Mr. Jenkins. My research staff think he's
using a pen name and covering that with a trail of Doing-Business-As
forms through a string of banks. He's obviously taken care to cover
his identity. I had a pair of employees access the Library of Congress
last week, but they can't or won't tell us, either." Jenkins shook his head in disgust, and watched his chief editor
melt into his chair. "We're in a battle for our corporate lives,
folks, and I'm tired of excuses. I want him signed, and I want him on
board by next week when I fly back to Earth to meet with our Board of
Directors. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir." Packard nodded, grabbed his papers, and backed
toward the single exit with the rest of the staff. Mr. Jenkins watched them beat a hasty retreat and smiled. He'd won thebattle and had closed the meeting for discussion whether he'd intended to do so or not. It might take his flock late into the night, but he knew that Packard would find a way to locate the author and convince him to sign one of their twenty different contracts. Hopefully the writer would jump at the first offer and they'd get all rights, not just the first Martian book rights. If that was the case, this single contract would make the company
millions in the first year from only a paltry five-thousand-dollar advance.
If his executive editor didn't show progress in another day, he'd institute
plan B. * * * * * Maynard Packard could feel the other staff members' sterile glances
as the elevator pod plummeted toward the ground level. He felt like
a limping Wildebeest with the lions inching closer. Despite the limited
size of the pod, he had plenty of elbowroom, as if his coworkers all
feared contact with him might infect them with his fatal limp. The elevator
slowed and stopped at the twentieth floor, and the herd inside the box
parted, allowing him access to the deserted plains of empty chromed
desks and workstations. He didn't look back when the doors thumped shut, and his heels clacked
across the linoleum toward his corner cubical. Inside the elevator,
no doubt, his coworkers had suddenly broken into a dozen, whispered
conversations. By now everyone knew about his near career-ending error.
He'd never seen Mr. Jenkins turn such a greenish shade of red. He had
to find Johnathan Electra, and sign him. If not, it would cost him his
job, and he was still making payments on his daughter's braces. The
monthly alimony payments to his first wife didn't help. The demands of an editor didn't foster a secure home life. His job required that he have his nose planted in one manuscript or another all day long. He read on the weekend, at work, and on the train to and from Manhattan.
He even read in bed. New Dallas was nothing like Earth or Texarkana,
Texas, and far more expensive. He wasn't sure why he'd sent Electra a rejection form. He had enough
trouble remembering the books he liked and bought, so it was rare when
he remembered one he'd rejected. Yet this book had cost him hours of
sleep before he'd returned it in the obligatory self-addressed, stamped
envelope. Although the manuscript he'd read was a treasure of metaphors
and similes, it had impressed him as being stiff and mechanical. Maybe
it was the phony British accent the author had used for his main character,
but there was something uncomfortable about Johnathan Electra's voice.
Had it truly lacked soul, or was that the excuse he'd used to get it
off his desk? He now realized that this had to be an excuse, or it wouldn't
have been so highly applauded by the few literary critics who'd managed
to find a copy. It would soon become the most sought after book in New
Dallas. Packard slumped into the only luxury his office provided, his thickly
padded, simulated-leather chair. He peered out into the mostly empty
office through the gaps between five precarious sky scrappers of manuscripts
stacked on his desk. At the far end of the office, four junior editors
gobbled submarine sandwiches between inhaling bits and pieces of the
slush pile. How many decades ago had he been in their shoes? Unlike
the neat stacks of professional submissions on his desk, the slush pile
was a jumbled mess. Nevertheless, scattered among the barge loads of
trash and regurgitated plots, one could find a few precious pearls.
