A Gent's Outlook

Ding Dong the Witch is Gone

2007-05-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I’ll be damned! Miss Snark, the faux agent, has finally had enough. One post from me, and she gets out of Dodge! Not really. But you can bet a book deal is on the horizon and you can bank on that. So said Sammy months ago. You just don’t walk off stage while still queen unless there is something else going on. Sammy has said for years that she would do one of two things: Reveal herself or get an offer. Can’t wait to see how she tries to worm her way out of this one.

I know it seems strange that Sammy disappeared and then off goes Snark, but that means nothing. Nothing at all. I mean, you don’t think it could mean anything, do you? What a coincidence! Sammy reveals he’s gotten hitched, and suddenly Snark decides to go on hiatus. Could she have been, you know, in love with Sammy? Was she devastated? Or maybe Snark was Sammy. No, I know that’s not so. I know Sam, and he’s the real deal through and through, but…

Oh my God, you don’t think that…

No, this could not be possible…

You don’t think that Mrs, Sammy Kitzler is actually. . .

Snark Kitzler!?!

Wouldn’t that be funnier than shit? I’ve never met his bride, but I do know that even though she told Mr. Follow-My-Dick-Wherever-It-Leads that she's not in publishing, she could have lied. Snark lied all the time. What do you think?

You know what’s funny? It hasn’t made such a big deal that she’s left. There were no parades in her honor that I know of. Is everyone in shock? Doesn’t this say something real loud about wannabes? Their hero leaves and the world goes on without her. I’d say that what Sammy has said all along is true: Wannabes are selfish assholes and deserve to rot in recycled ink (most of which is the result of their rejected manuscripts anyway). Think of all the trees that go into appeasing their vanity. Disgusting.

I kind of take the sorrowful lack of print on this development from what Pub Rants said today. Kristen Nelson—a huge devotee of Snark who should actually know better— devoted maybe a line or two on her blog to how she wished that she could say what Miss Snark could get away with saying. Well, Kristin, if you had anything going for you, you could say what the fuck ever you wanted to say. What do you care if writers do or don’t like you? What? Will they snatch your IPod away?

Yes, Snark will be missed—like jock itch or a sore tooth. Speaking of which, I need to go scratch my testicles (for you wannabes, that means BALLS).

PS I know you all thought Sammy would come running back for this, but the last time I talked with him, he was still laughing.

The spark that is Snark

2007-04-30T18:18:00.000-07:00

Sammy is a wreck. If love does that to a perfectly screwed up human, then I’ll always be single. So this is my first post and he kind of gave me free reign to do what I want to with his blog—within reason—and his reason, as he has repeated time and time again is that he just don’t give a fuck. So here’s what we are going to do.

First of all, here on Agents Overdrive—Outlook, what the fuck ever---we’re going to give do a kind of Carlos Mencia, a true rundown on my take on other agent’s blogs, which, for the most part are pathetic. Let the fun begin with the queen—Missy Snark—and we’ll work our upward from down there. For those of you who have never been on the Queen’s blog, don’t bother unless you fall below the rank of wannabe and there is no animal or mineral lower, so you’d have to be a space creature, and I don’t want to by felt up by some asshole’s eye tentacles.

As for me, who am I? Let’s just say that I’m in publishing and let it go at that. I’m actually further into publishing than most of the subliminal assholes that I’m going to be paint-stripping here, let’s say.

Let the fun begin:

Miss Snark, who the fuck are you? Who the fuck cares? It seems, from my mild somewhat un-objective observation platform that, according to her, a million or so reality TV wannabes have visited her site. My question is, why? Is it because her worshipers have nothing going on in their lives? Do they think that an invisible faux wannabe agent goddess might be just the thing to fall down in front of? Better to fall down in front of the Midtown express. It seems to be kind of like the invisible god—the almighty and powerful omniscient being who rips you asunder only to pick you up, dust you off and make you right again. Woooo!! How pathetic!!

How can anyone who is somewhat conscious and whole think that this attention-seeking tart could be anything but one of these: A pizza delivery person who reads a lot or a Bayonne, New Jersey prostitute who has plenty of free-time. You tell me which because either will fit. But why should anyone with have a brain care?

It’s the way of the world that so many can be deluded into thinking this being is an agent. I ask you one thing while my sides heal from laughing so much, “Who are her clients?” Has anyone thought that here is a person who is supposed to be running a literary agency, which, according to her, is quite successful? But if he, she, its literary agency is successful, how come he, she, it has so much time to read slop and post comments on a blog? An example of a successful literary agent comes to mind. Have you noticed, for instance, that Jennifer Jackson posts about once a month and then only a short paragraph? Or has this escaped your pea-brains?

If this creature is an agent, I pity her poor clients. Those who patronize her slop and goo-goo, ga-ga all over themselves over it and themselves are supposed to be writers. How do you have spare time to even go there either? Aren’t you supposed to be writers? Whoops, how silly of me. Of course you’re not writers, you’re silly-assed wannabes. What difference does it make that she’s screwing her clients every hour of the day as long as she’s entertaining you? But those of you that do have a conscience, how would you like her representing your interests? Answer that one and maybe, before this is over, we can be friends.

As for me, I’m not an agent. I work on someone else’s dime so I, like you, can fuck off all day until I’m caught. But why should I worry? Hell, if this blog takes off like Snark’s, I will snag a book deal. Ah, I get it now. She took off this week to finalize her deal—and you shills are responsible. Give yourselves a good pat on the back—and one on the ass for old Miles here.

Miles Standoffish

Adios, Dipshits!

2007-04-30T18:14:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long absence, but I’ve been busy doing what most wannabe writers and watch puppies don’t have the sense enough to do…have a life. I found me a woman and we got hitched. Yep, that’s right. Sammy got roped into another com, er, committttt, uh, you know, the “c” word. The legal kind. I think this time it might last, since she’s not a complete bitch and knows nothing about publishing. She also doesn’t realize I am rich beyond her wildest dreams and basically thinks I’m the best lay she’s ever had, even without the vibrators and edible underwear.

I like her and California a lot more than NYC, a city that is an awful mistress. Cali is more laid back. People out here are not in such a big hurry go no place. Besides, I did two big deals that will keep me busy walking along the beach trying to avoid over-sexed sea birds for a very long time.

Still, I’d love to write more on this blog. Just because I’m practically out of the game doesn’t mean I don’t care if the game is taken over by idiots and dipshits. Wannabe writers, stupid editors, and the dumber and dumber watch-puppies are not off of the hook yet. It was quiet for a while, but there is no end to the evil that wannabes do. Even Vicki-Voo Voo and her watch dorks know it, because she’s actually provided a link on one of her posts to this blog. She doesn’t have the balls to discourage the wannabes and lose her status, so she sends them here hoping this blog will do it. I told you these people were lazy.

I’ve asked a good friend to take over for me. He’s going to post his first, so see what you think. His name is Miles Standoffish, but you can call him Andy. Or Miles. Whatever. He’s a hell of a guy, but if he gives you any trouble, just come get me at the beach. I’ll be the one rolling around in the sand with a beautiful woman who is not a writer, editor, agent, publisher, or writer advocate of any kind. She’s actually quite normal when she takes her meds, so that disqualifies her from publishing all the way around, doesn’t it?

Anyway, if you don’t like what Andy posts and can’t find me picking sand out of my underwear to complain, then, as Marley would say, go fuck yourself!!

Total Rant

2007-01-09T17:36:00.000-08:00

What have you done?

You are a miserable lot, aren’t you? Those of you who truly believe that you belong in the publishing world so that you can create the empire that is you and be worshipped and adored by admiring fans even after you cease to exist on this planet. It isn’t good enough to be a decent, hard-working law-abiding citizen. No, you want the free and easy existence that wealth brings, with all the perks and power, but none of the sacrifice. You have allowed your own needs to override those of everyone else and quashed the greater good with a press of a computer key, all because you needed to feel important.

God, how did it get so bad? How?

I am sure you thought you’d seen the last of Sammy-baby, didn’t you? Well, you haven’t, not as long as there are wannabes and wannabe enablers in the world. My job won’t be done until someone—anyone—realizes what a pack of lies dictates the “new” publishing paradigm (look it up if you don’t know what it means dum-dum).

And it is lies and bullshit, and that is why I exist. The one true voice who tells you publishing doesn’t NEED you or WANT you. The one true voice who has said all along that being published is a huge responsibility that only certain people, those who have prepared themselves and write well, deserve. The one true voice that pointed out that those who don’t know what they are doing shouldn’t be telling others how to get published or how to avoid scams. Who told you that one day wannabes would cause things to end badly for the rest of the writers who might, although probably not, have a chance?

I did.

But everyone tried to discredit me, although I have hit on a number of issues and been proved correct every time. You will believe some anonymous dingbat working her Dr. Phil mojo on you with bizare and incestuous ties to the watchers, and you are more than willing to query agents who regularly get their own books published instead of their clients', but you won't believe me. Once again, though, I am vindicated, and my proof is in the form of an article from the Chronicle about the Sobol Award.

Oh my God, what have you done now?

You know how the minute this award was announced the watchpuppies and so-called professional agents (my ass) jumped on it because of the requirements and an entry fee of $85? That award got blasted all over the place, because wannabe writers have been weaned on the notion that they should never ever have to spend any of their hard-earned cash (sure, Jake Do-Gooder, I believe you deserve that raise you trampled on your friends in Corporate Americaland to get…sure…you earned it) or expend anymore effort than necessary to have someone else land that special seven-figure deal (six just isn’t good enough these days) for a lousy 15%. It must be a scam! We have to save those poor little writers from their own stupidity! Stop that lousy scammer!

Writers everywhere said the same thing: That guy is making $85 an entry, and he’ll make $___________(fill in your amount here) for just doing nothing. And that outraged writers everywhere! How dare this guy make money for doing nothing! I wanna make money for doing nothing! How do they know he does nothing? Because that’s what all agents do, didn’t you know? Wannabes really believe (and have been taught) they only need an agent because S&S won’t look at their manuscript otherwise. We are just evil blood-suckers who prey on the talent of helpless writers who are at the whims of those big, important publishers who have this silly ridiculous rule that they don’t want to see your shit unless someone with a brain sees it first. And you are so jealous because you think agents have nothing better to do than sit around all day reading queries and praying that they’ll find the next JK Rowling or getting laid at conferences. Why should you, as a writer, have to work when this agent just dibbles his time away? NOBODY SHOULD EARN MONEY THAN I DESERVE DOING WHAT I WANT TO DO! That is real issue here, isn’t it? You want to live the good life and think that agents have it made, don’t you? Jealous, jealous, jealous. Hell, editors think that, why not stupid writers? You are all so jealous that we agents have actually carved out a place among you, holding publishers’ feet to the fire and forcing writers to just shut up and goddamn write something instead of whining.

So a whole culture has sprung up to empower anyone who puts pen to paper, and the guardians of this culture (watchpuppies, incompetent industry professionals who perpetuate this crap, other authors) have become so caught up in their “mission” that they have failed to realize that their actions have basically closed every road open to new, talented writers. They have effectively leveled any chance a writer might have had to break in by making up their own set of standards that are based on nothing more than the idea that writers are gods. Unfortunately, that system doesn’t work and takes good writers down with the bad.

The Sobol Award is a perfect example of this. I don’t know if the guy is a scammer or not. I don’t care. Scammers are the wolves who thin out weakest of the herd; they have their purpose. Like viruses. I don’t like them or seek them out either, but they exist and keep the population under control or we would have more wannabes than we do now. Ick.

This guy gets this award together and then, as expected, gets blackballed on every writer’s board and the usual smear campaign got posted on the Internet, just as everyone knew it would. Some were upset about the contractual obligations, mainly that the guy in charge would be your agent blah blah blah. But it was the entry fee that everyone deeply resented. Must be a scam. Even the dipshit who wrote the article was wrong about it. He stated that “Industry policy prohibits agents from charging money to read manuscripts.” The problem here is that an entry fee is NOT A FUCKING READING FEE. Entry fees usually go for paying judges, offering prize money, and processing the goddamn entries.

Then they bring S&S on board. Yes, that publisher who won’t normally look at anything unless it comes from agent actually signed on to publish the top three winners, for a lot of money. Well, a lot of money to you anyway. But that wasn’t good enough. Let me tell you, those writers who whined that they didn’t want their precious book to be under a strict contract to S&S like that were fools. Do you think you could ever net a book deal from S&S for what they were willing to pay on your own? Even without this guy’s commission? Not in this life, champ.

But Sammy, they would have taken all rights and I could get more for them than that elsewhere. First of all, no you couldn’t, dipshit, and second of all, you don’t have a great novel just lying around you can send them and say bye to it? You don’t have spare masterpieces that you could sell for money? Why not? Professional writers, people with talent, have good books lying around that are strong enough to send in and maybe even win—they get the cash and who gives a shit about the book?—and they can write another one and another one. Professional writers have more than one book in them, and the quality of their first drafts is better than the fiftieth draft from most of the wannabes. Some smart writer could have worked the system right in his favor and still come out ahead.

But, darn it, $85 was just too much of a risk. ($100,000-15% commission=$85,000 dollars and $85,000-$85 entry fee=$84,915)

Some poor wannabe just lost some cash. What if it is was you and this was the only publishing credit you were ever going to get? I bet you're feeling pretty sheepish right now, huh? Now maybe the wannabes will turn on each other and their gurus, those leaders that even lemmings wouldn't follow.

The article contained this quote: "Maybe the message is that unpublished writers have been exploited in so many different ways that it's difficult to launch an effort, regardless of whether it's in good faith or not," said Paul Aiken, executive director of the Authors Guild, which represents thousands of published writers. "Charging people is fundamentally suspect and it's hard to overcome that."

That says it all. Look at what you have done, you stupid, stupid wannabes. Look what you have done to MY industry. And that includes the new breed of editors and the old breed of watchpuppies, the authors who promote this stuff, and anyone in the industry who won’t speak out against you people because they are too inexperienced to know any better or too solicitous to care that they are promoting bad habits in the wannabe kingdom, as if merely existing isn’t bad enough.

People who don’t give a shit about you tell you what you want to hear; those who tell you the truth, as unpleasant as it may be, are the ones who truly care, if not about you, then about something.

Think about that for a little while, wannabes, and happy fucking new year.

The Great Debate That Really Isn't

2006-11-22T17:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I post about something that is actually IMPORTANT in publishing, and all I get are e-mails asking me about the Snark/Anne Stuart thing. As if I care. As if anyone in the real publishing world cares.

You want my take on it? Here it is: Finally, someone (Jennifer “I can’t stop writing chick-lit though it’s dead” Crusie) in publishing who uses her real name and who has clout with the wannabe crowd has basically said what I have said all along. Snark is full of shit. She makes statements that make it obvious that she doesn’t really understand publishing and how it works. I don’t care if she’s in it or not, she doesn’t “get” it. The biggest clue is that she hangs with the watchpuppies and most agents could care less about watchpuppies and their drivel because it is just not part of the overall entertainment picture. You get scammed? Fuck you, wannabe. That’s just one more piece of goddamn slush that I don’t have to deal with. That’s what most insiders think. Big fucking deal. No one but a wannabe publishing power freak offers free advice to wannabes based on the idea that getting into publishing only requires desire and meeting certain standards created by the SFWA, like they matter any more than anybody else in the fucked up kingdom known as the Realm of Publishing.

As I see it, people across Cyberville are finally cluing in to the fact that Snark is mouthpiecing the core values propagated by the watchpuppies and their related industry outsiders. Other publishing people, LIKE ME, couldn’t give a shit less what anybody thinks except talented writers and the publishers who seek to exploit them. I have seen lots of comments, finally, from editors and other agents who are basically saying that Snark is on a very wrong tangent. She always has been, but nobody important said anything because SNARK JUST DOESN”T MATTER. Except to the minions she has created through her Dr. Phil Does Publishing persona. When she dipped into an area she really doesn't know anything about, she fell flat on her pretty little snout.

But the reason she matters to me is that she is one of many people who continue to encourage people to write for publication who should be writing for a hobby. So do the watchpuppies. So do the solicitous agents and editors feeding off of wannabes. These people are sucking the life from my industry, as I have mentioned many times, and my advice is for writers to go figure the fuck out what they think they are doing. Like any wannabe, their presence changes the dynamic of the entity to which they pledge their allegiance. And sometimes it is not for the best, dragging down those who buy into their bullshit. For example, I give you…

George W. Bush—President Wannabe
Judy Regan—Celebrity Publishing Wannabe
O.J. Simpson—Serial Killer Wannabe
Snark—Agent Wannabe
Dick Cheney—Human Wannabe
Arnold Schwarznegger—Android Wannabe
Michael Richards—Comedian Wannabe
Angelina Jolie—Activist Wannabe
Brad Pitt—I’m Fucking an Activist Wannabe
Paris Hilton—Celebutant Wannabe
Karen Hughes—Anybody Important Wannabe
Bill Frist—Doctor Wannabe (Seriously, after that whole Terri Schiavo thing, would you let him touch you?)
SammyK—Isabella’s Sex Slave Wannabe
George Clooney—Marriagable Material to Get Nook Wannabe

And I am not the only one who thinks these things. Here is part of an e-mail from a writer using the name The Casual Observer, who is probably a whacko freakazoid, but what the hell…

Who is the real Miss Snark? Is she or is she not a real agent? Who cares? Personally, I believe she is Jenna of Absolute Write fame. I think this because when AW was in trouble, Snark was right there defending those speaking out against the injustice of such a thing. How dare they do this and that!. Most of us, those of us with a brain anyway, where hoping it would stay shut down. Just so much more crap that no one cared about anyway—no one except Jenna and friends.

I have also noticed that each time anything watchdogerish is in the forefront that Miss Snark is right there, defending all those who might get scammed. In my opinion, the only folks concerned about getting scammed are wannabes, as you have testified to many times.

The bottom line is that I don’t agree that Miss Snark is Janet Reid. A real agent would care less about watchdogs. So whoever this person is they have to somehow be connected to Jenna, AW or the SFWA. My thinking right now is that Snark is either Jenna or Victoria Strauss. Why? Because of their very close ties to AW and SFWA. This is my guess. Anyone want to refute it?

I get this shit all the time. I also get stuff like this:

I think you’re a male chauvinist pig. I don’t think you have sex with anyone but yourself. I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were the last man on the planet.

And this…

Why don’t you have a pet like Miss Snark? Your blog would be so much better if you had a dog or something. Miss Snark has a Chihuahua and can prove it. (What?)

So, now that I have put my opinion to rest on this most recent pathetic excuse for a scandal, can we get back to whether News Corporation should have cancelled the O.J. book and interview? Think 1st amendment, people. Would we have burned those books if they had been published? Is censorship an issue real writers should worry about? Nah, they’re too busy reading Snark.

Not.

If You Knew Judy Like I Knew Judy (or The Greatest Wannabe of All)

2006-11-19T16:53:00.000-08:00

…at least in publishing. Ooh, I’ve heard about the Snark/Crusie thing, and I will get to that, but what I am going to post about is so much FUNNER! And so much more important because it proves I’m an agent and you all aren’t. It proves that publishing is not the coochy-coo land all those solicitous, mind-fucking bastards out there sucking off wannabes say that it is. It is my world, my realm, and the lawyers in the O.J. Simpson case, who couldn’t prove his guilt or innocence even when the evidence was handed to them, have proved that I have been right all along about the state of publishing. I just didn’t realize it would come at the lovely hands of one of our very own go-to-it gals—Judy R. at HarperC.

I know Snark’s fans are too wannabe to understand the profundity of this little scandal in the ranks up here where the air is rarified, but us REAL agents are giddy. Kind of like watching someone get caught with her underwear stuck in her pretty little crack. By the way, the theme from “The High and The Mighty” is playing on my Zune right now (snapping fingers to the beat). Eat your heart out, K.N.

Pop quiz question:

All along, Sammy has been:
a. right
b. right
c. right
d. all of the above

Now, you self-righteous nay-sayers; you nefarious ineffective do-gooders; you underachieving, over-reaching, ladder-climbing leeches, who has been right all along? Let’s say it together now:

Sammy was right.

And Sammy still is. Oh, the absolute joy of being able to point out via public example the epitome of all that I have spoken. But why wallow in my glory alone when I can please my darling wannabes—see, a non-writer like me even knows that you have to please someone besides yourself—by giving a quasi-scoop on the most recent poop in publishing?

