Uncreated Conscience

I am inordinately proud of myself as I have managed to be productive on my days off from The Literary Agency thus far (we shall see how long this productive streak continues). Yesterday I was slightly derailed in my plans with the appearance of my friend Kristine, but I managed to make some crustless mini-quiches and vacuum the floors in my apartment before she came over and we hung out. I enlightened her to the insane awesome that is Alan Moore and LOST GIRLS as well as promising to lend her THE FOREST OF HANDS AND TEETH after she’s finished reading ULYSSES. (Another James Joyce fan! I feel as though we are a rare and pretentious breed.)

Perhaps I can attribute my rise in energy levels to the rising temperatures. Today is even more gorgeous than yesterday and I’m hoping that spring has come to stay in New York at last. Of course, as soon as I celebrate this the weather is going deliver a bitchslap smackdown. March in the northeast sucks that way. It doesn’t help that my father texts me daily with updates about the gorgeous weather Los Angeles has been enjoying. I hate my dad. (No, I don’t. I love my father. He offered me beer money to tide me through these rough economic times. I declined. Mostly because I don’t drink. Book money? Now that I can most wholeheartedly use.)

Things still left on my to-do list:

1. Grocery shopping. It is about time I grew up and started feeding myself. Also, must lose weight. New Year’s resolution to lose 5lbs has become resolution to lose 10lbs to get back to my summer weight. 15lbs is ideal.
2. Laundry. Poor White-Harp; she needs a bath badly. She’s annoyed at me for keeping her in her prolonged state of filth. o(>.< )o
3. Deposit check from El Jefe’s party. Money is always good.
4. Make crustless mini-quiches for dinner and freeze the leftovers to take for lunch next week.
5. Revise my book. I have been much better about this in recent weeks. Remember to send out revisions to The Kitchen Girls and Rachel.
6. Spring redesign for Uncreated Conscience and Moot Point. And look into purchasing domain name.
7. WATCH LOST.
8. Do hot yoga with Sofa at Yoga to the People. I need to get back into my practice.

I am generally of a sanguine disposition but I have been even more cheerful of late. When El Jefe took me out for lunch last week he told me he was impressed with the editorial readers reports I’ve written for him and that if I wanted, I could stay on at the agency through the summer. If I can’t find a literary or editorial assistant position when the internship ends in May, at least I’ll still be working. The longer I’m in publishing the more I’m convinced that this is what I want to be doing. What was I thinking when I worked in finance for two years after university?

Well, I meant to discuss science fiction and fantasy as mode but instead rambled off into discussion about my life. Beg pardon.

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Last week an agent decided to declare a day of #queryfail on Twitter in which I participated. I had a blast reading other people’s posts and comments about the idea and submitted not a few of my own as I went through El Jefe’s slush. Unfortunately there has been a backlash against #queryfail as many people cited it as being mocking or cruel, despite our best intentions not to make it so.

C’est la vie, of course. People read what they will and no one has authority to say This is how it is and there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. (Unless you are Alan Moore because only he is the messenger between our world and the universe his characters inhabit. Can I repeat how much I love this man?) I’m surprised that people are ignoring #queryfail’s counterpart #querywin, in which a few of us tried to post what did work for us in a query. But alas, it was #queryfail that caught everyone’s attention and passion, not #querywin.

Why did I participate? I’m not an agent, or even an agent’s assistant; I am a lowly intern. I participated because I am my bosses’ first line of defense, so to speak. In larger agencies, there are often assistants and interns who slog through the slush before passing the “good” ones onto their superiors. I participated because as an aspiring writer myself, I had done a lot of research online before even taking this position about how to write a professional query, how to craft a good hook, how to pitch, etc. and I wanted to show my other aspiring writer-friends what they are up against. And I participated because I’m fond of absurdist humour (as are many of my Twitter friends) and the truly bizarre proposals we get sometimes are worth noting. (If you’re somewhat sensitive, publishing is perhaps not the business for you.) My roommate also works at a literary agency and between the two of us, we have accumulated quite a list of bizarre lines from queries that we commiserate over. (Another one of my friends who used to work at an agency had what they called a Wall of Shame.)

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For those of you on Twitter, go and follow #queryfail for real-time Twittering by agents (and an intern–yours truly) going through their slush. I love my job!