As a clerk, or junior editor as they were called, he'd been privileged
to find more than one gem. It had been several such talented authors
who taken him to the top of his profession. The editor and writer once had maintained a symbiotic relationship,
not the adversarial role they now played for corporate management. Over
the years he'd come to admire writers. Most labored years at night and
on weekends in front of a green-eyed Cyclops, editing and struggling
to find the perfect words. Few received more recognition than a kiss
from their significant other. When one's talent did rise to the top
these days, it was usually due their ability to tell a story rather
than their use of language. The publishing industry was always in flux, but it hadn't been the
same since the last remaining large Martian based publisher had been
purchased by another multinational corporation. With that had gone the
very thing that had made the industry successful. No longer were editors
allowed the luxury of bringing writers along, developing and nurturing
their talent until they blossomed into their mature voice. Hell, what was their reward when one did get noticed? Some corporate
executive would pay him a fraction of his value and the company would
pocket the rest. Then they'd demand that the author go on publicity
tour, usually at his expense, and sell himself like a whore to the media
sharks. Writers like editors had become an expendable resource, like
an oil reserve to be pumped dry. Electra, or whatever his real name was, deserved better. This was
definitely no overnight wonder. If the discovery of the short stories
wasn't a hoax, the author must have written the main story around its
inner components. That would have surely accounted for the mechanical
nature of the sentences, and this process would have taken years. No
matter what his boss hoped, it would cost more to sign Electra than
a few thousand. He made enough wrong turns in his life that he recognized the fork in this path. He could take the high road, or follow Jenkins into yet another hell. Packard let the grin blossom into a toothy smile. His boss had told him to pay whatever it took. Stew, a nickname the boss hated, had been all too correct in his assessment that writers wrote whether they were paid or not. Despite that, someone had to stand up for the integrity of the publishing profession, and he definitely owed writers for bringing him this far. * * * * * Garrison leaned back in his metal folding chair, admiring his computer.
The advertisements had claimed that it thought like the human brain,
and that hadn't been such a stretch as he'd originally believed. It
had taken some work, but the two years of refinements on his program
were finally paying dividends. Scallion Publishing, his baby, was almost
in the black. His printer spewed out a stream of pages from his third novel. He'd
programmed Electra to create this one in Poe's style. The results were
stunning and the hidden stories, that he'd dubbed the Gates of Hell,
brought goose bumps to his arms. It hadn't been that hard to hide another
story that he called Satan's Manifesto deep within the short stories
using a formula based on the number 666, then another within that. The
possibilities for other books seemed endless. That familiar guilty feeling invaded his brain only for an instant
before he shoved it aside. How long had he struggled to break down the
ironclad doors of the publishing establishment, and for what? He studied
the stacks of battle-scared manuscripts boxes he sent to all the major
houses. He'd spent his savings, mortgaged his home, and finally lost
his wife and two boys to support his addiction to literature. He'd nearly
starved before stumbling upon this idea. His fellow writers and love
for his work were all that had kept him going. The world owed him this taste of success. Sure he'd stolen the masters'
style, but he'd done the legwork to get the program working. Those corrections
made the Poe work even better than he'd imagined possible when he instructed
the machine to construct several short stories in the style of Shakespeare.
Those first experiments had proved so inventive that he'd woven them
into a novel and that had taken him only a week. There had been details
that required tweaking, but not nearly as many as if he'd done the creating
himself. The inexpensive box of computer circuitry that he jokingly
called Electra would make him rich. He wasn't cheating his readers. He was giving them more than any
other writer had ever imagined could be crammed between the covers of
a book. Using his programming tools he could give his audience books
within books: stories within stories. After all, his readers demanded
quality, and who could supply that better than the masters of the past?
Sooner or later someone would do it, so it might as well be him. The ringing phone snapped him out of his internal duel. What ploy
would they use this time? Were those guys at Braynard trying to drive
him crazy? How could he accept their offer, even if it did seem generous?
When they discovered it was the computer, they'd have no need for him.
"Scallion Publishing, Michael Garrison speaking," he said,
trying his best to hide the irritation. "Michael, this is Maynard Packard. I'm the executive editor
for Braynard Books." "I've already told your people no in every imaginable way,
Mr. Packard. What part of that two letter word don't you understand.
I can't sell you my rights to Electra. It wouldn't work for either of
us." "I'm not trying to steal your writer, Michael. Heck, I admire
anyone who can pull themselves to the top like you have with Scallion
Publishing. I want to talk to you like just another guy who loves writing.
Is that okay?" "I suppose," Garrison said, wondering what sort of trap
this crook was laying. "Look, Mr. Garrison. It took days but we've traced your trail
of DBA's back to you. I haven't told my boss yet, but I know that you
are Electra." "Sure," he said, letting the sarcasm drip from his single
word. "If I'm Electra, why have you rejected everything under the
name of Garrison that I've sent you over the past twenty years? You
still have one of my books somewhere." "Actually, one of my junior editors brought me that copy yesterday.
It had gotten lost in our slush pile. Even trying to hide behind a Shakespearean
style, your distinctive voice and talent still shows through."
"So?" Garrison cut off his response after one word. He
didn't want the trill of hope in his voice to become too obvious. He
waited out the pause at the other end of the line. "Braynard's lawyers are fixing to lay a trap for you, Mr. Garrison."
Packard went on to explain how their subsidiary press would try to undercut
all other bidders. "If you accept their bid, they'll bleed your
company dry." "Come clean, Mr. Packard. Why are you telling me this?"