Oooh, you just can’t wait, can you?

Well, I am afraid you are going to be disappointed, because I am not going to let you in on any secrets I haven’t already alluded to before (Go Annie, You Rock; Note to Oprah and Nan: Go Fuck Yourselves). Anyone who knows Ju-Ju is not surprised at all about this O.J. Simpson book fiasco. Why do you think she convinced the powers that be that she could conquer H-Wood for them, then took her heels and designer clothes and tottered off to the anti-Big Apple? It wasn’t because she wanted to give voice to struggling writers or bring great literature to the world. It is because—and you should know this refrain by now:

She is a wannabe and knows nothing about the industry and she shouldn’t be in it.

Judy, as lovely as she can be, is the ultimate wannabe. And no, she is not one of my exes. I can imagine how she got her start: The corporate robots at HC said one day, “We want to be nothing but a sleazy entertainment entity, beholden to consumers who feed off of the celebrity culture because they have no lives of their own and have not yet decided to write a book themselves. We need someone who loves to feed parasitically off of the attention given to celebrities in Glittertown—movie stars, politicos, sleazy and obnoxious lawyers, etc.—to lead the way. Also, someone who likes having a year-round tan.”

And probably Ju-Ju Bear waved her arm wildly in the air, like those answer-rich nerdy kids in high school I used to teach how to get dates (mainly I told them to quit answering all the fucking questions and stick a sock in their pants—amazingly, it worked). Actually, if I know Judy, she most likely told them the way it was going to be, and the next thing you know Ju-Ju is driving her wagon train West and publishing books by people who are not writers by trade, but cash-cows by circumstance. For our most recent example, the people who are most irate about the O.J. “confession” book are the lawyers who lost the case and are now mentally comparing their advances to his, and probably considering killing a spouse to get a bigger book deal next time. Really, most of the people who are outraged are people who have, at some point, been a part of the case and had a book published already…some of them by Judy. Really. Really, really. There’s some irony for you.

In an interview with Larry King, that very subject came up. When a caller asked the panel (which included the lawyer who represented the Goldmans in the civil trial and an LAPD detective who are both so important that I can’t remember their names, Gloria Allred, Chris Darden, and Rosie Greer) why Judy shouldn’t make money off a book about O.J., by the actual person himself, but they can (with the exception of Rosie Greer, who was there to lend some Samminess to their watchpuppy fanaticism), they only being peripheral to the case and not actually O.J. himself, their excuses ranged from he’s a murderer—even though found innocent in a court of law—and so they have the right to write about it to get their “truth” to as many God-fearing Americans who have $26 to spare as possible—to Chris Darden’s spectacularly ridiculous comment indicating that he deserved it to make up for going to law school and working hard all his life. So, do readers have to somehow compensate all lawyers who failed spectacularly to get a conviction in a supposedly “open and shut” case? Hmmm? I don’t know how they didn’t manage to get Marcia Cross on the panel—maybe she’s too busy with her TV show that resulted from the trial.

And speaking of rationalizing our behavior, Judy, again, wins the award for her statements defending publishing the book. Why couldn’t she have just said, “I want to make money off of celebrities” like I figured she would? Instead, she asserts she did it to vindicate both families and let people know the truth. Pssst, um, Ju-Ju Bear, even a 4th grader can see through that bullshit. In addition, she noted that Hitler’s Mein Kampf is still in print, with publishers making dough off of it, and this is true. But those publishers didn’t call up Hitler and pay him lots of money while he was alive and do an interview with him, although I am sure they would do so today in a heartbeat.

The most moronic thing about the interview is that the lawyer guy who represents Nicole Brown Simpson’s estate and therefore helped the families sue in a civil trial did so supposedly in the interest of the children, who have been living with their father until they went off to school somewhere. So all this was done to get money for O.J. and Nicole’s children, who O.J. has been supporting and giving money to all along. Methinks me smells some rat shit.

Look, I don’t know if the guy offed anyone, and I don’t really care. Oh, well as much as I care about anybody tried for killing his wife and her friend—there are cases like this all over the US every day. But people only cared about the Simpson trial because it had that celebrity angle, being televised on a nauseatingly regular basis, and it offered opportunities for total nobodies—wannabes in the making—to become celebrities. It’s the same reason people go on stupid reality TV shows and eat bug shit. On a side note, I have yet to see a reality TV show where a handsome literary agent has to, in order to win a Porsche, bang a beautiful woman on a keyboard. How is that fair?

The point of this rant is that Ju-Ju, one of the most famous of the group of publishing “gurus” who wouldn’t know an actual book if it bit her on her pretty little ass, is the ultimate wannabe, feeding off the notoriety of others and truly believing that she somehow deserves it. We in publishing all knew this, so no one here is surprised. We just let these types do whatever it is they do and then work deals to our clients’ advantage. Hell yeah, we do. Why not? It’s like taking candy from a baby, and fine-looking baby at that. Their books are like mental blowjobs, and their effects last about as long, leaving the reader wanting more and being willing to pay for it over and over again. You’re better off to buy the solar battery-powered Jolie-Lips 2000 for $49.95 from Sex Toys, Inc.

The bottom line is this is what publishing has become, plain and simple. It’s about money, not literary quality, and it’s certainly not the world the solicitous know-it-alls perpetuate. As I have mentioned before, I know how to work within that world to get good stuff past the morons, the parasites, the dipshits, the corporate flunkies, the senior editor's mistress, the mailroom snot- turned- marketing genius, and, yes, even lovely celebrity-obsessed wannabes. Good agents understand this. Or should I say that real publishing industry professionals understand this?

But you would know that, if you knew Judy like I know Judy.

Oh, what a gal!

Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

2006-11-15T17:31:00.000-08:00

I am tired.

Very tired.

I am a publishing industry professional who has put a lot of time and effort into doing my job well enough that I can take pride in my work. And yet, as I look around the internet, I can’t help but wonder if I am completely crazy or what. Other so-called industry professionals are blogging their little hearts out, providing information to wannabes as if it is going to get them somewhere besides Looneyville. I just sit here and wonder if I am delusional. I look around. There’s the contract on my desk from a major, so that’s real. Or did I print it out on my computer? What are those scribbles on it—signatures? Am I hallucinating? Maybe. But the call I got from the Oscar-winning director’s assistant yesterday--that seemed so real! The option offer seemed a little too high--could I have been drunk? Maybe I’m in a coma somewhere and don’t know it. The things I read on the internet just don’t add up, so it must be me. Have I finally lost what little mind I had left before the wannabes started sucking on my brain?

FUCK NO! YOU OTHER PEOPLE ARE LIARS!

There, I’m back again. I’ll be goddamned if some moronic warm and fuzzy solicitous twits will pretend to be in MY industry and get by with it. Who do you people think you are? The reason writers bitch and moan that they can’t get any answers is that they don’t get any answers. Here’s an experiment, my dear little wannabes: Think of any question you have about publishing. Any question at all. Got one in your wittle bitty head? Good. Now Step Two—and don’t worry, there are only two steps so you don’t get confused. Say the question aloud, then read the statement below. Aloud, of course.

For example, you might ask yourself why the agent you submitted to rejected your work. And the answer is…

You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

This is a stock answer that applies to almost all publishing situations. It is one of the only statements you will hear in publishing that makes any sense at all because it is true. Here’s another example:

I am new to publishing, where should I begin my quest for publication?

Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

And here are more examples:

That agent is an asshole and doesn’t know what he is doing.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Miss Snark is so informative!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Watchdog groups love me and want to help me get published.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Editors are mean and like to turn people down after leading them on for months at a time.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

I’ve written the great American novel and I will be famous.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

You are a mean, horrible agent for discouraging me!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Should I use Courier or Times New Roman font when submitting?
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

What’s wrong with being a wannabe? Everyone has to start somewhere!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Now, there is irony floating around here. I know that the wannabes who read this will immediately rally and take up arms and say that just because they are new doesn’t mean they aren’t talented and that the industry should take a chance on them and that everyone has to start somewhere and if we would only give them a chance…

But, hmmm, how can that be? If an agent is new to the industry, everyone lands on him or her for being too new and inexperienced. He/she is told how to do his job by people who don’t have the foggiest idea about being an agent or any kind of publishing professional (and, no, being a writer doesn’t make you a publishing professional; it makes you the labor force). You all say the same thing: We new writers don’t want a new agent. We want someone experienced who has the best contacts and can get us the best deal to make us rich and famous and get us on the talk shows. And you are al worth it, too, aren't you? And all the loudmouth literary talking heads nod and agree and, even though they qualify their statements with a comment about working hard and learning to be professional, they poo-poo any agent except ones like me—the big boys—who are not going to give your work a second look. Why should we? What have you ever done to prove that you deserve a shot at the big time? I’ve lurked on the boards. I’ve seen some of the awful, cruel things people say about agents when they think no one is looking. I’m looking. And my first thought is that if you don’t want a new agent, why do you think an experienced agent would want a new writer? Isn’t that a double standard? What? I am supposed to use my experience for the lousy 15% of shit you can draw in? Newbies don’t rate high pay, baby. They rate dick is what they rate. Maybe you think your book is the most outstanding piece of literature since the form was created, but considering that half the population won't agree with you on principle, how is a publishing house supposed to invest in your crap with any hope of return?

So two shay and go fuck yourselves.

This is just one example of the thousands of frustrations and the stupid ideas that are reinforced by the glop out there written by wannabes who think they are at my level. I wish the fucking internet would explode and then maybe there wouldn’t be any wannabes or watchdogs or fucking blogging agents. God, I hate them. For those of you who are shaking all over, so happy that you think you have caught me in a mistake (as if), I am not a blogging agent. I am an agent who has a blog. I do not write every fucking day, every fucking hour. I spend most of my time selling books and porking my “girlfriends” (okay, fiancés, wives, other people’s wives--whatever). I vent and I rant, but I don’t blog and I don’t solicit or kiss ass. I don’t offer any advice, either, but I do tell you the truth. And that is (can you guess?)…

You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Tooshay.

He Who Laughs Last, Laughs at the Rest of You Fucking Morons

2006-10-27T12:28:00.000-07:00

Oh my God! I can’t stop laughing. The fates are conspiring to kill me with mirth. I haven’t guffawed this much since Bush got elected. Gimme a minute to catch my breath, would ya?

deep breaths
deep breaths
giggle
snort
deep brea…

Aah, to hell with it. I’m just going to type while I’m snorting my libation out my nose. So what if you wankers have to read typos? So what if I have to buy yet another keyboard? It’s worth it.

gulping for air
snorting
laughter

Okay, I’m composed now. At least enough to compose for my beloved wannabes (I hope you recognize the sarcasm there). I just got an e-mail from which I would like to share an excerpt with you…

“You are so stupid Sammy! Like we all don’t know that your part of this IILAA group. Your just a pathertic scammer like the rest of them. It's probly your idea. Asshole!”

So I get on this site and read about this new agent organization for "independent agents" who are pro-fees and against watchdog groups, which, of course, has all the usual suspects grabbing their bunched undies out of their collective self-righteous cracks. And now I can’t stop laughing. This has made my day, folks, just made my day. Can none of you see the ridiculousness of all of this? Probably not. You haven’t seen through the smoke and mirrors that is the fantasy (no pun intended) promoted by watch puppies and thoroughly useless and talentless members of the rapidly disappearing publishing community.

Wannabes only see what they want to see…

But I digress. Here’s a little quiz for the loyal readers of my blog who should know by now exactly why I couldn’t be a part of this quaint little effort, as much fun as it would be.

Quiz

1. Sammy doesn’t do which of the following?
a. work/play in groups (that incident with Angelique at my friend’s wedding reception doesn’t count. For one thing, I don’t know where the midget came from, and for another, technically, that makes it a ménage a trios, not a group)
b. lower himself to deal with agents/writers/editors, etc., who crawl around in the lower echelons of some mythical publishing world promoted by the watchpuppies and the scammers and the wannabes and the pathetically young editors who don’t know any better and Oprah
c. Call reimbursements “fees” (You idiots—there’s a difference)
d. All of the above

2. Sammy has said which of the following?
a. The relationships of the watch puppies and scammers and anonymous bloggers and writers groups are more incestuous than Oedipus and Lolita ever thought of being. In the last case, just as creepy, too.
b. If somebody in the publishing world, including published writers who wallow in their own glory, says that he is trying to protect poor wittle wannabes, translate that to mean “feed off your worship.”
c. Snark will ultimately prove that everything on this blog is true and that the whole racket is geared toward getting a book deal. She and her “friends” (and if you haven’t figured this whole set of weirdos and their relationships out yet, you are either really naïve or just plain stupid) are the epitome of that which wannabes have been programmed to fear. Oh, the irony.
d. All of the above.

3. Wannabes
a. Suck the life out of publishing
b. Suck the life out of publishing
c. Suck the life out of publishing
d. All of the above

4. Sammy charges…
a. A super large reading fee
b. For sex
c. For advice to wannabes on whether they have a life or not.
d. a only, but b is viable based on feedback from willing participants in a study done in Sammy’s bedroom, Sammy’s bathroom, Sammy’s kitchen, on Sammy’s computer desk, and at the zoo (don’t ask).

5. Sammy loves…
a. to see two groups of idiots who have no idea what really goes on in the entertainment field battling it out for the love and adoration of a group of emotionally needy, life-lacking, zombie-like, immature, probably overly conservative and horny mailbox watchin’ wannabes.
b. working in LA and NYC (coast to coast nook) and a good glass of California wine
c. knowing that as the publishing-as-we-know-it apocalypse looms, there will still be a scramble among those who think they know what is going on to convince their now angry believers they weren’t full of shit all along. I want popcorn for that movie.
d. All of the above

6. Sammy likes to spend his time…
a. making love, not war
b. venting on his blog when he’s not getting laid or selling something
c. waiting for the day when the whole damn literary system as we know it (or in most cases, as people think they know it) folds up and goes away, and all the newbies find some other hobby to keep them from focusing on their sad, miserable lives, allowing publishing to be reborn and progress without all the sludge clogging the pipelines. Maybe blogging. Or porn.
d. All of the above, and happily

7. Scenario: Sammy meets a beautiful woman who says her name is Sasha at a party given by a close friend and they hit it off immediately. He takes her back to his place, and they have a little wine and make a little small talk before heading to the computer desk. Suddenly, in the midst getting down to business (Psst, dum-dums, I mean s-e-x), Sasha pulls away and, breathing heavily, says, “Sammy, I haven’t been honest with you. I really like you, and I think you should know that I am really a man.” Sammy’s reaction is…
a. At least he’s not a wannabe.
b. Dave? Is that you?
c. Really, Snark, you’re a lot more feminine than you give yourself credit for.
d. All of the above

Score: Here are the answers, for you reprobates who honestly can’t figure it out. They are all d, as in dumbfucks.

I think I will go start my own little organization, of which I will be the only full member. I will have lots of associate members, whose dues will keep me afloat (hey, that’s how writer’s organizations all work, isn’t it? Writer’s conferences, too. Or anything with the word “writer” in it, for that matter). It will be called Sammy’s Fully-satisfied Women’s Association, and we will have a Canon of Ethics and a section on our website with names of men who haven’t satisfied women lately. Of course, I will take complaints from members and tell my followers that I help the FBI track down low-lifes who promise and then don’t deliver orgasms. Wow, what a concept. I have to go now. I think I need to work on a logo. And a theme song!

Heh heh heh.--Sammy

Why You Should Never Fuck on a Computer Desk

2006-10-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

I can think of one good reason: You will lose the masterpiece that you were getting ready to post on your blog.

Yep. I didn’t have computer safe sex, and now not only is all my work lost (how her **** hit that delete key I will never figure out) but my F keys are sticking. So now you get a quicky instead of the longer, more desired read you so desperately need. Pant, pant.

Oh well, at least I don’t have prison fantasies like one of my loyal commenters (You know who you are, DK).

Just a response in reference to some comments on my last post and then I will go off on another tangent. How many times do I have to say this? Some people in this business are not out to amass a gaggle of followers for the money, although that is one of the biggest motivators. They want power. Lots of power. And then they can do whatever they want and make publishing whatever they want because their minions will spread out through cyberspace like a plague and beyond, spreading their “truth” and backing down any nay-sayers. This is how it works in all aspects of entertainment, so it is not that unusual. Just annoying. Their names on the lips of everyone, or so they believe, and that translates into book sales, baby, book sales. From wannabes, mainly. If you are looking for altruism in the publishing industry, you are on a sad and fruitless journey, my friend. Woe is you. Woe is you.

And don’t forget, just because Snarkalina and friends (hint) haven’t published books yet doesn’t mean that they won’t. I can just see the whole pathetic production now, including giddy fans and even my long-awaited “I told you so” post. However, I do have to give Snarky just a little credit. She has built a huge following, indeed, which is quite a feat for someone like her. She could actually come out and do a book deal and I bet she wouldn’t lose any fans at all, even though, technically, that would prove that I was right about her and…well, her, anyway, using the blog to build up a fan base for just that very purpose. But who am I to say anything? Just little ol’ Sammy She-Bammy with a terribly wicked grin. Hey, if Dr. Phil can nearly cripple people with diet and exercise, I am sure Snarky could continue to abuse writers under her real name and they would eat it up, making her the Oprah of the Wannabe Kingdom. Just what the world needs—yet another addition to the ranks of the pundits. Can’t wait for that shit.

Along those lines, someone (okay, a bunch of someones) commented and e-mailed that I offer nothing to writers but negativity, which is absolutely not true. Everything you need to know is right here in this blog, and if you don’t get it, at least get a clue that you’re a dumbfuck.

That’s all the cynicism I can spare for now. Besides, I think, from the look on my little darlin’s face, that it looks like I might have to buy a brand new keyboard tomorrow.

With a wink and a smile--Sammy

Enough Already!

2006-10-06T16:48:00.000-07:00

Enough!

I am sick and tired of the articles posted everywhere about scamming agents and shady agents and incompetent agents and so on. I just read through one that someone sent me, written—AGAIN—by someone who is completely unqualified to write about the subject of agents at all. And no, I am not talking about the folks at Writer Beware or P&E, although they fall in that crowd too.

Some wannabe writer went around and did interviews with several folks who were supposedly “in the know” about all the bad things agents to do poor wittle wannabe writers. Nobody interviewed me. Maybe they thought that I didn’t care, because I don’t. They didn’t have an agent write it. They didn’t ask the AAR to write it either. Nor did they write about the dirty rotten things that writers do to agents and to each other, the things that so-called publishing “professionals” do to writers, and the things that publishers do to writers. Do you know how many times I have saved a writer’s ass from some ridiculous (or vindictive) thing some editor from one of the publishers that every conniving little wannabe wants to get published by has tried to pull? (Yes, that’s a convoluted sentence, but I don’t give a fuck. Read it twice if
you have to.)

I see it all. I see how writers and agents and publishers manipulate and are manipulated by each other. It isn’t pretty. Neither is the movie business—the dramatic arts industry—but for some reason my expectations are lower and their bullshit is even easier to spot. I guess a guy trained in NYC is no match for the uppity snots I deal with now. California pussies. They worry too much about being thin. Combine that with the dumb, easy broads and I’m a happy b-o-y in C-A.

Anyway, where are the articles about the dirty doings at S&S or HarperC? Where are the naughty notes from the meetings between writers who firmly intend to screw an agent out of his hard-earned cash? Think it hasn’t happened? It has. For some reason, once the check arrives, the writer suddenly is overcome with a pang of regret that 15% has been carved out for the guy who got the jack-off his deal. After all, why did he need an agent in the first place? His work is magnifique! The first client who verbalized this to me was, shall we say, let go. More like I told him to go fuck himself. In the early years, I had writers query me because they wanted to have a bunch of queries out, and then when I showed interest and started reading the ms, I would get a call that the writer had decided to go with someone else. My time had been wasted while some prick who knew darn good and well he was going to sign with someone else just wanted a little more of an ego boost by having two agents (or more) interested in his work.

Enough!

That also about sums up my position on the morons who are bilking other morons by supposedly publishing, either via blog or book or website or pamphlets dropped over Iraq, advice on how to get published. Yes, that includes Evil Editor, Miss Snark, Writer Beware and so on. All of those touchy-feely superheroes who claim to offer the keys to publishing success—which usually come out with the emphasis on there is possibility that you will get published and little time given to the fact that the possibility ranges in the zillion-to-one range—screwing writers just as much as the guy with multiple fraud convictions who carries condoms everywhere he goes.