Today’s partial reading yielded two partials I am extremely undecided over. The first was from an already published author looking for new representation: the concept was interesting and the writing polished, but I am ultimately left with a sour taste in my mouth because the characters are so unlikeable and sympathetic in the same way I hated (but could not put down) Candace Bushnell’s TRADING UP which I read when I was a bored undergraduate procrastinating from writing a paper on lyric poetry by perusing Sofa’s bookshelves. This partial reminds me a bit of Tom Wolfe’s BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES as well, only about Craigslist–not Wall Street in the 80s, and it could have quite a bit of market appeal, except for that bad taste in my mouth. Also off-putting was the tone in the writer’s–unsolicited–query, in which she came off as pretentious and self-absorbed (the proposal also included a glossy 8×10 headshot!). In any other circumstance I would have said no, except for the fact that I kept reading all the way through to the end and want to know what happens to these despicable people.

In the end, I rejected it. I leave it to my boss’s discretion as to whether or not she wants to take it. It’s not El Jefe’s thing, not really, and that’s what matters.

The other was a partial I requested from the slush. There wasn’t anything truly remarkable about it, but something about the tone and the story grabbed me. The writing wasn’t great and the voice was sort of bland in the query, but there was something emotionally powerful in it that refused to let me go. The writer is an Irish Traveller, a people I haven’t read much literature about (although the family in The Riches are part of a clan). She was candid about the novel being semi-autobiographical, although she had changed the protagonists from Travellers to Rom to prevent embarrassment to her family.

When I read the pages, I was rather disappointed as it wasn’t a story so much as a loosely knit group of scenes. It is an absolute mess: there is no narrative arc or thread, the writing is mediocre, and the change from Travellers to Romany gypsies is unconvincing. And yet. It still has that emotional stranglehold on me and I really want to email this writer and offer her a personal critique because beneath all this amateurism (due in part to limited exposure to anything beyond her clan including books), I sense something powerful trying to emerge. I will have to reject this, but it’s totally breaking my heart. If I email her I would be overstepping my professional boundaries as I am a lowly intern and not an agent–not an assistant even, but god I want to see this worked to its fullest potential. Woe.

My long weekend was not exactly very restful as I was far more social than my introverted heart could handle. I am back in the office today (marginally more quiet because El Jefe is on vacation), reveling in the quiet time that comes from sitting in a beautiful brownstone in Chelsea reading manuscripts and considering queries.

These days I am seeing rather a lot of the same from those soliciting representation. Initially I had some trouble reading for El Jefe because while his tastes are broad and varied, he is well known for representing thrillers, a genre I don’t read. I don’t know what’s good! I thought.

The thing is, I do. Even without having read them. Why? Because for heaven’s sake, they all sound the same. Names may be interchangeable, plots somewhat variable, but at the end of the day, nothing sticks out in my brain. Inevitably there is an ex-cop/ex-Marine/ex-soldier/lawyer/policeman/what-have-you who must solve a murder or a crime before time runs out. The stakes are either not high enough or else they are ludicrous. The setting is overdone; I don’t care if you claim it is a “also a portrait of life in small town [insert locale of choice here].” I assure you that unless you’re Thornton Wilder, the vast majority of us won’t care.

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I spent the majority of today stuffing 1099 statements for our clients into envelopes with my fellow interns. We had a great time, gabbed about the books we loved and were looking forward to reading (Sarah Rees Brennan‘s The Demon’s Lexicon was a mention because we love the hilarity of her blog), and endured papercuts while chowing on free pizza lunch.

Just ask me how much Stephanie Meyer made in 2008. On second thought, don’t.

And because I lack the energy to make more coherent posts, a few letters:

Dear LOST:

I WISH I COULD QUIT YOU. You’re like an abusive boyfriend or a leech best friend; I give and I give and I give and I give of my time, love, devotion, and affection and I never get a damn thing in return. You never answer my questions, you sneak about my back, and yet I can only sit here week after week hoping for an answer.

Much, much, much love (even if you drive me crazy),
JJ

Dear Potential Client:

Plz to be typing your manuscript in a legible font. Kthnx.

No love,
JJ

Dear Back:

Stop it. Stop acting up right now.

No love,
JJ

Although I have lived in New York City for five winters now, I can never, ever remember how much it hurts to breathe when it gets cold. Walking 10 blocks is a chore and my lungs are on fire (paradoxical when one things that it’s freezing outside) by the time I reach whatever destination I’m headed.

Which brings me to my news: today is the start of a new era. Obama is now officially our president and I have begun taking steps to pursuing a career direction change. I am now an intern at Writers House, working as a manuscript reader, mail girl, and all-around go-fer.

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