When he finally spoke his voice almost pleaded. "I can tell
by your writing that you love literature. Do you think there might be
room for someone like me in your organization? I'd be willing to take
a major pay cut. The cost of living back on Earth can't be nearly as
high as it is here on Mars." "Scallion Publishing is a one horse hitch, assuming I can afford
the wagon to harness to my nag. I couldn't pay someone of your caliber.
Besides, why would you want to work for me?" "Scallion may be small now, but you won't remain that way."
"I took the time to read a few of your authors, and not just
your alter ego. Where did you find these guys. Each shows tremendous
talent. Sure, they need nurturing, but their potentials are obvious.
I'd like the chance to mentor authors again. I feel that if a company
is loyal to their writers, the writers will show their loyalty to it.
Of course, there is another reason." Garrison bit his tongue. Was it to end even before it began? Had
he been discovered? "What's that?" "Using electronic publishing, we could keep an authors' work
in print indefinitely and expand your company's income over the years
as your authors became more accepted by the public. Print on demand
will change the industry. Your back-list sales could carry your business
even without Electra's sales. We could maintain your stable, by signing
them to long term contracts based on sales numbers. Both the company
and your authors would benefit, giving them more incentive to publicize
all their works, not just the latest. We could reverse the trend in
publishing." "Then you're not just interested in a percentage of Electra?"
"Don't get me wrong. I loved the way you've redefined reading
between the lines. Writing messages within messages to gain a national
platform was a stroke of genius." "I'm still struggling to get this business off the ground,
Mr. Packard. Are you sure you're willing to take such a huge risk given
your reputation in New Dallas?" "Maybe your plan hasn't paid off yet, but as soon as word spreads
it will. I could spread it for you, but I'm really interested in restoring
some dignity to our profession and my life. Maybe we can learn something
from each other." There was something about Packard that Garrison liked, something
in his voice that rang true. "Would it be possible for you to fly
down for a visit? I can't afford to buy you a ticket, but there is a
detail you should know before you do anything rash. I'd be proud to
have someone of your talent and reputation working with me." "What is this detail?" Packard asked and fell silent. "I don't want to discuss it over the phone." "I'll be there tomorrow. I'm looking forward to looking my
new boss in the eye." * * * * * Packard hung up the phone, turned off the recorder, and winked at
the man in the designer suit on the other side of the desk. "He
took it hook, line, and sinker. Once he admits to programming a computer
to do his writing, we can force him to sell us his program." Jenkins flashed his new Vice President a satisfied grin. "We'll
have the best selling writers in the solar system working for us, and
we won't have to pay them a penny. There will be a big bonus for you
in this, Packard. Once we have his program, we won't need those money
grubbing writers." Packard felt a sudden sinking sensation and knew his face had drained
of color. He'd sold Garrison out, which was bad enough, but he'd whored
his readers and himself. The thing he loved most, literature, would
never be the same, having had its heart and soul ripped out. As much
as he hated to admit it, one man's choices did make a difference. Besides, how long would it take until Braynard Books wouldn't need editors? He settled back into the unmistakable leather aroma of his new chair, staring at his eventual replacement, a computer. It was already correcting his spelling and grammar. Soon it would be doing all his thinking. * * * * * Ronald Wayne Jones is the Managing Editor for Emporium Gazette and autor of "Black Breath of the Lutron" and "The Dwarf and the Demon Tongue" which are available through 23 House.
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IS YOUR WRITING ILL? Would you like a second opinion about POV, dialogue, selling non-fiction, or submitting multiple submissions? For a mere $5 diagnosis fee... You can even pay by credit card at our secure server. Go to: http://www.23house.com to leave your questions. No ache or pain is too big or too small for this veteran freelance editor and author of numerous books and magazine articles. If you have more than one question, please check out her site: http://www.coolwell.org/robyn/index.html
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Ron Jones-- Managing Editor Robert Nailor--Poetry Editor and Production Manager Elyse Salpeter--Fiction Editor Mitchel Whitington--Non-Fiction Editor James Rogers--Business Editor Terrie Murray--Travel Editor & Editorial Assistant Sue Long Turner--The Writing Answer Lady Mark Vass - Marketing Editor & Denise Vitola--Editor-in-Chief
© Copyright 2002 by the Emporium Gazette No portion of any article or other writing in this electronic publication may be copied, used or otherwise taken by any person or organization for any purpose or reason whatsoever without the express written permission of the Emporium Gazette.
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