I have gotten dozens of e-mails on the situation with Evil Editor—what’s my take on it? What do you mean, what’s my take on it? I have posted on this before. This is just another way that the lower echelon of publishing “professionals” can cash in on the dumbfuck population of wannabes who will buy anything that guarantees success in an industry that requires more than just being able to type to make it. These quasi-professional types are one step above wannabes; it doesn’t matter if they work at a major house or have published a dozen NYT bestsellers or that the President conferred an award upon them that states, “This here publishin’ profeshunal dun good werk and we’s xtreemly prowd o’ ‘im.” All that matters is that the person is using writers to his/her own advantage. Yet no one says a word. It’s all in their names, too—snark, evil, beware, predators, etc. Someone should start an agency and call it something like Scammers International Literary Agency. It would be a huge success. And on that note…

Enough.

Why Children's Editors Suck but Don't Swallow…by Marley

2006-09-15T17:22:00.000-07:00

Well, Marley may have been absent for a little while, but she’s back now in full bloom. Marley, love, take it from here….

Jesus fucking Christ, people! You really have no clue about children’s publishing, do you? I do. You know why? Because I am not in it, that’s why. But my kindred spirits in the realm of the Itty Bitties (i.e. itty bitty advances, itty bitty royalties, itty bitty prestige) have to vent to someone. That’s right—I am buddies with a couple of kids’ editors. Have been for a long time. And they tell me things. Naughty things. I went to university with a couple of them, and for some reason—perhaps they are mentally ill—when we decided to go our separate ways into the pub world, they went to Bunnyville and I went to where all the grown-ups go—agenting. HA! I knew some of you would snicker at that. Well, fuck you good and hard. I may be a mother-fucking agent, despised by the creative population in general, but at least I’m not a pathetic, lifeless, mommy-wannabe, daycare lovin’ children’s lit editor. Jesus, and the Christians think Satan is bad!

Look, I know that everyone thinks of these twats as the epitome of literary mommydom, even the guys. They publish books that supposedly guide our children, but have you seen any of these man-hungry wrecks lately (including the guys)? I am almost sisters with one of them, and she’s a fucking idiot. I love her, and I would raise her children if a picture book writer hunted her down and killed her with one of their drool-covered glitter pens, but she’s still an idiot. To make it plainer to the elfadeldos (no, I don’t know how to goddamn spell it) in Bunnyville, not only do you have to deal with editors who never quite made it out of the middle school mentality, you have to deal with editors stealing your spots on lists. Maybe you should think about this before sending your masterpiece off.

I don’t take kiddie lit, even though wannabes send me shit all the time, but I am “in.” For those of you who don’t know what that means, it is the opposite of where you are, which is “out.” Anyway, I know who these people are. When a writer bitches to me about not taking kid lit (which is like bitching to a Chevy salesman that he doesn’t sell Fords), I fire back at them with the ridiculousness of their hero’s quest to be the next Dr. Seuss. Why is it fruitless? Because the children’s editors are writing their own books and getting them published, so they DO NOT NEED YOU. You pathetic morons!

Have you been to a bookstore lately? Just look at the names on the shelves and you will find dozens of editors who work at Random House, Simian & Schuster (yes, that’s how I spell it since that fucking little bastard in lower management bragged that he touched my unmentionables—MY TITTIES!—when the closest he had been was across the hall), HarpyCollins (have you talked with these people lately? Three words: P-M-S), and Penguin Poundyourpudnam (draw your own conclusions). Yeah, I have issues with all of these houses, though I still sell books to some of them, but the fact is the kid’s editors are publishing their own shit and they don’t need yours. So stop idolizing the fluffy version of Attila the Hun, will you?

Oh, I know. In the adult world, we have Jason Pinter, who wrote a book for—snicker, snicker—MIRA. Ooooooh. And there’s others, too. Even bigger oooooohs. Yeah, so it happens in the adult world, too, that editors claim spots on lists that real writers could fill otherwise. But kiddie writers seem to idolize their editors, whereas in my world we just tolerate the slop they churn out, buy them drinks until they are sloppy-ass drunk, and then we set their shoes on fire. God, I love my job!

The adult editors won’t go to the police—they are too ashamed to explain how they ended up with second-degree burns on the soles of their feet. One guy did try to claim he was fire-walking, but the cops didn’t buy it. The kiddie editors, on the other hand, have never gotten past milkshakes and teddy-bear hug parties, and they will run to an authority figure the minute you seductively suck on their olives. Pussies.

My point is this: Quit sending me your children’s lit shit. I don’t take it. Never will. The editors are psycho and they don’t buy that many manuscripts anyway because they are all busy writing their own, which usually suck. Check the names and numbers and you will see. The editor that turns you down because she says your book just didn’t connect with her is basically saying you write better than her and won’t take on anything that might make better sales figures than her loser book about Abraham Lincoln’s mole getting a blowjob.

And to my sister editors who keep trying to lure me over to the dark side—you will never take me alive. I don’t want to have anything to do with passing notes at recess, ‘kay? And by the way, I have the most amazing assortment of glitter pens…

Fuck you,
Marley

So Long, Mate...

2006-09-04T10:20:00.001-07:00

Being that I am a reprehensible cad, I tend to judge a man by the number of women I have to console after he dies, and this morning I discovered, to my bedmate’s utter horror, that I am going to be a very busy teddy bear this week.

As many of you might have heard, Steve Irwin, the guy known as the Crocodile Hunter, died some hours ago after an encounter with a stingray that ended, unfortunately, with the ray’s barb stabbing Irwin in the heart. Since the news broke, my phone has been ringing off the hook (even though phones don’t technically have hooks anymore) with messages from my stable of beauties in near hysterics over this. In a desperate effort to appease some of my ladies (while fending off Violet's wrath) I promised I would write a short tribute to the guy on my blog, even though none of them know where or what it is. Apparently, just knowing that someone is posting in his honor is enough for them. So here goes…

Steve Irwin is the only guy that I ever knew of that--by just being himself and without even ever having talked to her directly that I know of--got Underwear Woman to quit wearing shoes made out of real crocodile hide.

For those of you who don’t know Underwear Woman, and I count you in the lucky sector on that one, she is a shrew of an ex-wife who won’t listen to anybody about anything because she is always right. The only thing that I have been sure she was right about was that I was diddling one of her friends, but I guess she was a regular fan of Irwin’s and decided that if a guy could generate that much enthusiasm for a creature that had a smile almost just like hers, then she would make the gesture. Not an empty one for a woman so vacuous and vain that she puts most show dogs to shame. A feat like that definitely indicates a higher order mammal of the most excellent kind (okay, I am quoting here).

Also, out of ten or so lovelies that I consider my steady girlfriends, eight of them called me needing comfort. Of course, one was fuming beside me because the phone kept waking her up, so on the Sammy Scale of Importance, Irwin ranked roughly eight out of nine, a feat unmatched to this point by any famous dead person. The highest the scale ever went was three out of ten, if that gives you any indication. And Irwin never even bonked any of my girlfriends either, so he earned this adoration just on his charm alone. I literally stand in awe.

I have to admit that I watched his stuff a few times myself, being a snake fan. Yeah, there’s some irony for you. I guess when you get compared to the slithery little guys enough, you get curious, so I tuned in. I can definitely say that, while we would have never gone out scoping women together (he was a dedicated family man), I would have definitely enjoyed hoisting a few with this bloke and listening to his exploits. He seemed genuine in everything that he did, and I don’t get to be around many folks like that in my industry. As one of my darlings sobbed, he was real like the Velveteen Rabbit real (I don't date all of my ladies for their brains alone). There were some people who got all bent out of shape over him holding his kid while feeding a crocodile—I remember this incident—and I remember thinking that they should fuck off. This guy knew what he was doing because he knew his shit, unlike most piss-brained parents nowadays who put helmets on their kids the minute they get out of bed in the morning. He knew what he was doing, and he was confident about it. The world is so filled with pathetic wannabes in every occupation (especially writers, don’t think that just because I am writing a tribute that you dickheads are off the hook) that no one seems to understand this anymore. I don’t meet too many of those folks in this industry either.

Jesus, I am getting more bummed as I write this.

On a bright note, I think that Irwin went the way he would have wanted to go if he knew he had to. I think that the best tribute to Irwin is that the Great Spirit (or Yahweh or God or whatever higher being you believe in) honored him by transitioning him to the next realm in a way that celebrates everything he ever stood for in his life. We should all aspire to such greatness.

Enough said.--SammyK

Miscellaneous Stuff

2006-09-03T09:05:00.000-07:00

This post will contain the words of other people—editors, other agents, writers, a bookseller, etc.—who populate this dying industry. Some are questions I will answer; others are just comments from a frustrated group of people besieged by bullshit.

From an editor…
I hate what this industry has become. I just hate it.

From an independent bookseller…
Hey Sammy, have you heard about the book that we’re expected to order even though the publishing house won’t divulge the author’s name or what it’s about? I say fuck ‘em; my patrons can go to a chain to buy that shit. This is ridiculous. Is it that publishers are trying to show us that they think we are so stupid that we will take anything, even an anonymous book with no description, just because they say it’s going to be a huge bestseller? Remember the Harry Potter disaster? Right!

From an agent…
I really can’t believe how out of hand some of these writers have gotten. I have been an agent for years, and good lord! The e-mails I get are just atrocious. Nasty notes because I send a form rejection and nasty notes if I offer comments. I can get new clients from other venues, so I just stopped taking queries period last year. Things have been a lot better since.

From an agent…
I keep hearing this lament about we agents would have nothing to do if there were no writers. Bullshit! I have skills for at least three other professions, whereas most writers are writing because they want to get out of their miserable existences. Yeah, I need these writers real bad. I can go almost anywhere and find some pudhead to scribble out a yarn, no problem. It’s not like the editors that they’re hiring now would know the difference, and believe me, the really talented writers aren’t the ones sniveling about not getting published.

From a romance editor…
I know you rail against idiot writers, but I bet you don’t have to work with them like I do. Instead of waiting for a really good book to come along, I have to take substandard crap and try to make it sellable because my house publishes so many books a year. The truth? You’ve said it, Sammy. There are millions of wannabes out there, but only a small percentage of them can write. And a smaller percentage can write really good romance. You know what I see? I see every day the stupid trends that romance publishers come up with and the way the RWA tries to legitimize romance by adding women’s fiction and chick-lit and all those other types of “sophisticated” versions of genre romance. There is nothing wrong with romance except that every pathetic, dateless wannabe thinks she can write it. I end up having to sign these people, knowing that I will have to practically re-write the damn books, and the next thing I know, the author has a web site or blog and is giving writing advice. Or she has a glamour shot posted and the site talks all about her and her life and how she came to be such an important literary icon, what with her one book and all. I hate to burst the bubble, and I would never actually say this to the writer, but just because you get a contract doesn’t mean you are a writer, just a convenient list filler. Agents are terrible about romances too. They will try to sell me anything, because they really don’t understand what good romance is. It is so depressing. I used to read romances for fun; now, like many of our readers, I don’t read anything for fun. I surf the Net.

From an agent…
God, I get so tired of hearing how evil agents are. I never realized it until I went to a few conferences, and boy, did I figure it out fast. I have done my best to get fair deals for my clients and mediate negotiations so that it’s a win/win situation for both the publisher and writer, because that’s how good books get to readers. But I’ll be damned if I don’t get on these blogs and forums and hear agents talked about like funeral parlor directors—they’re needed, but you really don’t want to have to ever see them professionally if you don’t have to.

From a writer…
I hate other writers. I can’t even get on the forums and stuff anymore because I always read something stupid from one of the regulars. Then when I respond, they either post around me or, even better, and I know this has happened to other people, they take what I posted, re-word it a little and add a comment, and then everyone praises them for their wonderful insight. Am I insane? No wonder publishers hesitate working with new writers so much. I would, too. I can’t even stand to be around them and I’m one of them. They all bitch about the cliquey-ness of the business, but the first thing they do is form cliques. I thought I graduated high school years ago.

From a small publisher…
This industry has changed so much since I started and writers need to understand that. But I get the crappiest stuff! If people just want to share their souls, fine, but don’t ask me to invest money in your work so that you—and only you—can benefit. I saw on some writer organization’s site the other day tips for writers and what they should allow (allow!?!) publishers to have. I was shocked. When did it become us against them, with the writer being the most important? Fuck that. Writers have written shitty responses to my rejections, stating that they don’t need publishers and can do it all on their own. I say, go ahead motherfucker. All these writers post on the Internet thinking they are getting back at publishers and proving they don’t need us. Good for you. You don’t need us unless you want to get paid for your writing, and as long as writers are doing all the work, which they didn’t used to have to do, we publishers will let you. They are dumbasses, aren’t they?

Questions and Answers:

From Beth…
“I have a question. Why go to publishers? If you’re good, won’t they come to you? Every nut-bag has a blog and some of the nut-bags are getting deals!”--Pretty much, Betsy, they will find you if you are good. Publishers are inundated with crap every single day, and I have already given my uncensored opinion on how ridiculous it is that bloggers, most of whom are complete smartasses, are getting book deals. Publishers are getting desperate, and there are ways around them. The problem, my dear, is that you have to understand and know the industry before you can navigate away from the morons, and most wannabes don’t know the first thing about the basics as it is.

From another Beth…
“Has such a loss of professionalism (however chemically-induced) ever happened to you? Or respected agents that you know?”--In regard to a situation this questioner described about a agent who got drunk and fondled someone, no, I haven’t, to this point, suffered a loss of professionalism such as this, inebriated or otherwise. I should note, though, that this is because I am a completely unprofessional person to begin with, so people don’t set the highest standards for me anyway—just for my clients. As for my agent brethren, I know of plenty of incidents that have happened over the years, some of them pretty embarrassing, some almost illegal, and others just funny and/or titillating (Marley, love, I will never tell). However, I won’t post them because A) they will tag my identity B) I don’t share industry stuff with outsiders and C) as long as they know that I know and haven’t told, they stay in line. Blowing the whistle would lessen the iron grip of power I hold over some of these yahoos, so you really wouldn’t want me to post their dalliances, as that’s the only thing keeping them in control at all. Sort of like Saddam Hussein and the terrorists. Sort of.

From George…

“Why do agents suck so bad? Butt-juice sniffers!”--Well, George, it’s like this: Fuck off.

There are so many more, but I have to go enjoy the rest of my weekend with Bella. She’s getting antsy and shouting love words in Italian. If she gets to singing “Volaire,” I won’t make it out alive.--Sammy

Why I Hate Victoria…and Other Ruminations

2006-08-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

As I have mentioned, I had the distinct pleasure of traveling a lot this past year, and particularly this summer. Back and forth between the coasts, grabbing a little vacation time here and there. One of those vacays took me on a visit to my friend in Canada, Victoria, B.C. to be exact, and though I had been there before, I was suddenly overcome by a distinct melancholy this time. It seemed so normal and pleasant. People there didn’t recognize me, and nobody bothered me. As my friend and I hung out, I realized that he gets to live this way all the time, while I live in a world where I am constantly dealing with other people’s fantasies and neediness and ambition and hopes and stupidity, and working with the movie people, it will only get worse. He isn’t a writer, and he laughs his ass off when I talk about my life in the biz. It’s different there somehow. More real. So now I hate Victoria and all its residents, who don’t have to deal with wannabes and get to be normal. It’s jealousy, plain and simple.

However, I love airports. I do. I love airports because I see all kinds of people just being who they are. You have to be yourself in an airport; the stress of flying, even if you enjoy it, brings out our real Id. If you are a lying pathetic bastard, you will be one on the airplane. A mousy little submissive wife will be a mousy little submissive airline passenger. A passionate ne’er-do-well agent will be a passionate ne’er-do-well first class passenger who smiles widely at pretty flight attendants who keep the liquor coming. A ridiculous, calculating wannabe writer will be a ridiculous, calculating airline passenger who tries to get ahead by putting out the least amount of effort and hoping for the most return.

Another reason I like airports is that they ground me. Not my flight, but me. I see all kinds of beautiful people, families even, where all the members are just beautiful. It reminds me how stupid people are to worship Brad and Angelina and Tom and Katie and all the other supposedly real “beautiful people.” The coverage of the births of their children was nauseating, as reporter, and I use the term loosely, after reporter kept talking about how genetically blessed their kids would be. And then at the airport, I see a family with a gorgeous mom, a handsome dad, and an incredibly adorable tyke. It takes away the sting of going to Victoria because I remember that Brad and Angie aren’t the best we can do. Seriously, I wouldn’t date blowjob lips if you paid me. Or girly boy, either. So, really, how did these two average-looking, average-talented, regular folks get promoted to the model for human perfection? You all know what I am going to say, don’t you? That’s right. I goddamn blame it on the…

WANNABES! The mediocre, mealy-mouth, mind-mushy wannabes.

You are the same people who elected George #2 because he represented, nay, is the epitome of, mediocrity being shoved into success (Lord knows he couldn’t have done it on his own). This is my own personal theory, but the people who voted for #2 were really voting for the grand illusion he represented: That anyone, truly, can be president, even those who don’t invest any time, effort, or money into becoming qualified. Joe Anybody wants to believe that one day he could be president, what with his BA in Mechanical Drain Clearing and his experience as Sunday school teacher, or that his cross-eyed, marginally-talented, semi-literate kid could grow up to be president even though he can’t name the three branches of government and forgot(?) to pay his taxes the last few years. A vote for #2 is a vote for the possibility that you might someday be important. The worst part is that these delusions are fueled not by a desire to help America be the best country it can be, but to become powerful and rich, either directly or indirectly.

Sound familiar, wannabes? It should. You can say that you write because you love it, but ultimately, unless you are handing your work out at the closest flop house without expecting anything in return but a whispered thanks, you are one of millions of people who are looking to become a glorified, overpaid, ego-heavy writah. So don’t get shitty when some guy who has paid thousands of dollars for training and worked for years in the bowels of some publishing house sifting through crap as an assistant editor gets his novel published while you’re still clawing at the underside of the mailroom floor.

The most recent bitch from the wannabe camp is that celebrities are getting published and taking all the open slots from them. How unfair! These celebrities haven’t done anything to deserve a publishing contract! All they have is a name! What about poor little me?

What about you, wannabe? Aren’t you the one out there going to the movies and buying these books? Worshipping celebrities and quasi-celebrities and making them a name brand? Why do publishers and movie executives, who base everything on the bottom line, want someone whose name will pull in money immediately and for a long period of time? Because you dumb fucks are out there buying their shit, that’s why! You’ve created the monsters who are honing in on your action. Who says Pam Anderson marrying Kid Rock is important? The people who buy the rags who show the pics of their wedding. Who says that the nobodies on the reality TV shows are important? The thousands of viewers who tune in to see who will screw whom and which cast member will get voted off. Who dictates that movie stars should get millions of dollars for pretending to be someone else? Not the producers, who would pay them $20 if they could, but the twits who go to see stupid movies with stupid actors and pay through the nose to do so. And who says Janet Jackson’s got a hot body, even though she has boy hips? The idiots that don’t look past the titty-job.

And that, dammit, is why I hate Victoria.

PS Sorry that this is not my typical fare, but it's been a long, hot summer.

And Now, For the Rest of the Story…

2006-08-04T16:35:00.000-07:00

People keep asking me why I keep mentioning Snark and her group of wannabe wannabes (and in case you don’t know of whom I speak, dear wannabes, check out her site for her incestuous publishing family tree). No, I don't need the attention, thank you. I'm sure my fans would continue to send death threats whether I mention Snark or not.

There's one reason mainly, and here it is: I don’t intend to let anyone forget for one minute that the people in this business who say they are helping writers and say that they care about writers are usually the biggest scammers in the universe. Perhaps I am wrong; however, every time I mention Snark or her watchpuppy or editor buddies (I am dropping clues here, by the way), it is a reminder that if any of them use their ill-gotten celebrity to get a book deal (or in some cases, ANOTHER book deal), they will, in the words of Ricky Ricardo, have a whole lot of ‘splainin to do. And that would be to you, wannabes.

Of course, some writers will never figure it out, and will continue to drool at the foot of their crumbling pedestals. But others will realize that all along they have been the victims of the biggest scam of all, and the prize isn’t money—although indirectly it is—but celebrity and the power it brings. I never trust people who say they are there to “help” people who should be able to help themselves. If a watchpuppy, for example, turned in his leash and collar and decided to help writers with no arms by typing for them, fine, that’s altruistic. However, when people tell writers things they should already know if they were actually qualified to write professionally, or when people tell writers that which should be COMMON SENSE in any business endeavor, then that’s solicitous bullshit, and the next thing to come out of that bull is usually a book.

Now, why should you care? Because the biggest bitch writers have is that they can’t break in to the field. There’s only so much room, and guess who’s taking up the slots that should be reserved for the .0000001% of the wannabe population that might actually have talent? That’s right—editors, other writers who promote themselves through “helping” writers, agents, established writers, watchdogs, forum gurus, bloggers, etc. I can’t tell you how many editors I know who have written fiction and nonfiction—just look it up, wannabes, the facts are there—and how many writers’ advocates make a living off of…WANNABE WRITERS!!

Now most of the editors and agents I can say deserve the opportunity. They went to school, worked their way up the ranks in mostly shitty jobs, that kind of thing. Probably blew a few marketing guys on the way up, too. I can even say that journalists deserve a shot at the big time, too, because at least they decided they wanted to write early enough that they went to school for it, and no matter what anyone told them, they put themselves through school and earned shitty pay for years until their big break came along (and for some, it hasn't and never will). But people who just set themselves up to build up an audience by getting writers to believe that their own motivation is noble make my balls ache.

The truth is, and I said this last year when I started this blog (happy anniversary to me!), that the reason wannabe writers can’t get “in” is because they should have started out wanting “in” and working toward that goal from the gitgo. If you just decided at mid-life that you wanted to write something because the muse bit your ass, but you don’t want to invest any time or money in following the path it takes to become a professional writer (the long arduous path), then you are a wannabe who will probably end up worshipping at the feet of those who are stepping on you on their way to the top.

Have a nice fucking day!

--Sammy

Californication, Doood!

2006-07-30T14:21:00.000-07:00

From the spastic e-mails I get, I can see that while I’ve been gone, AW has rapidly degraded to what it was before the Great Shit Filter In The Sky swooped down and removed it from the World Wide Web. It’s a damn shame it couldn’t have been permanent. The too short time that it was down had both great and very bad effects on the rest of us who are reasonably sane. The good effect was that some of the trash that clutters the web was cleared for a while, but on the bad side it allowed the crazies that normally get their fixes by feeding on each other’s egos to roam the internet without a leash and a trainer and allowed some of them to write shit on my blog.

Then there’s the Miss Snark crap: I could care less about this twit. Of course I know her secrets, and I'm not talking about her identity. Given my track record, I’ve probably slept with her. Did I say I’d reveal her name? Fuck no. Do I give a shit if people comment here on who she might be? Fuck no. You should see the comments I don't post. Woo-hoo. If I did give Snarkopolis one for the Gipper, that’s like screw and tell and I’ll never be guilty of that, even indirectly due to copulatory amnesia (which means she probably sucked in the sack, and not the good kind of suck either). That’s so high school. Oh, wait a minute you guys probably do that--screw and tell. Right. I forgot. I may be an asshole, but I, at least the last time I checked, made it through puberty. Some of us, I won't mention names (wannabes and watchpuppies among others), have not. Yet. What a long time to wait for reality to set in.

The only reason I even mention Snarky-poo’s name on my blog is to have some fun with wannabes. You guys are so easy and I know that every time I push one of your key word buttons, you’ll respond. You’re just like monkeys. Feed you a key word and you push the yellow button—how dumb for such a supposed smart flock of scammer experts and future best-selling writers of America. It’s no wonder scammers constantly outsmart the lot of you. Of course, by your definition, ol’ Sammy is a scammer. But I think you and your type somehow have confused scammer with entrepreneur. Folks who work for nothing are called suckers and those who charge for their labor are called businessmen and women. Wannabes, of course, fit into the sucker category—sorry. Companies like Writer’s Digest print the same advice so-called experts hand out for nothing (of course it’s more accurate) and writers pay for it. There is a difference.

Now for something important: As for where I’ve been, I’ve been prospecting for gold in California. Not that gold, stupid, modern gold. Personally, I’m tired of the New York scene and decided to try a new group of phonies out for a while. At least everyone, including Californians, know they’re phony. New Yorkers, on the other hand, are still in the illusionary stage and will only admit phony when caught in the act.

There is a great boom going on out here and I have been asked several times to be a part of it. I’ve made my bones--and jumped quite a few, too-- so to speak and besides that the women are prettier and not so Goddamn neurotic. Do you know how many hot babes moved to California in the ‘60s because they thought they could make it in the movies? Most did the titty bars for a while, found themselves a beach surfer-dood, settled down and popped out some fabulous-looking daughters. I’m finding I like it California.

Anyone want to buy a successful New York literary agency?

Technical Difficulties

2006-06-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

I am working on fixing some technical difficulties with the bloggy-poo, so for those of you who were hoping I had just disappeared, all of my ex-wives included, no chance of that.

A Bitchin' Post, Dude

2006-06-18T12:11:00.000-07:00

Here’s a comment by Sam B. that I didn’t post earlier because it contained speculation about the identity of Miss Snark. No offense, Sam, but I don’t want to muddy the waters with assumptions, whether true or not. That wouldn’t be any fun at all. Part of the fun of knowing Snarky’s identity is waiting and hearing the morons who take her word as gospel collectively gasp when they discover not who the Snark persona is, but the reason for doing the blog in the first place. The longer it goes, the worse it will be when the mighty tumble. And I will be there to say, “I told you so.”

Here is the other part of the comment:

“One thing Ann Coulter's words made me think: Why do 9/11 families get millions of dollars because their members died in the attacks? Thousands of people die horrible deaths every day and their families get nothing. Why is it different for those who died in 9/11? Just because someone kills you in an attack entitles your family to millions, while that murder-rape victim's around the corner gets nothing?”

Good point and well said.

And speaking of saying things well, my colleagues provide me with endless snippets of amusement and glee when they write to me, and I have been remiss in letting them join in the fun. So, here are some comments from folks in the biz who like to bitch but value their jobs. I have loosely grouped a few by their general ideas, but didn't put a lot of effort into it. Good luck.

From an editor…
I hate writers. Do they realize that I am not editing their treatise on life because I want to? I have a list to get out there. Some of these idiots I inherited and I can’t get rid of them. The ones who have multiple books out there are the worst. Some are so unprofessional. They are lazy and never on time, then blame it on the publisher or me directly. I had one use the excuse that she was wining and dining for publicity purposes, and since we asked her to do that, she wasn’t responsible for her edited manuscript being late. What an idiot bitch.

From an agent…
I happened to be at a writers conference several months ago and sat on a panel with editors from major houses who actually told the audience that it doesn’t matter what mistakes they made in their manuscript as long as the story was good. I was appalled! Doesn’t anyone have standards anymore? Would you want a doctor who didn’t know the bones in the body or a contractor who didn’t know how to use a tape measure? Yet writers get a free ride because it’s “all about the story”? How about an architect who doesn’t understand basic physics? Don’t people realize that you have to master the English language to use it to write? Geesh! As the conference wore on, I started to realize why so many crappy books get published nowadays. Editors don’t try to find professional talent that can produce good books for years, but focus on one book at a time, which makes new and stupid writers happy. They don’t know they are being used as cheap labor. The problem for the writer is that after one crappy book, your career goes nowhere. How do I know? I get letters from writers every day who were published once and then the book didn’t sell and so they are trying to claw their way back in. No way!

From an agent…
I’m so tired of this bullshit about how agents are only allowed to agent. Editors and writers can do whatever they want, and they are never called incompetent or scammers. I am good at other things, and if I choose as a professional to take on a new challenge, why shouldn’t I be able to? Why am I held to some rule no one else in publishing, or entertainment for that matter, has to follow? Editors and writers do all kinds of stuff outside of their job descriptions, and no one says a word. Why discriminate against agents? Would you tell Steven Spielberg that he could only direct if he wanted to dabble in something else? I don’t think so. Is it okay with you idiots if I volunteer at my son's daycare? Or would that mean I was a bad agent for not spending all my time on your worthless garbage? Maybe I should put him up for adoption? He does take a lot of time away from the grind. Maybe I will get a divorce, too. Would that show my dedication to you whackos?

From an agent…
Sammy, do people even know what we do? I am sick of writers who are uninformed sending me a query that tells me they are only contacting me because mainstream publishing won’t look at their work otherwise. They need my connections, but they remind me that their work is so good that they could sell it on their own if the really big publishers weren’t filtering through agents. Usually the book they send sucks. But why do writers think it is okay to remind an agent that they are only a necessary evil? My clients love me for ALL of the stuff I do for them. I am more than a human rolodex. I manage careers. I can just see these idiots reminding their husbands that they only needed them for the sperm donation. Losers.

From an Editor…
Oh my god. I am under attack from these idiots. I just started a couple of years ago, and what an eye-opener. All the things I heard about writers are true. I could write a blog myself! I will give one example only, though. I had heard that writers tend to read those articles in the magazines and follow their advice, even though some of it is wrong. Friends who were already editors would tell me that they could tell when an article came out, because they would see several queries or manuscripts that followed the tips in the article. Here’s a big tip for writers: Read the bio of the article writer at the end of the piece or look him or her up on the Internet before taking their advice to heart. Editors are qualified to write articles on industry standards, not freelance writers who go around and interview editors to get the information. Usually they are doing it so that they can talk to editors and make connections where they can send their book for review. So the writer who isn’t really even qualified gets paid for writing something and networks in the process. As my tween would say, “That’s vile.”

From an editor…
I am just a corporate flunky like everyone else in America. Writers think that I am supposed to publish their book because it will change lives or something. I produce a list because it will produce a profit and I will get a promotion and hopefully retire soon. I am not in this to make some writer happy. I am in this because I love books and working with books, but writers I can take or leave. This isn’t a glamorous industry. The only reason people believe that is that it is promoted in the movies. Getting a good book out there is hard, and writers are a small part of it. Over the years, writers have become more demanding and less talented. I know my place. I wish they would figure out theirs.

From an publisher…
Thanks, Sammy, for saying some of the things I want to say, even if you are an agent. I’m a publisher, and I don’t think writers or agents know how hard it is to get a book into the hands of readers today. It is a big investment with potentially little yield. Yeah, I need writers, but only because I can’t do it myself. I wish I could. But that’s only a little piece of my worry pie. I have to fight with distributors and the incompetents they hire, and it’s not pretty. Without publishers fighting these battles, no books would be produced. It isn’t about writers or readers; it’s about the people who make the book happen, and that’s me. I resent it when somebody writes me and asks like a little kid, “Why won’t you publish my book? You published so-and-so’s book and it wasn’t very good.” It’s like I tell my kids, when I say no, I mean no. Don’t argue. I have my reasons and I don’t have to tell you why. Why? Because I’m the dad (publisher) that’s why!

From an agent…
Since when is it required that I am supposed to give writers a reason for rejecting their book? I don’t want to represent you. Plain and simple.

From an editor…
I hate agents. They intimidate me. If I need a book to fill a list, I have to pay more for it than it is worth. Try to explain to your boss why you spent a lot of money on a book that is basically a placeholder. It isn’t easy. (show Sammy playing violin here)

From a writer…
I hate it when writers start publishing companies promising to publish all those poor helpless souls who can't find a publisher anywhere else. You can always tell. The first thing you see on the website is their submission guidelines and a statement about how they are there to help writers dissed by mainstream publishers get published. Do you think readers care about that? Writers do, but readers don’t. Some even document the struggle the writer had to get published on the darn book! That’s how you know that the publishers are just frustrated writers who published their own books and now want to invest in other people’s to cover their tracks. When I am researching publishers, I see tons of these publisher wannabes, as SammyK would say. They waste my time. There is no way I am going to submit to some publisher who has no distribution besides the Internet and lousy taste in books. Writers do need to wake up and stop being so desperate.

From an agent…
I have been very lucky in getting good clients, people who trust my judgment and don’t get their undies in a bunch over every little thing. All but one was published before I took them on though. I rarely take on new writers anymore. They freak me out with some of the dumb things they ask me and expect. They are so damn worried about getting scammed or getting a “bad” agent (which is what exactly?) that I can’t work with them. What I don’t get is that they don’t understand the business at all. Sure, there are a few scammers out there. Most have been operating for years and everyone knows who they are. Sure, there are some stupid agents. But for the most part, 99% of agents are just businesspeople.

From an editor…
I love agents. They filter all the crapola out and then deal with the writers that drive me crazy. Do you know how long it has been since I have worked with a writer who hasn’t argued with me on every revision? I ask for one word changed, and they invoke the spirit of creativity or something. This is why most books suck. They are compromises between overworked, underpaid editors who can see potential in a book and obnoxious, self-absorbed cretins who want to be the one writer who can lay claim to the honor that THEY were the one who stood up for their creative piece and it became a bestseller. Not likely. When you don’t listen to qualified advice, you get garbage. Behind every great writer is a greater editor. It’s just like the movies—most are made in the cutting room and the writer didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.

Th-th-that's all folks!

Tidbits for Those Hungry for the Truth

2006-06-15T16:51:00.000-07:00

I have been working my ass off lately, so I haven’t had time to vent. I have to admit that I miss it. There is nothing like blowing off some steam at the end of a long working day, or just getting blown. What relief! (You sick fuckers who read this blog all the time knew the blowjob joke was coming, didn’t you?)

Because I am short on time, I just wanted to throw out some tidbits, or rather, idiot bits. Just some random thoughts to post so people won’t think I’ve disappeared and to irritate those who want me to just go away. Remember, the truth shall set you free.

Here we go…

First up, the irony of this entire thing is that I really am a literary agent, and I really know publishing. I helped build it, and it is mine. Sorry, Snark.

Now, let’s talk about Ann “I will write anything obnoxious to make a buck” Coulter, who is one of the few women on the planet that I wouldn’t have sex with even if she paid me exorbitant amounts of money and offered to blow me for the rest of my natural life and a few years beyond. While I don’t agree with her remarks about the 9/11 widows, I think there is something to be learned from this. Did anyone else notice that the widows were all WASPY women? Did anyone notice a lack of minorities in the mix there? Don’t tell me that none of the people who clean the bathrooms, mop the floors, and empty the trash in the towers were all late that morning. They couldn’t have been. Where are their families? Did anyone see the coverage just after 9/11 where the WASPY widow was talking about how easily she secured assistance, and across the table, some very ethnic folks were saying they could never get through to find out what to do? There was no help for them, they said, but WASPY said that she had no problems. So everything thing was okay.

No, it’s not okay. Minorities in this country are seriously fucked from birth, as are white lowerclass folks. This is especially true if you labor for a living. Why? Minorities are never taught how to deal with bureaucratic crap, but white folks learn from birth to bitch and complain and who to bitch and complain to. If WASPY goes to the Red Cross and stamps her little Prada-clad feet, the American public is behind her 100%. Poor WASPY won’t be able to afford Calvin Kleins for little Juliet anymore. If Maria walks in and stamps her feet because her baby needs formula, they think she’s doing the Mexican hat dance and clap along until they realize she’s serious. Then she’s deported or led off to jail. Or, sadly, simply ignored. How many minority families ended up with anything? We never hear about them or see them on Larry King. And sorry if any of the 9/11 widows consider themselves minorities, because they aren’t. When hubby works for a big company making 100K+, your status as a minority is revoked. Think about it. You don’t need Ann Coulter’s lameass book to figure it out. Just open your eyes…

And on that note—Dave, man, get some glasses. Call 1-800-GET-A-CLUE. Do something. You left those places for a reason? Could it be you were pushed out by the Amazons? Good God, man, I like tough ladies too once in a while, but Jesus Christ! I value my balls. You seem like a nice enough guy, a little misguided, but not full of evil intent. But you tow the party line just a little too fiercely.

How very John McCain of you.

However, it hasn’t worked for John, and it didn’t work for you. He has his Bush to deal with, and it looks like you have a whole hedge. Who is the only one who didn’t get a book deal out of this? You. Who gets pushed out of all the groups because he dares to dissent and possibly even say something reasonable? You. Who started the watchdog shit in the first place, as fucked up of an idea as it was? You.

You know, Dave (Can I call you Dave, Dave? It would mean a lot to me), you always have a place here at SammyK’s, unlike that McDonald character (who was literally voted off the island), even though I didn’t get one of those nifty little graphic logos that expresses P&E’s undying support and gratitude for being a soldier for the cause (not that I would post it, but I would always treasure it, Dave).

And speaking of treasure…what a nice little party we have going on in wannabe writerland. AW is back up and all is right in the wannabe world. We all knew that would happen. Cockroaches are hard to eradicate, too. You can pat fannies until your fingers go numb and sing each other’s praises until you go hoarse. But the real treasure lies strictly in the name recognition. Sometimes greed isn’t about money, but power. Everyone magically gets a book deal. And even though Snark is not supposedly part of the watchpuppy parade, what the hell do you all think she’s been angling for all this time? And who’s been helping her? I think if you check Snarkalina’s site-y-poo, you will start connecting the dots. She’s been sloppy for quite a while, and so there are clues to her identity and to the theme of this little party (one to which YOU were not invited). You only need look at the links and some posts to figure it out. Everything points in one direction and it isn’t up. And it’s not too pretty, either. Ouch.

Speaking of up, will the sale of the head AWer’s book go up or down, do you think? My professional opinion? First, if you are going to publish a book about scammer agents, how about getting a real agent to write the damn thing? Instead of some nonfiction writer who needed a pal to complete the mission? But the publisher was going by the “success” and “name recognition” of AW, and apparently overlooked the lack of QUALIFICATIONS that the authors had. So, the book would have never been published in the first place if I had been in charge. No the “anyone can do it” attitude applies to everyone. Wannabe writers think this is super, but unfortunately, that means that a writer much more qualified just lost a job to someone who is supposedly fighting for that writer’s rights. Does this connect with what I have said before? That the only people who benefit from watchpuppies is the bowwows themselves? Could it be?

By the way, word has it that perhaps the publisher was looking to do a little damage control. Caught doing a little research to see what was being said about said book maybe? Wouldn’t you? I mean if you published a book and then the author’s credibility comes under fire? Maybe an intern at the house asked stupidly, “Umm, why didn’t you ask an agent to write the book? Maybe an AAR member?” That intern’s name is probably Dave.

I have to go for now. This is too much fun, and I have work to do.

Adios Amigos and Amigas,
Sammy

Prologue to the Agents are Whipping Your Ass Tales

2006-05-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

It amazes me that people have completely forgotten about James and Kaavya and have latched onto this whole Absolute Write thing, but they have. The Opal and Pieces tragedy actually means something to publishing; losing a forum named after a piece of office furniture where people gather to GOSSIP is not a threat to the industry. The disaster that is a million little pieces of Opal is. Not to mention The Da Vinci Code. Maybe writers care about this most recent development, few others do. Has the world gone mad? Sigh…

Anyway, I had to put my two cents worth in on this, or rather, my opinion, which is based on fact…mostly. I may have not actually written it even. It is so long-winded that it will take two posts. Read PublishAmerica, or How Sammy Nostradamus Tells the Future for Free first, then read PublishAmerica--And Now for the Rest of the Story...after that, or it won’t make sense, not that it matters to the psychos who will read two words and send me a nasty e-mail.

Enjoy!

PublishAmerica, or How Sammy Nostradamus Tells the Future for Free

2006-05-25T18:02:00.000-07:00

Yet again, Psychic Sammy has done it!

In a strange turn of events, I had just finished a long diatribe and was going to post it tonight when a pal e-mailed me about some buzz that an entire writers’ site had been shut down, a site that apparently pissed off the wrong agent. I literally giggled, and not because Issy was sitting on my lap in a suggestive, yet thoughtful manner. I giggled because, yet again, I am way ahead of the crowd. I am thinking of opening a psychic writer hotline…

Psychic Sammy: Hello?
Wannabe Writer: Hi, Psychic Sammy, I have a question. I have written a mystery about a golden doll named Bertha who fights some beings from Wimbat called Thigglestinx, and I wondered…
Psychic Sammy: You suck. Click.

Or maybe not. The crazy thing is that writers are now indignant and outraged at the agent, who may or may not be scamming like hell (I don’t really care), and they are blasting the web host and agent all over the Internet. It has never occurred to any of them that what I have said all along is true. Chasing agents and labeling them as scammers or incompetent is just a way to rationalize that it is the publishing industry’s fault that YOU can’t get published. Are you going to blame all women because you can’t get laid by a few ugly hags you thought would be desperate enough to give you a little?

The reason that I am even commenting on this controversy is that it proves, once and for all, that Snark is not the agent she/he/it claims to be. If you read its post about this, you will find all the information you need to realize that it couldn’t possibly be a real agent. I will only say that which I have said before: real agents don’t give a shit about wannabes or watch puppies or scammer agents. They don’t blog all the fucking time. They don’t promote writer resources unless prompted with a prod. They don’t throw challenges out to people they believe are scammers without realizing that every agent in the industry is laughing at them. They don’t align themselves with people in the industry who are of lesser ilk. They just don’t. Snark has. You figure it out. I did months ago.

Such dirty little secrets we all have.

When will you people learn? The same fucking scammers have been around for the last fifty goddamn years, and no one in the industry worries about them or takes them seriously. Nobody blogs about them. At some point, the authorities catch the really bad ones (when they take time away from fighting real crimes), and the others are basically dealing with writers who don’t have the sense to make the industry cut anyway, so why would we care? The agent in question in this whole board scandal doesn’t reflect on the real industry, the one that thrives as the wannabes slouch around angrily and bitterly reciting the ten commandments of good/bad agents. How pathetic are you when your writer’s identity becomes a stream of slogans parroted by those you think are really insiders? I would offer that you are pretty damn pathetic.

Over the last few years, it has become a great wannabe pastime to hang on every word thrown out by watch puppies and board gurus and pathetic industry humps who go along with them without qualifying statements that should be qualified. And what do we have to show for it? Opal and A Million Little Pieces, or, in other words, writers who lie. I have seen my friends and colleagues ravaged by people who know nothing about this industry or the proper way to write a book, and all along I have said that spending time gabbing about possible scammers is just a way to keep the one wannabe who might actually make it from climbing higher in the publishing food chain and displacing a guru or watch puppy in the writing field. Writers compete against writers; agents compete against agents, and people who crave power compete against everyone.

Let me say this before I go on to the next post I had started before the scandal broke: IN GENERAL, it is wrong to take justice into your own hands, whether the person is guilty or not. A court of law determines guilt or innocence, not the public at large, regardless of the crime. To do so is to be a vigilante and can be breaking the law yourself. For example, if you make a list of the 10 worst-dressed celebrities and post it, no big deal. However, if you go on a smear campaign and point out every chance you get that Madonna was number five and ask all your friends to send it to everyone they know so that you can spread the word that Madonna is a terrible dresser, even if she is, at some point, you go from being informative to harassing someone. Everyone has rights, whether you like it or not, and so to impede on those rights, or to appear to do so, is cause for concern on someone’s part. Show all this shit to someone not in the writing field, and they will wonder who gave you the fucking right to spread the word that you think someone is doing something wrong to the extent it has been done in this case. The poor Web hoster is being shredded alive. How many of you would risk the expense, stress, and agony of a lawsuit, even for a noble cause and even if you know you would win? That’s a helluva lot to ask of someone. But then no one has asked anything of a wannabe, have they?

I realize this is spitting in the wind, but let me say this again…

The real publishing industry doesn’t need wannabe writers. You are being scammed by the very people and entities who claim to be helping you—wake up and smell the ink, goddammit! I am a real agent, not a phantom, and I make real sales. I am friends and enemies with real people in the industry all over the world. This is my industry—mine, mine, mine!—and I am tired of seeing people who have never worked for the accolades they crave sucking the very life out of it. I helped build this mess we call publishing, and I have worked my ass off. When you have spent as much time as I have dealing with the bullshit, then you can bitch. Until then, shut the fuck up and get over yourselves.

By the way, this whole situation reminds me of the Iraqi war. That was started, just like a lot of the watch groups and boards, on a flawed premise by power hungry control freaks who want revenge and power. The difference is that I admire and respect the soldiers in Iraq, facing the brutality of war and fighting for a noble cause even if they were sent there by an idiot. I can’t say that about the people who help wannabes. It is pure enabling, and it’s selfish.

And now for Part II...

PublishAmerica--And Now for the Rest of the Story...

2006-05-25T17:52:00.000-07:00

Here is the rest of the post I wrote before my pal e-mailed me:

No, this isn’t a post about PA. However, if I post anything with the word “PublishAmerica” in it, the watch zealots and their misguided minions, as well as every other wannabe, will be on here in a heartbeat, ready to jump at the chance to take PA and anyone who doesn’t call for their literary demise down. This is, in the normal world, called being obsessed with something, but in the wannabe world, it is the equivalent of the maenads engaging in omophagy (look it up, dimwits, a real writer would know this). Anyway, now that I have your attention, I think that I have something to say that they will find very interesting. Here we go…

Well, well, well…the worm turns (and remember I wrote this BEFORE that board went down—I am so psychic).

It looks like maybe real agents are fighting back against the pathetic, power-hungry entities that have tried to convince everyone that they can save you from every scammer in the writing biz, except for yourselves. I bounce around on the boards, and guess what I saw? Yep, I saw that some naughty little posters got into trouble. Not the trouble they usually get into by going against the gurus on the boards who are 100% pro-watch puppies and solicitous agents, but because they opened their uninformed mouths and basically said some very unflattering and untrue things against some very big, big agents, who caught wind of it and apparently decided to flex some muscle. One minute the nasty comments about these agents were there, and the next time I looked, the entire thread was gone, as if it never, ever existed. How could this possibly be?

I will tell you how. Someone told said agents that they were being bad-mouthed, and they had a wittle chat with the board sponsor. The moral of this story is that, unlike what writers seem to think (and you should know better), you can’t just go around making statements that reflect on the professional reputation of others, especially if you are wrong or simply responding to the overwhelming urge to blast an agent. Courts of law are supposed to try alleged criminals, not writers on writer boards. That’s vigilante justice and not right in any case. Agents of all stripes have been condemned based on evidence provided by…writers. Any police detective will tell you that you have to have some kind of objective evidence before you can get a conviction—circumstantial evidence and that provided by hostile witnesses and biased witnesses won’t get you very far in a real court. But, boy, it keeps the writers’ forums busy. I often wonder how many of those posters are wasting their time trying to show how much they know when they could be grooming their skills and maybe get published. I doubt we will ever know.

In both cases, I noted that each agent was, in fact, legitimate, and had enough 5 and 6 figure sales to impress even the most determined watch puppy. However, these baaaaaad people had dared to do something that is not supposed to be industry standard, at least not according to a bunch of writers who pretend to know what industry standard is, when they DON’T. Since what they were doing was not unprofessional, illegal, unethical, or anything remotely fishy, it appears that the board sponsor felt compelled to remove the posts, which were mean-spirited diatribes attacking the reputation of said agents with no evidence that they had done anything wrong. They hadn’t. If you ask any good agent—and I don’t mean the pathetic ones that agree with all the bullshit strewn around in magazines and writers’ boards as gospel—they will blink, especially after hearing the name, and look at you like you are an idiot. And if you buy into the whole system as it is now, you are an idiot.

If you have watched the evolution of this whole culture, you will see that all along each group has tried to say that their guidelines are the industry standards. Of course, they never totally agree with each other, sort of like the numerous Christian faiths, only with more venom. Or maybe not. Anyone who actually works in publishing who doesn’t like to perpetuate to the wannabe that there is a snowball’s chance in hell they will get published was blasted, discredited, and/or called a liar, incompetent, or a scammer. But if you watch the rules from these watchers, you will notice that there have been a lot of disclaimers added over the years. This is because they have said things they wish to be true, that in reality are totally off base in the real live working publishing world. So, quietly, some agent or editor informs them they are idiots, and, like a sheepish Microsoft programmer using a service release to fix MIE, the watchers slip in the updated information with some qualifier that some agents are, indeed, allowed to do this or that, never fully admitting that they got it totally wrong to start with.

What do you expect? These people are NOT agents or editors or anything, actually. They have no qualifications except they are writers who purport to be experts who care about poor wittle wannabes. Look, I have hobbies, too, that I have done for years. I have amassed information in these areas that would make me look like an expert, but I am not. And I know this because I have been around experts in those hobbies and I pale in comparison. Just because I have friends who are experts in the hobby who give me information doesn’t mean that I am an expert if I have never, ever worked in the field. NONE of the watch puppies have ever been agents or editors. Well, none of them have been LEGITIMATE agents or editors who have actually had success in the field, let’s put it that way.

So, we have a nice little game here. The watch groups and board monarchs and publishing entities based on selling shit to wannabes tell the newbies what they want to hear, and like the mob that went after Frankenstein, these poor souls have something they can focus their anger on instead of accepting the fact that their writing is too poor to make the cut.

“The reason that agent didn’t take on my work is that he is incompetent or a scammer, based on the guidelines set forth by Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum and the aliens under my bed.”

Unfortunately, these people don’t set the industry standards like wannabes think they do, and most of us in the industry just smirk at this shit. Your common sense and your business acumen are supposed to set the standards, if you have any at all. As I said when I first started this blog, if you are not in publishing because you waited to have a family and have another life, then you don’t belong in publishing. My industry is not here for your self-gratification, and the idea that there is talent floating around out there in the masses just waiting to be discovered is the same fairytale perpetuated by Simon and the gang on American Idol. Here’s a clue: They don’t care about singers either; they just want the ratings and the paycheck for the exploitation of “talent.”

But now agents are fighting back, for better or worse. You can’t just say whatever you want about people because they are agents and YOU heard from so-and-so’s such and such that this agent or that agent is good or bad or sucks this or fondles that. It is wrong and possibly a crime. Another person committing a crime doesn’t justify your actions, no matter how altruistic you misguidedly believe your actions are. I have seen friends of mine who are hugely successful and honest agents blasted on these forums and sites and by the watchers in their twisted sense of right and wrong. How many times have these people in general had to back up and eat crow and qualify what they have said or written? How many times have boards had to dump threads because of the comments made there? I am sure that if anyone had asked prior to the Viswanathan debacle, no one would have said anything about that agency that represented that author, or even the packager (if you want to know who they are, you go do your own goddamn research). And maybe something needed to be said…do you think? Who was asleep on that one? Ladies? An explanation? Please?

I can tell you what wrong is, and that is letting people believe that you really know what you are talking about, when all you know is what you want to be true. You are not only misrepresenting yourself to them, but you aren’t being honest to yourself, either, and that means you need to grow up a little. Hey, I am a promiscuous, chauvinistic prick, who happens to be a hell of an agent, but I don’t lie about it and I know what I am. Quit pretending you understand the rules of the publishing game, when you aren’t even really playing.

Or, as we have seen, the umpire will throw you out.

Slim Pickins

2006-05-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

Someone wrote and asked me to contribute what I thought was the "single best work of American fiction published in the last 25 years," as she is compiling a list. Perhaps it is too late to weigh in on this, but I am going to anyway because I am a stubborn bastard. So let me just say this…

No, it is NOT The da Vinci Code.

Have you heard the screams of protest about this book? About the movie? About Tom Hanks hair in the movie? It attacks Christianity’s very core, say the naysayers. It challenges the faith of the faithful, say the faithful. But, worst of all, it offers an opinion that is not the status quo and that pisses off a lot of guys who wear funny-looking dresses and, on special occasions, hats, too.

Why the fuck does anyone care about this crap?

I care because the book was so poorly written and made its fame on a concept or idea that had been written about before, just in a less glossy format. I think that sends a signal to publishers that readers in general are idiots and suckers for packaged glop, and as you can see, they listened. I give you Viswanathan and Frey and all the other hacks out there as examples. The sad thing is that most new writers today think that all you have to do is produce a book that looks like what sells; they have no idea what the hell that means. Viswanathan probably really thought she was “writing” a book. Frey probably thought it wouldn’t matter that he “embellished” because it was a good story, the truth be damned. That’s what readers want, isn’t it?

No, that’s what johns who patronize hookers want—the illusion that they are getting something a little more interesting than what the old spouse-a-roo at home can provide. Readers and lovably promiscuous agents like me don’t want to pay for what we know is available. So we find others ways to connect to the individuals who have the talents we want.

This is why publishing is going to hell. Publishers, like the literary whores they are, keep offering the same supposedly wicked decadence, packaged and re-packaged and then re-packaged again. Frey is an example. Why the hell did the reading public need yet another book about an addict? How original. Or why do we need another chick-lit novel with that oh-so-catchy fish-out-of-water plot? Publishers justify this crap because idiots keep buying it. And who are these idiots? Not just the lost souls in Oprah’s crowd. No, mostly wannabe writers stupid enough to buy this crap so they can see what they need to do to get published.

Has this rotten intrusion of the wannabe come full circle for you yet?

That’s right. They drive everything. Wannabes not only flood the market with their shit, but they also buy the shit that sustains the market. This is why there is an onsite bookstore at every writers’ conference and book exhibition in the universe. Real readers are left in the dust, while desperate nudges drive the markets by buying the sludge produced in an effort to copy it and make a million.

Speaking of sludge, back to Dan Brown’s contribution—it is making quite a splash with all this controversy and everyone screaming about its attack on Christianity because of some of the fictional (?) dirty little secrets it exposes about the history of Catholicism. Church clergy are up in arms that people might get the idea that religion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, participating in boycotts, food strikes, calls to the director for more tickets, er, I mean for a disclaimer put on the film, etc.

Here’s a thought…maybe it isn’t. Maybe there are some people in this world who do not need religion—any religion—to have faith. Maybe these people don’t need a book to tell them how to treat others or a list of tenets specifying how not to be an asshole. Maybe there are people who live contented lives set within a spiritual confines that they feel suits them, without forcing everyone else on the planet to go along with their ideas.

Religion is like the publishing industry. There are always groups at the top—bookstores, publishers, distributors, watchgroups, etc.—trying to dictate what everyone else has access to and what they should think. The da Vinci Code, as fucked up as it is, was a hit because it addressed a question that was on everyone's minds--do I really need a religion to practice my faith? THAT'S what all the fuss is about, certainly not the writing or the story.

So I will not list Brown's work as my pick for best fiction in the last 25 years. I actually won't pick anything, because my choice would tag me, since it would be one of my client's books.

But, thanks, Mapletree, for asking.

And Speaking of Actors Who Should Be Seen and Not Heard...

2006-05-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay. I know I said I hate celebrities, but I hate morons even more. This recent spate of “Let’s hate Tom Cruise because he’s weird and seriously religiously fucked up” is too bizarre for words. I went and saw MI3, and it was what I expected: MI3. I like that shit, so I go see that shit. I do not go because TC is in it. I go because I usually get some pleasantly adrenalized nook from my date, who possibly likes TC, but since her hand was in my crotch and her mouth was somewhere near my ear, I prefer to think she just likes sitting in the dark with me in a place with a sound system so loud that no one can hear me groaning and her sucking my neck. Oh hell, I don’t think I could even tell you what the damn movie was about at this point, but there was a lot of shouting and gadgets. Coincidentally, there was a lot of shouting and gadgets after the movie ended and we went to her place. Go figure.

I read somewhere that TC’s approval rating is down. When did he become the fucking president? I don’t care if people like TC, but I definitely care that almost everyone hates Bushy, including foreign dignitaries, small children in Norway, and puppies. It’s the puppies that will get you every time.

I also read that women in particular are pissed off at Tommy-boy. Is it because he is no longer available? Nope, it’s because he seems to be controlling Katie’s mind, exerting his influence over her, and exposing her to the ways of Scientology. Hmmm, I thought Katie controlled Katie’s mind. And even if she doesn’t, rumor has it that when the tiny titan couple call it quitsies, she gets 40 million dollars to sooth her wounds and raise the fruit of the King of Grins loins in the style to which he was born to become accustomed. How many young ladies would like to say they wound up with a deal like that instead of having three kids by Homer the Goober who left them high and dry for Vonetta the blow-job princess of Central City High?

Anyway, I have seen worse things. Like a magazine that will pay millions of dollars for a picture of Brad and Angelina’s baby, but will pay a freelance writer about 25 cents a word—lower for fiction--for a hard few weeks work. Haven’t you guys taken the hint yet? Everyone gets more respect than writers, because everyone thinks that everyone can write. Editors and publishers know better, but it becomes a sweet and familiar rationalization, a sort of emotionally soothing KY jelly for those who are about to screw you up the ass on your publishing contract. For writers, though—and I mean real writers (see my post below)—it should be a call to arms.

Speaking of which, I’m being summoned to my bedroom.

How Sammy Got Tired of Bullshit Questions (about Opal and Blookers)

2006-05-11T16:26:00.000-07:00

Will you people stop asking me to comment on Opal Mehta and Visawitha-whatshername? And this Maddox book deal? Jesus! Every day someone wants me to weigh in on this crap—again! Isn’t there anything else going on right now? I’ve told you a hundred times that publishing is going the way of the entertainment biz--all gloss and no hope--but writers still seem shocked when the shit hits the fan and some white elephantine truth is revealed. Or when some “satiric” blogger gets a book deal offered by some idiot publisher who thinks more in terms of hit numbers than rationality.

I mean, it seems logical, doesn’t it? All those hits on so-and-so’s blog translates to sales numbers, won’t it? Said blogger has an audience, right? No, dumbfuck, blog numbers translate into sales about as well as Greek translates into Appalachian. You will get a wave of sub-idiots buying up the book, but then the second wave will never arrive. Why? Because site statistics are like any statistics—they can be manipulated to say what anyone wants them to say. Just because someone visits your blog on a regular basis doesn’t mean that person is going to buy a book. Most fans are fair-weather. When the content is free, it’s hilarious and ground-breaking and fabulous, but when cash is involved, the content is amusing, but not worth $15. Think I’m wrong? Ask Howard Stern what he thinks. Unfortunately, the bozo publishers who make these deals apparently don’t read entertainment news, because they haven’t figured out that publishing is part of the entertainment industry yet.

Or, in the case of Opal, just package what you think little kiddies want to read and watch the sales numbers go up. Make it slick and glossy, put some sex and drugs in it, give it a madcap adventure or a really depressing teen angst plot, and then watch it sell like Real World on MTV. Forget there are real kids out there who don’t give a fuck if Opal gets into Harvard, because they will barely graduate from high school. How about some science fiction or fantasy for those poor souls? Preferably with some alien sex, big titties, and a huge moral dilemma that faces mankind, which is never fully resolved without more alien sex and more big titties. None of these actual readers wants to spend money on a book about a dipshit who is still so immature that she doesn’t know how to balance work and play, especially when their lives are going to be nothing but work. Sounds like an editor reliving her childhood, not the escapist therapy the average reader needs to keep going.

Figure it out, why don’t you? Even you published still wannabe authors…figure it the fuck out! Getting published has never been about the writer. Oh, it has seemed to be, but it’s not. When a great book gets accidentally published, what are readers to assume? That it was packaged just like all the other glop out there? No. The assumption is that this book must have been one that was MEANT to be written by that gifted, talented person, someone that the literary muses felt they needed to bless and get out to the masses to influence generations upon generations of hungry readers.

Oh, what happy horseshit.

Do you even know what a real writer is? No, it is not someone who likes to write. Nor is it a professional or published writer necessarily. It sure as fuck isn’t a wannabe (new name coming soon). A real writer is someone who is born to put words on paper—his/her brain is wired that way. These people live in a special world none of us can possibly understand, where words represent the very soul of the universe, and their life’s blood flows in a rhythmical procession of letters, numbers, and punctuation marks, to a beat all its own, one that is unique among all living creatures. A writer is someone who will always, no matter what, go back to the words, the language, and the story. Through thick and thin, devastation and jubilation, the writer knows that his best friends are the words that comfort, fight, depress, and rejuvenate him. When all else is gone, words remain. They rebuild; they construct. Some destroy. But there are always the words for these people. Yes, a writer is language’s fraternal twin, not just someone who writes because its fun or it makes him money or it is his job.

There are very few actual talented writers out there—those who are born to write. Some of them will never be published, which would appear to be tragic until you consider that these scribes are happy just scribing, publishing credits be damned.

On a final note: A real writer can make you laugh, can make you cry, and can make you read until your eyes bleed or fall out. Real writers can change the course of history, cause wars, make peace, end famines, and elect a new pope. Most importantly, a real writer can get laid through his words alone.

How do you stack up to that?

PS My advice to K.Viswa/Opal: If Oprah’s people call, don’t accept the invitation…

Wanted: Greedy Celebrity Limpdicks (or Actors Should Be Seen and Not Heard)

2006-05-01T16:13:00.000-07:00

God, I hate celebrities even more than I hate writers. Why? Because every fucking celebrity is a wannabe writer in disguise, that’s why. Someone can win four Oscars, two Tony awards, and a Grammy, but somehow he is just not happy until he adds the title of author to his collection of accolades. Assholes.

It’s not that I haven’t worked with arrogant snots who have had ghostwriters basically write entire tomes that were supposed to be written by the snot himself (and whose ghosters get a “with so-and-so” byline), and it’s not that I haven’t worked deals where celebrities played a major role. I can take it when some limpdick action hero wants me to sell his autobiography, which is actually a memoir although Limpdick doesn’t know the difference, because he just wants the fame and glory and monola, if you get my drift. What I can’t stand is these fucked up high-on-themselves celebrities who believe their own bullshit—that I cannot take. Why? Because it will soon turn into some kind of book idea, and then they will call me, and then I will have to tell Angelina directly to her face that I think she needs therapy--bad--not a writing credit. And then she will cry and I will, for about five seconds, feel badly that I hurt her wittle peewings.

Until I think of all the money she doesn’t pay taxes on and then I will tell her to go fuck herself.

Half-wit celebrities, for some reason, land at my door. The morons who just need another self-aggrandizing tool are fine; they fit the greedy cocksucker mold nicely. I can deal with greedy cocksuckers. However, when these celebrities start to take themselves seriously, I get into trouble. Let’s just say that laughing at actors who are known all over the world but who can’t write a sentence doesn’t play well with their “people,” or whatever it is you call the troupe of yes-persons who traipse in with them and kneel in worship as they speak.

What brought on this rant, you ask? I saw a headline on CNN about George Clooney and his stance against the genocide that is happening in Darfur. So who gives a fuck? About George Clooney, not about the genocide. Since when did actors take the place of ordinary citizens, trained diplomats, and statesmen? Never. Does George Clooney have a degree n poly-sci? Does he have a degree in anything? Yes? No? Who would know? We don’t expect actors to have degrees because they only need to be qualified in the field of acting, not in nuclear physics. Have a degree from Juliard? Super. You are qualified to act or direct or be a really interesting stripper. But take a defiant stance against the atrocities in Africa or wherever? Are you acting a part, or do you really have an opinion that a PR person didn’t hand you? Most of the the smart entertainers keep their big mouths shut—I give you Sharon Stone and Kris Kristofferson, who are both Rhode Scholars. George and the hoards of celebs who showed up at the Darfur rally aren’t qualified to adequately provide solutions to the problems in Africa any more than George Bush is, or any of his cabinet. Therefore, he is just expressing an opinion like Joe Average on the street. But does Joe Average get his name headlined on CNN? No, because we worship celebrities and have elevated them to the status of all-knowing, when all they know is how to be celebrities, and some of the really stupid ones even fuck that up.

And what happened to Joe Average? Why in the hell are you spending your time letting celebrities fight your battles for you? Why does the opinion of some dipshit who accidentally fucked his polygamist brother's third wife and became father to his own nephew and wrote a book about it (with a foreword by L. Ron Hubbard) count more than yours just because everyone remembers his name? Does Congress not listen to anyone unless they have a name? Publishers don't, but the federal government is supposed to be different. Even a lowly promiscuous, well-hung, sexy beast of an agent like me is supposed to have an opinion that matters in DC, not just NYC or LA, or even SD (Huh?).

I am tired of being in an industry where everyone wants to get published so that people will listen to what they have to say. Our current celebrity lustfest promotes this shit and ultimately that shit drips down on my head. Reality shows that make Annie Nobody into somebody for fifteen minutes only add to the garbage pile filled with the souls of those who seek fame and never get it, or get it only briefly enough to let it damage them and ruin their lives. This recent wave of socially conscious celebs is especially atrocious. I know that all you touchy feelies out there, the ones who haunt the writer boards in search of some wannabe who needs comfort when some big bad editor rejects him, will be pissed, but let me say this: it must be goddamn nice to be able to go off to have your kid anywhere you want because you have billions of dollars and can rent entire hotels where you don’t have to be around the people you actually purport to help. I am talking about Angelina and Brad, who are in hiding in Namibia, where the president of the country has decreed that they should be left in peace while they await the birth of J-P Junior. Fuck them. Anyone who is so into their cause needs to get out there and live among the people who need their help, which, by the way, if all these socially conscious celebs gave away just half of the zillions of buckaroos they get for standing around and being admired, there would be no one needing help anywhere in Africa.

But it never gets that far, does it?

Just like the writer who can’t wait to dedicate his book to his mom, his dad, his wife, his kids, his ex-boss, etc., and then ends up dedicating the damn thing to himself (yes, there are writers who would if they could), celebs who start to take themselves too seriously forget that the only reason they got where they are is that someone paid money to see them act, possibly even by accident. Writers are the same way. Anymore, there are just as many published writers who act like wannabes after they get that all important publishing credit, and, again, the industry has gone straight to shit because of them. Because of people who want to be loved no matter what they do or whatever schlock they produce in an effort to find themselves—they want to be loved as writers but be able to stretch and grow and do what they want. Unfortunately, being loved is a responsibility, in case no one ever told you, wannabes, and sometimes that means doing what others need you to do.

In others words, George and Angelina and Brad and Madonna and Tom and Katie on and on and on, don’t call me…

I’ll call you.

The Book of Literary Revelations

2006-04-28T15:44:00.000-07:00

Oh God, this is too funny! Just call me Timely Sammy! Have you heard? The publishing industry is going down the tubes…really fast. Oh wait, have I said that before? Maybe I might have. No matter. Sammy, yet again, has hit the nail in the coffin right on its pwetty wittle head.

God, I hate chick-lit.

But first a word about those lousy-ass writahs who set themselves up as goo-roos and watch puppies (yes, you’ve been downgraded—not since Condoleeza Rice and that pesky 9/11 oversight has a watchdog fucked up so badly) and the wannabe minions who praise them and keep them in power (and, of course, the same pathetic wanna-wannas whom I always bitch about): WHOOPS! Yes, the word is WHOOPS! That’s what you all should be saying right now. Just like I’ve said before, while all you hacknits are rolling around mired in the quicksand of your own soul-sucking desperation, distracted by ego-boosting muck-raking and mutual warm and feely sharing sessions, real publishing is going on right under your noses, and you have completely missed it.

I don’t see any watch puppies shredding major publishers or editors, and rarely do they say anything about anyone in NYC or LA, where we now have the new HollyWORD crowd firmly entrenched because NOBODY was paying attention (or was hoping for a movie deal for themselves). No, the focus is always on bullshit: PublishAmerica and fees and manuscript turn-around times and finding the best agent because your work is so bloody wonderful, and yak, yak, yak. Nobody paid attention to the fact Judith Regan moved operations to LA in CA to make more mon-AY. Nobody has noticed that movie rights sell before the actual book is even printed. And a hundred other clues I have dropped over the last year. Hmmm, I wonder why that is?

Anyway, perhaps you haven’t heard the newest news. Too busy revising that manuscript you’ve been nursing for twenty-some years, I bet. HA! Surely, you have seen this bullshit about Kaavya Viswanaathan, a budding chick-lit writer who was paid too much money by Little Brown for a book that contained at least forty passages “allegedly” unconsciously lifted from the girly author’s favorite author? Well, I have. EVERYONE is talking about this shit. Some of them, like me, are laughing. Others are livid. Others just sigh and figure, what the hell, this is publishing, isn’t it? Yeah, this is publishing, alright.

I got this letter from Anonymous, and I thought I would post it, with A’s permission, of course. Don’t want to get sued…HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Anyway, this nutcracker needs to vent more than I do. I am not sure whether he/she/it is a writer, agent, or editor, but I have a clue. I think you will, too.

Read on…

Damn! Fuck! Damn! How is this possible? How is this stupid ridiculousness even possible? I work my ass off for years—years! I still have nothing to show for it. I’m a good, no, fantastic, writer, dammit! This is not fair. Not fair. Not fair! Not fair!

I know lots of good writers out there struggling, and some snotty brat gets handed $500,000 for a teen chick-lit? For God’s sake, haven’t we had enough of the “fish out of water” one trick pony yet? YET? How can a major publishing house give that much money to a kid in high school, then expect anything but what they got? She has no life experience. She hasn’t even had time to write that much, meaning that she hasn’t had enough time to write her way into her own voice. THAT’S why she lifted passages. Who are these stupid people? Why would anyone pay that much fucking money for a teen chick-lit? Why? Why? WHY!?!

I am sure by now, Sammy, that you can see that I am upset. Mad as hell, as a matter of fact. What are publishers thinking? There is no book or books worth that much money, and to pay it to a kid—I reiterate, what did they expect? I know what they expected. They expected that the snots in NYC would rally around this new budding talent because she is ethnic, goes to Harvard (how important!), she’s a “prodigy,” and chick-lit sells. Holy God, man, do these people have their heads completely up their asses? The whole multi-cultural thing has been out since everyone discovered being of a certain ethnicity or sexual orientation doesn’t mean you can write worth a damn. That’s right! There are born writers, and God doesn’t dole out the talent based on something as stupid as race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation. Just because you are born into a group doesn’t mean you represent that group, and any time publishers want to stop pretending that certain writers are good just because it gives their stable diversity, that would be fine by me.

Don’t get me started on the college thing, either. The world is run by Yale and Harvard men and women—you can’t get away from them. No poor idiot from Local City Tech will ever amount to anything, not because the education was lacking, but the college doesn’t have the prestige that Y and H have. How is this fair? Kids who go to Harvard don’t need $500,000 dollars for a two-book deal! It’s the kids in the little dink towns that won’t make it otherwise who deserve that kind of “incentive.” Has the world gone crazy?

Let’s not forget talent. Yes, you have to have talent. I mean special talent. That’s what everyone has told me. You have to have something extra. I refuse to believe that a 19-year-old has that something extra. If she did, she wouldn’t be writing chick-lit. Now, if she had written a literary masterpiece, then she would be worth it. Otherwise, the publisher was just trying to get buzz by overpaying a freelancer. Happens all the time in this dirty business, but usually there is something that will guarantee a print run selling out. Wait, isn’t that supposed to be that this is chick-lit for teens? Have you read the synopsis for this POS? It sounds pretty damn stupid to me, and this is what the geniuses at LB paid all that money for. This is not going to sell that much. Or maybe it will now that it has publicity. Before now, all it had behind it was the bookstores pushing it on customers. Yeah, that’s how this all works. Bookstores use some crappy formula to come up with what they think the buyer wants, and then they force the publishers into finding it, even though the customers, say, like young girls who read for fun, don’t want that miserable tripe that keeps getting shoved at them

I have a niece who is desperate for reading material. She skipped to the adult books a long time ago, because, let’s face it, books written for kids her age are those like Opal. A super dumb or super brainy girl thrown out of her element and trying to survive even though it is such a challenge. Wah wah wah, how exciting. Yawn. Publishers, that boat has sailed. It is not funny or interesting anymore. It’s been done about three thousand times. Done, I tell you!

This case is just another example, like George Bush’s presidency, where somehow a whole bunch of deluded people get together and decide to invest a lot of money in something that they believe for whatever reason is going to make a huge profit. Usually these little projects are based on the belief that people want to be smothered with the same inane, trivial and mindless crap over and over again. But it is not true. NONE OF IT IS TRUE! Writers everywhere should be up in arms. They should go on strike. Until publishers figure out what consumers really want, they can go to hell. I am not sending out another word until someone sits down and explains what these “professionals” in your screwed up industry thought they were doing.

Sammy, I just needed to vent, but if you want to post this, go ahead. It’s not like I get paid for my writing anyway.

Eat me,
Anonymous

Poor A. But I guess I feel sorrier for the folks who finally, after being beat over the head with indisputable facts in these ridiculous cases over the last several months, are realizing that editors and publishers have given into the greed and decided to start using wannabes in worse ways than any scammer agent or vanity press or whatever PublishAmerica is, and, of course, greedy wannabes are falling for it. Who wouldn’t? When someone from a house as established as LB agrees to buy your book for too much money, it seems like a dream come true. However, there is a mystery here. Somehow, a book that lifted passages from another novel got published, and no one, not the book packager, the editor, the publisher or the writer, seems to know how that happened. But it’s like in any investigation into any “incident”—there is always a witness, someone who knows something. In this case, I know something: I know that, yet again, those who think this industry was built for them and their dreams of literary glory have brought it to its ruin. There is no going back now.

Happy?

Saved from Being Hacked to Death—A Chick-lit Eulogy

2006-04-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

God, I love it when I am right and chick-lit writers are wrong. This disastrous little trend is so dead. All the agents I know are flooded with this shit--even published writers are being dropped right and left, and, ironically, these lovelies are back out looking for that perfect mate, I mean agent. Suddenly, the boat is too full and someone is going overboard. The problem is that in this literary sea, none of these hacknits can swim, if you get my drift.

Oh, the drama!

What will these girlies do? Break into another genre? I wouldn’t take ‘em. Fuck ‘em. If they couldn’t write anything but chick-lit to begin with to “break in”, fuck ‘em. I hate writers who use a genre to learn their craft and then move on to something “better.” How arrogant is that? I bet fans love to hear it when these bustles carp on Oprah about how they started the genre but felt they just had to grow, “…Sigh, aren’t you happy for me that I have achieved my dream, you little people?” Well, aren’t you happy for them, dear readers? Aren’t you happy that someone gave you a product you like, but now she doesn’t want to make it anymore? The person who wrote the book you liked so much was only using you as statistic to get to the level in her job she felt she deserved to be at. Don’t you wish you could use people like that?

And they say agents suck ass. What bullshit.

Finally the smoke and mirrors game is over. Readers figured out that “chick-lit” was yet just another name for books by writers with little or no talent and no clue. What is a chick-lit novel anyway? Is it a romance? Sort of. What else is it? Umm, I don’t know. But it has a young chick as a protagonist. Okay, so if a novel has ghost for a protagonist, are we going to create a whole new fuckin’ genre for it? Nope, we tell it to get its supernatural ass back where it belongs. What if the book has a whale for a protagonist? Are we gonna create whale-lit? No, we are not, because whales don’t buy books. But dumb chicks do, although I guess if you considered fat chicks whales it might work.

Cluck, cluck.

I am so glad I never took that shit on, because I would now have a bucket full of nitwit girl writers who think that their words deserve the same attention as The da Vinci Code. How ridiculous. The da Vinci Code doesn’t deserve any attention, either. (What’s that sound I hear? A cat yakking up a hairball? “Hack! Hack!”)

The whole cheesy marketing scheme gone all bad has given wannabes with average writing skills and little else the opportunity to sit on top for a while. If they would have asked me, I would have let them sit on top and not even made them write anything, but no one cares about a gripey male chauvinist’s opinion. If they had asked, I would have said something like, “Girls, listen to me. This whole thing is going to blow over in a short time. Don’t bother with that inane shit. Let’s work on your literary stuff and go for the Pulitzer or something.”

Of course, I would have been talking to MY clients who have the talent to do other things besides write a story with a quirky, funny, lovable, vulnerable—yet sassy!—gal who has all the wrong values and tries to accumulate material and emotional wealth through self-deceit and questionable strategies. How hard is it to pretend that you are yourself acting out a fantasy and writing it down on paper? Hell, lots of people do that. The good stuff we call erotica, and, by God, it serves a purpose. Have you ever tried to whack off to chick-lit? The covers alone are enough to make my pecker shrivel and hide in my buddies. Of course, maybe reading about other gals gives the ladies some naughty thoughts, but I thought that would fall under clit lit, er, I mean, lesbian fiction. Unless it was marketed to guys (Hot lesbian angst right here! Girl-on-girl whining like you’ve never read!), but that takes us back to erotica again…

And so you can see how frivolous the whole chick-lit thing is. Let there be no mistake: these types of novels are plain ol’ mainstream, the kind that Hemingway used to write. Only his books were for the guys’ guy, not the girlies’ girl. And you couldn’t whack off to those either, unless you had a thing for fishing or soldiers.

I guess I should say, in conclusion, that…

DING! DONG! THE WITCH THAT IS CHICK-LIT IS DEAD!

…but this is supposed to be a eulogy and that would be inappropriate. Oh wait, this is Sammy we are talking about here.

DING DONG, GODAMMIT, DING DONG!

Conspiracy Theory

2006-04-24T17:10:00.000-07:00

Sammy-baby is back…but for how long?

I don’t fuckin' know, but it is only because time prevents my type-type-typing. It's none of the bullshit some of you conspiracy theorists have sent to me:

“Sam, dude, did Miss Snark get the goods on you, man? Dude? Dude?”

“Hey, what happened? Did you get sanctioned by your clients? I knew you couldn’t remain anonymous forever, you nasty bastard.”

"%@*#&$! Finnaly, wannabes can rest in piece, you mean &@$*! Hopefully, the blog patrol got you and you won’t be able to post your poisen again. %@*#&$!" (from a wannabe, maybe?)

“Sammy, man, you want I should take care of any problems for you that might be preventing you from providing me, your fan, with the postings I so much desire?” (This one I thought was a leeeetle scary.)

“Where in the fuck are you? Mars?”

“I knew you shouldn’t piss off those editors. Mean bitches that can’t get laid to save ‘em. Take off the glasses, girls, and pull up the skirts. That will change your outlook.” (from another agent--he's a real dick, though)

“Did underwear woman sue your ass? Good. You’re a sex addict, you creep.”

…and on and on and on.

Really, I didn’t know anyone cared.

The truth is that I have been dealing with deals and deals appeals and dumping a major pain-in- the-ass client and acquiring two new ones who will net me more than the asshole I dumped. I can talk about him here because he is so blind to the fact he is obnoxious that I could describe him to the last detail and he still wouldn’t recognize that I was talking about him. Asshole.

You know how writers always want to know about agents’ nightmare clients? Well, this guy was mine. The only reason I kept him so long is that I liked his wife—not in a fucking kind of way but in a kind kind of way—who is constantly going around after Mr. Pigheaded Asshole and cleaning up his messes. She would call and beg, and since he made me a hell of a lot of money, it was easy to say fuck it. The truth is, I made Pighead a hell of a lot of money, too, even though, on the last book, which was not his best, I didn’t feel like he was worth it. But name recognition sells, and so I held the house’s feet to the fire when they balked a little.

BUT…here is the hammer that he slammed on my balls: he wanted just a percent more royalty here and an extra little bit on the advance there, none of which was negligible at this point considering his level in the biz and that he was getting way more than he was worth. But it wasn’t ever about that for Pighead. No, he did this every goddamn contract—EVERY GODDAMN CONTRACT! Sammy, can you get this little bitty change here, or Sammy, can you get this little bitty change there…or I WON’T SIGN. And of course the editors would oblige, even though they knew it was a power play. I actually felt sorry for one or two of them. Needledicks.

Then this last contract, I get him a great fuckin’ deal, and he pulls the same shit. So I dumped his ass. Unceremoniously. I refused to take Mrs. Asshole’s calls to avoid hearing her beg, and I just dumped him. There are some things money can’t buy, and besides there are a few people, only some of whom I have slept with, I got tired of subjecting to this power freak’s wishes. Besides, it opened the door for me to take on two writers who have been waiting for an opportunity to work with me on a couple of projects. They appear to be okay so far, but if they aren’t, adios, baby.

So, you want to define a nightmare client? How about one whose ego is bigger than his earning potential? Or worse, one whose character is more flawed than his writing?

Yes, I think I like that last one best, and even though it would piss off Marley, I think Hemingway would agree.

PS The wannabe re-naming contest will be mentioned next week when I have had ample time to go through the slush.

Call For Submissions

2006-04-06T07:49:00.000-07:00

Heh heh heh…

I can’t wait to see which lameasses will read the title of this post only and indignantly e-mail, their messages coated in their own self-righteous syrup (take that any way you want—you just never know). I can see the cries of foul now.

“SEE!” they will shout in all caps, “WE KNEW YOU WERE JUST BUILDING AN AUDIENCE SO YOU COULD BILK POOR WANNABES LATER! SCAMMER!”

Assholes.

Speaking of which, that is sort of what the call for submissions is for. Read this very carefully. V-E-R-Y C-A-R-E-F-U-L-L-Y.

This call for submissions is for suggestions only. I need another word for wannabe. I am really tired of using it over and over again, so I thought I would put a call out to see if anyone could come up with a different word. Something along the lines of glory-sniffer, but with a literary bent. I get tired of doin’ all the thinnin’ around here.

If you are interested, e-mail me or post a comment with the new word in it. I will leave the door open for suggestions for about a week or until something strikes my fancy with a feather. Oh, and don’t send me a suggestion and then get pissed off if I use it. By sending or posting your words for the call for submissions, you are agreeing to let me use it if I want. Your reward? You can brag about it to all your friends. But I wouldn’t post it on writer forums or discussion boards, if you know what I mean.

So, think of a word that could replace the word wannabe in the vernacular, and maybe I will use it. Or maybe I will use all the words I get somehow. I plan to be spontaneous.

Ciao, baby.

Walk a Mile Holding My Pen

2006-04-06T07:40:00.000-07:00

I have to admit that I had an experience in Italia that made me feel, for a fraction of a fraction of a second, a little drop of empathy for the wannabe. I felt the thrill of knowing that people across the globe were talking about Sammy-boy. And they were both pretty, too.

I was sitting in a little café-like place, and I could hear snatches of conversation all around me. I was reading, of course, so I was only paying half attention. Then I heard it. Across from me, two lovely ladies were speaking in low tones, but two words stood out among all the others…

Kiwi Pigfucker!

I was a little surprised, to say the least. To be thousands of miles from home and to hear those two words being bandied about by two lovelies in a little café. What are the chances that someone else has used those words?

Now I could go wannabe on this, but I won’t. Somebody was talking about my blog. That’s all. They could have been saying I was an asshole or just liked the way the words rolled off of their tongues (and they were very nice tongues, too). Or maybe there is a Kiwi Pigfucker who lives in Europe. I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation clearly, but they were smiling and laughing. So it was a high to see that my words have actually gone international. Maybe I will start a Kiwi Pigfucker fan club.

Nah, too wannabe.

Positively Negative

2006-04-06T07:34:00.000-07:00

I sometimes get letters from people who can’t understand why I am so negative all the time.

“What do you have to be so negative about?” they ask.

Well, here is the answer to that: I am not always negative. Sometimes I am positive. Very positive. Like right now. Right now, I am positive that the Daniel Edwards sculpture that is supposed to look like Brittney Spears giving birth on a bearskin rug looks just like Charlize Theron massaging the temples of a polar bear naked. I am also positive that I would have liked to have seen the other end of the piece (no pun intended, I mean it in a totally artistic way). Or would I? I wonder if the baby’s face on the other end resembles Kevin Federline or maybe the sculptor? After I rest up a bit from these last few weeks, I’m gonna buzz on over there. Yep, I will. And I will stand at the birthing end and just stare (and maybe lick my lips and roll my eyes) until I make the other patrons so nervous that I am asked to leave. I make an impression everywhere I go.

But really, I am most positive that writahs who send me notes about how they have worked hard and deserve to published are completely clueless. What do you mean, you deserve to be published? Is that like if someone blows himself up for the cause he gets 72 virgins in paradise? When did getting published become some reward for living a good life? When you hear yourself saying things like “I have worked so hard on this book! I deserve to be published just for my efforts!” then you can officially claim insanity. EVERYBODY who writes puts forth effort. Some people wait twenty years to get a break, mainly because some snot-nosed mealy-mouthed little prick wannabe was willing to chew on a couple of nipples more than they were (or worse). Surely some of you have met multi-published, famous authors before, and that means you know that some of them are not what we would all agree constitutes--how shall I say it?--a human. Some of them are assholes; others are bitches. Some of them are really nice and gracious. Some are just plain stupid, and some show their boobies to everyone who will look—DG, you know who you are—so there is no way, with this motley crew of fools who are the publishing elite, that you can say getting published is something someone deserves.

Besides that, do you realize, folks, that some consider a publishing credit a curse? The most recent example is probably James Frey, but there are lots of others. People who got published and then did the quick fade, never to be heard from again. Or people who got that seven figure deal and the pressure to produce a second book drove them loony. Think about what it must have been like for Frey to sit across from Oprah and have her tear apart his publishing dreams in front of millions of people. Yep, that’s the kind of reward I’m looking forward to.

Ah, well, I don’t want to keep beating a dead horse, especially when it is much more fun to beat up live wannabes. So, I will go for now, but I can tell you that if you truly look at publishing as some kind of reward system, you are going to be more disappointed than a social security recipient in 2012. Of course, no one will notice your disappointment because they will be too captivated by Daniel Edwards’ next sculpture, which I imagine will be something like a tottering caricature of Tom Delay eating snacks off of a boa constrictor wrapped around Bill Frist’s waist (with the proceeds going to the re-building of New Orleans, of course).

An Offer I Can Definitely Refuse

2006-03-31T17:20:00.000-08:00

Well, well, well…

I got an offer the other day that is the epitome of irony. One of the fullblown lameass editahs I have worked with in the past, let’s call him Dipshit, actually gathers up balls and writes Sammy-baby with an offer to turn his blog into a book. He has absolutely no idea who I really am. This is a complete asshole whose editing skills range in the nowhere zone. Why? Because all he does is buy surface shit, and he thinks that writers would buy a book full of my particular surface shit. Guess what I told him?

N-O F-U-C-K-I-N-G W-A-Y-.

There are many reasons for this. For one thing, did I mention that he is an asshole? For another, I already wrote a book about the publishing industry, and I am sorry I ever did. It may still garner big royalties, but it may also be encouraging wannabes.

What the hell? We all have skeletons in the closet. The difference between me and other bloggers is I fuck mine and tell everyone about it.

Eeewwwww!

But back to blookers. Yes, that is what they are called. Those lameass wannabes who write blogs, get an audience, and then get a book contract. They are also called one-hit wonders. The name-recognition game at its all time lowest.

I hate one-hit wonders. Their books stay on the shelves three months and disappear. It's like a one-night stand--unless you are like me and know what to do to make the most of it, it is a waste of time. I also hate blookers, who are wannabes with a mission. The mission is to get published and get attention. And to get rich.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I have never met a blooker who had anything to say beyond what he/she blogged about. A true professional writer has more than one book in the arsenal and has something to fall back on besides “people read my blog” or "Washington depends on me!" Sorry, Wonkette, Washington depends on the concierge at the really big hotel on the corner keeping his mouth shut, not your prurient gossip. Yes, folks, that it is what called when the primary source ain't you--gossip. Sorry, Wonky, but even though some people thought your satire held some hidden grains of truth and you made Newsweek, you aren't a Washington insider. Or outsider. And you sure as fuck aren't a novelist. You are just another failure whose fame as a blogger got you a book deal for too much money at Riverhead. I would laugh if your shit wasn't clogging up the pipelines just like every other wannabe.

So, I will NEVER write a book based on my blog. Don't ask, because I won't, and other bloggers, who are just people with opinions and extra time, shouldn't either.

Finally, as I have said before, my blog is my vent. It is not meant to do anything other than relieve any stress left over after I get laid. If people want to read it, they can log on and check it out for free. It will be that way forever.

One last thing…JF, you stupid prick, you should have changed clause 23.b. like I asked.

Dipshit.

God, I’m good!

2006-03-29T17:25:00.000-08:00

I hate to keep reminding you, wannabes, but Sammy-boy was right…again! As I was sitting here watching my acquaintances work their pretty little asses off wheeling and dealing, I happened upon a Publishers Weekly article whose title included Tinseltown and Bologna, and whose first few paragraphs discussed how there are SOOO many film people skulking about the Faire this year. Hmmm, I wonder, who might have mentioned that publishing is all hot and horny for T-town and vice versa?

ME?

Yes, ME!

I guess I am getting a little too excited about this, but you want to know why? Because all of the lunkheads who try to discredit me and everything I say with comments like:

“Hell, U R probably just a wannabe URself. And U R an asshole 2.”

“You don’t know shit, you’re just a Snark wannabe.”

“Please, you are so not an agent. It is so obvious you don’t know dick about publishing!”

Oh, don’t I? Read around, dipshits and take a look at my 3/15 post, Go, Annie, You Rock! For about the second time in a month, I have given you a heads-up on things in this industry that no other anonymous “agent” has even mentioned. Real dirt, you writing worms, something you can pass through your digestive tracks that comes out as rich, black fertilizer on the other end instead of just plain shit. I’m giving you something to make you grow, hopefully right out of the phase in your life where you think you want to be a writah.

Anyone can read several books about the industry (not to mention the online garbage) and pretend to be an agent or editor and answer questions, sounding like a pro the whole time. The answers given are the same ones that have appeared in the same twelve articles recycled over and over by the two most popular writing magazines for the last fifty fucking years. The irony is that when a real agent, moi, for example, actually posts the truth, the first response is that the various groups of power-hungry literary-based vampires who have been feeding off of the naïve blood of the wannabe for years try to shame, discredit, and just plain poo-poo on him. Then you have the board and forum gurus chiming in, and a host of others who run to comfort their poor little meal-tickets, er, wannabes, whom I so heartily offended.

Tee hee hee.

In what other profession do you see people running to comfort and encourage the people who shouldn’t be in it? Can you imagine the AMA running after a guy who flunked his med school exams fourteen times, begging him to keep trying, because, what the hell, you learn all that stuff after you become a doctor anyway? What about lawyers? Would you want the gal who just woke up one morning last month, studied a book, and decided to try to pass the bar to become a lawyer?

Hell no, you wouldn’t. And we don’t want people like that in publishing, either.

They say there is a reason for everything, and there is a reason for this post. It is to reiterate my stand on wannabes sucking the life out of writing, just like baby-boomers are sucking the life out of everything else. It didn’t used to be like this when I started. Publishing was a vibrant industry that DID something. It contributed to culture and society, and it made some money, too. Now it is a complete clusterfuck.

Do I believe publishing would have gone to the H-wood dogs anyway? Yes. Do I believe that all those people sucking off of the wannabe system made that happen prematurely and with more degradation to the overall output? Yes. Do I believe it can be salvaged?

What the hell do you think?

I like T-town. Always have. I can get along with those nitwits, mainly because I can control them. I am not going to tell you how. The people who are truly scary are the completely clueless, I-need-some-attention bozos, like the dipshits on reality TV shows who think they are celebrities when all they are is over-exposed extras. And wannabe writers who think the world revolves around them. These people are the types who vote for Bush because he’s “a straight-shooter”, hate gay marriage because it might make their health benefit costs go up, think Saddam Hussein planned 9/11, and are waiting for mom and dad to kick off because that’s their retirement plan.

So, the film folks are here to stay. Forever. There is no going back now. Throw a stick at the Faire, says one of the girlzzz I came here with, and you hit one of the film fuckers, who slink around like snakes, eyes darting here and there, looking for the rights deal that will feed them for a month. They prowl through the Faire looking for unsuspecting publishing pros, and then—whammo!—they make a deal before you even know they are interested. That’s how this shit goes, baby.

And don’t forget who told you so.

A Wannabe's Revenge?

2006-03-27T17:19:00.000-08:00

Bon Giorno! Or what the fuck ever!

Sorry dear ones, but I have been out of commission for a week or so in sunny Italia. I’m finishing up the month here by attending the Bologna Book Fair. Yes, I know it’s only for kids books, but a beautiful editor friend of a friend of Marley’s made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse.

I think I have moaned on here before about how I love Europe. No writers! Juuuust kidding. There are writers, but they can’t speak a fucking word of English. So they are technically mute writers…my favorite kind.

Anyway, I DO love Europe, and when Bunny Sue from Random or maybe it was a random Bunny Sue told Marley that we should all do a “gang” trip to Baloney, I was all for it. I am the only guy, unless you count Marley and that is only really her potty mouth, so why not?

Inns.

Inns. That’s why not.

Do you know what happens when you get drunk with a bunch of girlzzzz from the publishing biz in Italy and end up a couple of days later in the middle of the night in another European country that shall remain nameless (HINT: There are lots of consonants in its name)? Let me clue you in. You get to stay in an inn. A nice, quiet, cozy little place that time has left behind. And for good reason.

What happened was that me and the gals got a little toasty one night and planned a road trip. Oh, and I forgot Victor, or Vincenzo, or some guy (maybe an ugly girl?) with a foreign name and lots of hair was with us. I really don't know where he came from. Having a car would have been a good idea, but getting on a train was our only alternative. What would have been a better idea is if someone would have remembered that we had planned this disaster in the making when we were all drunk, some more than others (and those giggly bitches had the ink pen, I sure as fuck didn’t). So we got on the damn train…some damn train. Right now, all I can tell you is that the train stopped in a little town with an inn and lots of consonants in its name. And we—me, Marley, Vincenzo, Bunny Sue, and two other publishing people—had no choice but to stay in an inn. The inn. The inn in the middle of this quaint little village run by a toothless guy wearing, I swear to God, an apron and some kind of hat with flaps on it, and his two daughters, whom I shall refer to here on out as Twinkie and Tinker Bell.

And guess who is of marryin’ age?

That’s right. While the ladies and Vinnie suffered little more than technology withdrawal symptoms, I spent my time hiding from Twink and Tink. Apparently, Poppa Ear Flaps wanted to marry either of his girls off to a rich American. Vinnie wouldn’t do, probably all that hair and the lollipops. Anyway, Poppa kept accosting me all evening and basically withheld information on where in the hell we were until I agreed to “dance” with his precious darlings, because apparently if you dance with a girl under the moonlight in Wherethefuckeverville and the cock crows twice before your cock falls off, that means you have found your soulmate.

Well, folks, I did not find my soulmate in either Twink or Tink, lovely as they both were. I did discover, however, that there are places where time does stand still, and Kjystnmstanland is it. We got to our rooms, where it was freezing. There was no hot water (although, wink wink, Twink and Tink would bring me some later on if I wanted it) or hot anything (unless you count Twink and Tink). There was one phone, circa 1204 BCE, and one bathroom with a single, sort of john (and a mirror, which said “In case of emergency, break and slit wrists”). Now, I don’t want to offend the ladies out there, but you guys do tend to spend more time in the loo-loo than us boys do. That means that Bunny, Marley, and the girlzzzz, spent half the evening getting ready for bed, using the only bathroom within miles. Vinnie wasn’t a problem; he had taken his monthly dip last week. No competition there.

You would think NYC babes would be so out of their element in the Land of the Lost that they would be in tears and constantly out-bitching each other. You know those ridiculous stereotypes you read in all those chick-lit novels? The goofy, vulnerable, yet quirky, yet fun, yet sassy gal thrown into a situation ala A Simple Life? Well, these gals weren’t that. They were enjoying themselves. Having the time of their lives. They had to share beds (none with me, of course, I got stuck with Vinnie and Sasha the goat, but at least it kept Twink and Tink away), a bathroom, and even some clothing, and they LOVED it. Someone said something about staying another day before heading to our next destination, but I put my foot down (and it went through the floor, which hurt like a son-of-a-bitch).

So, sadly we waved good-bye to Poppa, Twink, Tink, and Sasha the goat, and headed back to a nice warm hotel in a big city where Marley could create another international incident (more on that later—check CNN), the girlzzz could shop, Vinnie could get a bikini wax, and I could get medical treatment and slip into something more comfortable.

Her name is Isabella. Wow.

Ciao!

Yah Rah, You Editor Prick

2006-03-16T16:38:00.000-08:00

So the heated response to my last post is supposed to phase me, eh? Well, it didn’t. Wannabes don’t make me wannabe a better man; they are just publishing’s black holes. What did piss me off, though, was a little note I got from an editor. A snot-nosed, spoiled rotten, ridiculous editor who cheered me on because wannabes make his job soooooooo hard.

What job, Mr. Important, would that be?

Would that be sitting at your desk and acting like you know how to acquire good books? Would that be staying awake in meetings? Would that be not belting the marketing shit who has no idea what’s been going on with a book, but he just knows that its publication might make him have to actually do some work so he gives it a big ol’ thumbs down? And it’s the book that was going to get you noticed by the nice, big-tittied senior editor doll who claimed she could “help your career if you could find her something she ‘needs’”, right? Grow up, you sniveling half-beatnik twit, and read your job description. Every good editor I have ever known has read his job description, and then gone ahead and done a helluva job despite its constraints. Real editors don’t go to meetings; they spend days hooking up talent and making great books happen. These lowlifes who sit around and offer criticism and advice to lowlife wannabes are decoration and enhanced gatekeepers. The real editors with any power at all are busy, and they aren’t looking at queries. They are looking at my shit, dipshit.

So, if you are an editor who thinks you are beleaguered by the writer riff-raff, remember that most of you ask for it. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but the big boys and girls are playing on a different floor, although there are, admittedly, a few editors still in the trenches somewhere fighting to make publishing what they want it to be. These few brave souls will soon leave the industry, some in straight-jackets, others under a garbage truck load of queries from desperate emotionally needy people who don’t understand why their book is being discriminated against because they are idiots. If you were to ever get to my level, Mr. Important Editor, which would only happen if a catastrophic event killed off the entire human population except you, you would find that you would have to know how to do something besides complain about the wannabes lower on the wannabe food chain that you exist on. When you figure this out, you will realize that you are as much of a wannabe editor as wannabe writers are wannabe writers, and you have no business in this business. Publishing is for grown-ups, poo-poo head, so get off the blogs and edit some shit. I don’t need a cheering section like you.

Go, Annie, You Rock!

2006-03-15T17:30:00.000-08:00

I have found a new woman and what a gal she is! I love you Annie Proulx, you feisty female! According to news sources, Ms. P wrote a British newspaper a nice little rant about Crash stealing away Brokeback Mountain’s best picture honor. While some may claim sour grapes, I claim bravo. You want to know why?

Because the old gal’s right, that’s why.

Who didn’t see this coming? Am I the only one who immediately knew that Crash would win the day it was nominated? I couldn’t be. It doesn’t take a whole lot of brains to figure this one out. Brokeback Mountain wins every major award out there, and Crash isn’t even nominated. Then suddenly Crash is nominated for an Oscar. “What a coup!” the Crash people say, “We finally got our vindication.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Crash was only nominated because the Academy needed a movie that could win and still make them look good. If Brokeback had won, zillions of people would have shit their collective short pants, and H-Wood would have been in the deep end of Doo-Doo Land. So, they nominate Crash, which is about race relations in LA (kind of like having a movie about acne in a high school…yawn). See, those Academy voters will pick something controversial and of substance, it just didn’t happen to be the movie that deserved to win, that’s all. Minor detail. La la la la la.

Now, what, you might ask yourself, does this have to do with writers, besides the fact that Annie is one? Think hard, guys, think hard. Do your wittle heads hurt yet? They do? Okay, then, I will let you off the hook.

Here it is, you insufferable, unpleasant, self-absorbed pathos-favoring wackos: The movie industry controls everything, wannabes, and don’t you forget it. Judy R. traipsing off to the West Endhole to hook HarperC up to the good life in H-Wood isn’t the first sign or the last. Publishing has been trying to get into Holly’s pants for a very, very long time, and has actually been sucking her tits for quite awhile. But now, my wannabes, the time has come for Holly to put out in a big, big way. She is feeling very horny in a literary sense, if you get my drift, and the big pubs are there to get some action. Your novel doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell if it isn’t franchisable, merchandisable, and possibly even submersible. Which leaves out all those memoirs about how you overcame road rage or never got over being taught to masturbate with two hands instead of just one. And don’t think the blow jobs you’ve been offering agents and editors will get you into this little party, because they won’t. The players in the big cities have a much bigger, more refined appetite than that, and a lot more willing individuals to choose from. Talent, sadly, no matter who is in charge, usually takes a backseat, but at least it can hear the heavy breathing.

Lying is out, too. Yep, that’s right. This wannabe staple is o-u-t, out. People in H-Wood breathe lies, so the pathetic attempts to seduce people to look at your work won’t work, jerk. Nope, it won’t. The threats and watch groups and bad-mouthing each other? Those won’t work either. Remember when I said that all those “advocates” and their little groupies and all those wannabes who whine are just flopping around in mire so far down in the publishing plumbing that nobody of any real importance can hear your vibrators? When I said that writers crying about fees and forums focused on “the perfect query” were just distractions for the simple-minded twits who couldn’t see the big picture? Well, guess what?

I was right.

The world is passing you by, wannabe, and pretty soon what you wanna be won't even exist anymore. Sad, but true. But don't worry, I will find a new name for you all, like maybe, oh, I don't know, dipshits. And remember, most of this is your fault. You drove publishing into Holly's arms with your shrewish, cheap bullshit. The relationship was doomed from the git-go.

One last note…I love Annie because she told it like it was. Not in an Anne Coulter I-will-say-anything-to-get-attention way, but in a Sammy kind of way, sans the expletives and references to sex. She isn’t apologizing, either, and I respect that. Her brilliant story should have won, and it proves that the movies are just as fucked up as publishing (like Clyde was fucked up and Bonnie wasn’t?), but they are in control, baby, and have been all along. Get the message, wannabes?

Hooray for Hollywood!

The Good Ol' Days B.W. (Before Wannabes)

2006-03-13T17:10:00.000-08:00

Someone’s got a dirty little secret and I know what it is.

God, how I miss when publishing was a normal business. Now it is some kind of weird, backward, fucked up kind of freak show filled with the wannabes of the lowest ever classes. In the last week, I have been to 9 different blogs that managed to slam 10 different agents (one blog slammed two). It is an all out war: writers against agents, writers against writers, and writers against publishers. It appears to be, also, from the quality of what I see, writers against readers. What is wrong with you people? How fucked up do you have to be to think it is okay to bite the hand that feeds you?

Wait, nevermind. We are dealing with wannabes here. On one blog an agent got blasted for providing feedback that struck the writer the wrong way. On another blog, the writer was bitching because agents never provided any feedback and sent only a form rejection letter.

Are you completely pathetic or what?

Do you think that my industry exists just for you? It doesn’t. The only thing worse than a complete wannabe writer is a wannabe editor. That’s right, a wannabe editor. There are tons of them. They make my job tremendously difficult. Remember the asshole editor who fucked with me a little while ago? Not the first one, but the second one. Well, I made a call to someone who made a call, and said editor is not a problem anymore. You know why? He got PROMOTED. Luckily, I don’t give a fuck that he got a pay raise and a chance at a higher level of blow job; I don’t have to deal with him anymore. I told my contact that he was a problem, and the contact sighed. He sighed! Why? Because we are running out of places to stick loser, pathetic editors. Where can we put these people so that they can’t actually work with books people will read? The editors coming up now really don’t know what the hell a good book is. They have read the classics, didn’t understand them, and then read some popular fiction and didn’t get that either. Actually, most editors now started out in something else, like criminal justice or nursing, and failed.

Remember good books? Not the kind like Confessions of a Video Vixen and Harry Potter X—Return of the Sith. Not the five-minute wonders that in a decade will be referred to as, “What?” And the authors will be referred to as, “Who?” I mean the really good books, the ones that made you climax just reading them, with no genital manipulation involved.

Oh well, back to my dirty little secret. Well, it’s not mine really. It’s just that the other day I found out who a well-known publishing blogger is because that blogger made a silly, terrible little mistake. It was a mistake made because of a little bit of over-inflated ego. Sometimes people in publishing do take themselves a little bit too seriously, and this person in particular got sucked in by his/her own fame. Remember, folks, I am here to rant, and I don’t really understand the mindset of those who blog to solicit writers when the truth is that there is no place for newbies in a flailing, flagging industry (made that way, mind you, by wannabes). Therefore, while I may not post it, I have no problem casually mentioning this person’s identity in casual conversation with every publishing principal I know.

Sleep well, my friend.--Sammy

A Few of My Own Million Little Pieces

2006-03-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

Well, Marley sure struck a note with her blast against the English teaching population, and I’d have to say that I agree with her. Looking back, my all-time favorite English teacher, we will call her Ms. Z, couldn’t write shit, but, man, could she…oh, never mind.

Anyway, I have been getting bitch notes about how I don’t post very often. My pathetic excuse is that I have been selling books, and that I haven’t become enraged over anything recently. Remember, this is not a blog to engage in discussion, analyze the world, or any of that inane shit. It is my vent place. I vent when I need to and don’t when I don’t. BUUUUUT, I can’t be angry every day, especially on a day when I had a very nice fantasy about Ms. Z, courtesy of Marley bringing up high school English, so I thought I would post these excerpts from letters I get from all kinds of yahoos in the publishing business (and not) until I get good and pissed about something. I am sure it won’t take much longer.

Here we go…

From an editor at a small publishing house…
You would not believe the things writers try to pull on me, and when I call them on it, they spit back at me that I am a small publisher pretending to be a big one. For God’s sake, everyone knows I’m small—it’s posted everywhere! But the point is that these people don’t research and then lie—they will say ANYTHING to get me to look at their work. The problem is, I also do freelance stuff for other houses, and I see how the same queries get changed to impress the editors there. One book went from being a psychological thriller to being an edgy cozy. THESE ARE NOT THE SAME THINGS! This writer would have called his book a fairytale if he thought that’s what I was acquiring at the time. These people are either really dumb or just plain liars. And they get on me when I reject them like I hid the fact that I’m small potatoes. Geesh!

From a published writer…
I have been a writer for many years now, and it is so sad to see how things have changed. The agent witchhunts and writer-to-publisher meanness are just plain unnecessary, and the saddest part is the quality of the writing and editing I see has gone to shit. Maybe mine has, too. I hope not, because I have really enjoyed writing for my fans. This other stuff is so nasty and spiteful anymore! How do you stand it?

From a writer (who did not designate whether he was published or not, but I’m guessing not)…
This whole system is fucked up. I mean really fucked up. When I first started looking into getting my novel published, I couldn’t believe how ridiculous the whole process is. Who ARE these people who pick books? What qualifies them to tell me I don’t have something that people might want to read? How the hell did James Frey get published? Who thought his crap was worthy, when there are literally hundreds of memoirs out there just like his? How was his supposed to stand out? I get told I need to write something original, then all I see is the same old stuff about being addicted to shit. Everyone is addicted to something. Hell, I’m addicted to writing, but that doesn’t seem to be dramatic enough. Maybe if I get caught disturbing the peace by reading my novel in the middle of rush hour in NYC I can write about it and get a deal with Random House. What about that, Sammy?

From an editor…
I had a writer just send me an excerpt of something I had written in an article, trying to throw it in my face for rejecting him. “Well,” he said, “you said wanted such-and-such, and that’s what I sent you!” First, just because I want mysteries and you send me one doesn’t mean that I am going to offer on it. It has to be the right kind of mystery. Secondly, he misread what I had written, even though he took all the trouble to copy and paste it and send it to me, explaining how I was a hypocrite. All that effort and he completely misunderstood me. Like I am going to take this jerk on? Come on, what do writers expect?

From an agent…
You’re a little nuts, Sammy, and if you are who I think you are, I’m not surprised. However, I like that about you. I like that you are venting some of the things I want to yell at writers but avoid doing so because I guess I just don’t like being not liked. It drives me nuts when I see a rejection of mine posted on some writer board and people try to interpret what I said or make fun of me or say how I am not a “big” agent (I’m not? My editors at the majors think I am!) so what do I matter? I think I am a little solicitous, although I really don’t need more clients, I just don’t want to shut off the flow of queries in case one of my current clients dies or decides he’s had enough bullshit. I’ll tell you, though, sometimes I want to scream at these people. Who do they think they are? Why does everyone think that THEIR story is so important? If I get one more nonfiction from someone who survived child abuse or sexual molest, I will get sick. If you really want to get that story, which is like millions of other stories, out there “to help others going through the same thing” (yeah, right), get a blog or website or something and leave me the heck alone!

From an editor…
Do these writers have any idea how hard it is to actually publish and distribute a book? Do they? I am so pissed at one of my writers right now! I worked fucking hard on his book to make it the best it could be, and I told him that he would have to market it or it would tank. So he markets the hell out of it, and they start selling. Then he gets his royalty check and is disappointed in the low amount. I told him that it would be much higher next time, but he gets discouraged and quits marketing the book because he “wasn’t getting anything substantial” for it. Is he kidding? I put a lot of work and money into his damn book, and he just gets it into his head that the amount of royalty he is getting isn’t high enough and let his own book fail. He forgot that he got a nice advance and that his royalties paid off that advance and he still had some left over. In this business, that is amazing, but he had this delusion about how he should be rich by now. A bunch of his writer pals told him he should have made more, based on their valuable expertise—as what I don’t know. Asshole! I almost lost my ass because of him. I am so sick of pathetic writers. If I could write my own books, I would!

From a writer…(Sorry, I just had to include this one.)
Your a godam ideot, Sammy. You are probably some stupid writer who can not get lade. Ideot!

There's more, but I've gotta run.

English Teachers Can't Write Books

2006-03-05T16:28:00.000-08:00

I may have posted this before, but I can't remember. It's been a helluva week. Marley's pissed again--what's new?--but better English teachers suffer than I. Heeeeeere she is...

Jesus fucking Christ, people! Are all English teachers insane? I just got another goddamn letter from some crazy bitch who teaches kiddies all day and wants to change the world, mainly so she can get rich and be adored. Do our schools really allow these psychos in our classrooms? And she argued with me! She e-mails me one of these foo-foo letters about how she wrote this middle-grade fantasy (Holy Christ, it is ALWAYS middle-grade fucking fantasy!) because her students needed something besides the schlock being published to read. And, of course, they just LOVED hers!

Oh, where do I begin?

First of all, never include this bullshit in your query about who loves your book. My first thought is this: So, if they love it so goddamn much, have them represent it. Or pay to have it published and distributed. Next, asking your friends, colleagues, loved ones, students, employees, etc., to comment on your crap is like asking them for a loan—bad idea! You are the big person in the classroom, and there is the chance that the little persons might lie to get on your good side…do you think? How do you feel about the kid who says your shit sucks? Don’t you just want to smack him, just a little? I would. I would flunk the little bastard, and I’d tell the principal he tried to hump my leg during a lecture on Shakespeare, too. How about that? That ought to get him expelled. The difference between me and you, crazy English teachers, is that I know not to trust myself, so I don’t put myself in that situation. But you do, don’t you?

Finally, if I ever found out that some dimbulb teacher was using my kid during class (not to mention using school resources to query agents during school time) to get free critiques on her work and pump up her ego (while claiming it is good for the kiddies to participate in creating something that might get published—yeah, right), I would threaten to strip naked in front of the school board until that teacher got FIRED. I have stripped naked before, and I would do it again in a heartbeat, bi-atch. How would you feel if Junior came home and told you that some dippy-do teacher used his ideas to get published? I would want a piece of the action, or a piece of Junior’s teacher’s head—one of the two.

So, crazy fuckin’ English teachers, especially those who argue with agents, sure, there are middle-grade fantasies of 10,000 words or less. Sure, yeah, right. Whatever you say. You are the teacher, and I am just the fucking literary agent. So go fuck yourself and don’t write me again. Or the clothes come off and the school board will get the thrill of a lifetime.

Fuck you,
Marley

Walk Tall and Carry a Big Poster

2006-02-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

This post was left by Anonymous:

“What I understand is that you don't really understand--you are buried smugly in your own philosophical environment. Yes, the Islamists are going over the top on this Danish cartoon thing (for other reasons than the cartoons themselves, by the way), but the cartoonists and newspapers were dumb as rocks to create and publish them. Anyone who bothered to check (which, apparently, isn't the smug you) would know that use of human images--especially the image of Mohammad--scoots off in a whole new dimension with the Islamists. Carry a poster of Jesus sticking it to John into Jerry Falwell's church and see what the reaction is.”

And here is my response…

Maybe YOU don’t really understand, so let me explain. According to Islam, Mohammed is not supposed to be depicted in images—everyone now knows it because of the brouhaha over the cartoons. But that doesn’t mean the subject is off limits to those who don’t believe. A political cartoon expresses an opinion, by the way, and when an opinion is expressed, some people disagree and some don’t. That is freedom of speech and something writers should understand.

Maybe the cartoonist is like the bozo-head writers that I try to discourage and just slapped something on the paper to submit without doing any research, thinking a timely cartoon about the Middle East would really sell (need that publishing credit!), and it did. Great strategy, and a great way to get published. But—surprise!—this artist discovered the major problem of getting his work out there (newbies, take note): When people see your work, they will respond to it—some by sending nice notes, others with death threats. It’s a fifty/fifty risk.

If you did march someone into Jerry F.’s church sporting a poster of Jesus ass-fucking anyone, do you know what is supposed to happen? According to Jesus, and I am paraphrasing here, followers of Christ would turn the other cheek (no pun intended). True Christians are supposed to offer love and support in the face of such offending behavior. Do you know what will happen if you send someone into a church with a poster like that? Screams, shouts, and evangelists buying air time to pray and ask for donations to start a lawsuit, if the perpetrator hasn’t already been caught and summarily executed…things like that. Absolutely no one will miss the opportunity to point out how their religion has been offended and demand that everyone start believing so they can be appeased. Sounds just like publishing. If you don’t tow the party line, you don’t get an invitation to the next shindig. Personally, I like private parties much better anyway.

You know, I put up with Oprah and her dabbles in literature, even though I have done nothing but answer stupid fucking questions since her book club started. I have seen nothing but an increase in inane and worthless books since talk shows became a PR venue. But I don’t riot in front of her offices or send threatening letters.

She’ll probably end up doing a show on how to get published next, and, of course, gather all the usual suspects in the quasi-low levels of writerdom (shhh, don’t tell them, they think they are the gurus…shhhhhh). You know, the lead watch groups and their groupies, the “top” agents (ha ha ha) who spend more time soliciting throught their blogs than working, famous editors (of crappy chick-lit books, cookbooks, memoirs meant to emotionally pander, and the newest teen novel by Mary-Kate and Ashley), not too mention writers who have been on the NYC b-list for the last thousand years for books like The Da Vinci Code, The Purpose-Driven Life, Harry Potter, The Princess Diaries, The South Beach Diet, Confessions of a Video Vixen, the alphabet mysteries with Kinsey Millhone, or any book by Danielle Steele or Nicholas Sparks. And let’s invite James Frey, too, just to make it look like we are forgiving creatures. That’s right, what a show that will be! Oprah perpetuating publishing myths—the blind leading the blind. A true metaphor for the industry today. Yep, get all those fascinating folks in one room and start filming the bullshit.

Then call some Muslims and tell them they’re the ones who drew the cartoons.

Sammy's Whammy

2006-02-18T06:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, the irony!

Someone brought to my attention a rather prophetic post I made in September that perhaps James Frey should have read prior to submitting his work as a “memoir”…

“Have you ever considered that what you write might be accepted and not rejected? What happens then? Which is more scary: getting a rejection letter in the privacy of your own home or having to explain your book in front of a million viewers and a live national television audience to a dickhead interviewer who hates your guts? Would you then die? Would you become so ill that you’d lock yourself in your home and never come out? Have you ever considered that everyone is afraid of being exposed, of being famous? Acceptance can sometimes be scarier than rejection. Think about it.”

Do you need any more proof that I am who I say I am? Plus, I'm psychic!

You Might Be A Zealot If...

2006-02-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

As much as I would like to discuss the quiet passing of the chick-lit TREND, something that would bring me an immense amount of joy, there is another issue that needs to be addressed here. While I am not a political animal by nature, I am into the politics of publishing, and free speech is very important to me. I cannot help but be saddened at the recent events sparked by the newspaper cartoons published by a Danish newspaper that depict the prophet Mohammed in a less than flattering way. These cartoons have enraged those who follow Islam, and there have been riots, calls for the executions of those involved, burning of flags, and lots of other attention-getting behaviors involving shouting, grenades, and governmental political posturing.

Reminds me of working with the major NY houses in a way.

But that’s not what I want to say here. I may appear to be a money-hungry, sex-crazed, chauvinistic, wine-soaked, stubborn, willful, arrogant bastard, which is, in fact, true. Hey, not everyone can be a puss like Brad Pitt. And besides, it makes me a hell of an agent. However, I am relatively tolerant of religion—only God knows why—even though I find that, taken all together, the religions of the world somehow manage to discriminate against just about everybody and everything. But I put up with it, only venting occasionally, just like I put up with wannabe writers.

I put up with religions that cruelly oppress women, who I happen to believe are God’s finest creatures, making them wear burkas, those little white caps, or a shroud of marital compliance devoid of almost all of the remotest sexual pleasure except that which is derived only from the knowledge that reproducing is “God’s plan.” I put up with people who insist that their god is the God, knowing that I don’t buy it for one minute, but hoping that I will be embarrassed enough to nod and agree because we are in public—just like the writer who corners me at a conference and won’t let me leave until I say this his idea is the most unique I have ever heard. I put up with people constantly celebrating the oppression, repression, and eventual freedom of their religious group. I put up with listening to people declare that their religion is a peaceful religion and that those who commit atrocities like bombing abortion clinics and flying planes into buildings are on the “fringes,” even though these same people support the death penalty and war, the murdering of people who break their laws even though those people are not of their religion, and don’t speak out against violence/prejudices in their groups even when asked about it. And I put up with nice little old men who live a peaceful life but must cleanse themselves if they are ever touched by a woman.

Are you tired of this bullshit yet?

I am. Here is how is it supposed to work: You can have your religion, but it does not allow you to kill or hurt those who don’t follow your belief system or censor what they have to say about it. Governments don’t have to censor what their citizens say about your fantasy world, because everyone has a right to his opinion. Everyone has a right to his own fantasy, too. Some include deities, others sacred books, and some include rituals involving peyote. Also, keep in mind that screaming and yelling and killing those who have so heartily offended you makes you look sort of cartoonish and just like the stereotypes people have of you.

Do you wannabes see the connection yet?

How many of you have blasted an agent because he didn’t want to see your work or rejected it? How many of you show your asses when an agent or editor rejects your work, becoming the epitome of the awful wannabe all of us have in our heads? How many of your have sent nasty e-mails chastising one of us for being part of the system that won’t let you in? For supporting the publication of garbage when we despise it, too? What about throwing the term “elitist” in our faces? How many of you have done that recently?

Some of the worst offenders here are certain news organizations and governments who refuse to show the cartoons because “they respect the religion.” How’s that again? Respect people who cause riots and call for the slayings of other humans because of someone’s opinion they don’t agree with? That sounds suspiciously solicitous to me, and you all know how I hate solicitous folks. Sounds, too, like the wannabe writer and their watch group friends, who immediately attack and disparage anyone with an opinion or idea that doesn’t benefit them. See why I discourage wannabes? The mindset is the same; the rage and vindictiveness is just as real. And the damage to the global order is just as devastating.

Do you understand now why I don’t like the solicitous literary people feeding off of wannabe power, like politicians trying to appease those who are obviously more bent on harshly beating down opposition to their ideas than tolerating those who think differently? Tolerance doesn’t mean you like someone; it means you don’t agree with the way they do things, but you don’t kill them so you don’t have to put up with them. If that were the case, many editors I know would be in BIG trouble.

My philosophy toward the events of the past few weeks is the same: Someone needs to tell these protesters who are so out for blood that, sorry if you’re feelings are hurt, but you don’t get to kill someone to appease your religious zealotry (and, yes, when somewhere in your religious tenets it says killing the opposition is okay, you are officially a religious zealot). This is the 21st century, and your religion and writing careers have their place.

And it isn’t in my face.

Marley's Special Spot

2006-02-15T17:03:00.000-08:00

It's been a while, but heeeeeeere's Marley...

Jesus fucking Christ, people! What the fuck is going on? I’m not talking about James Fray or Free or Frey or what goddamn-ever. That was too hilarious--outsiders actually figuring out that publishing is nothing except a business where publishers take your money and give you little or nothing in return. And they don’t care. No, I am talking about something that is actually important: A sudden, sickening wave of worship for Judy Blume, children’s writer extraordinaire. Or so some say.

Perhaps you have figured out that I don’t say, because I can’t stand Judy Blume’s books, and the dweeby freaks who think she is the end all are really scary. Unfortunately, most of them are children’s editors. In one week I read that some chick-lit hack is going to write some homage to JB in a short story collection or some ridiculous thing (hey, when you’re published, you can write anything), and a book review--long-winded and no cuss words--by a woman who used every Judy Blume book she had read to rag on a book by Simon Pulse called Rainbow Party. Granted, this book needed plenty of ragging on (instead of getting a rainbow on your penis from seven girls with seven different lipsticks, why not get one girl, seven lipsticks, and a paper towel? Logistics, people, logistics!), but the theme of the review led me to believe that this woman was brought into womanhood by JB’s books. What? You had to read Judy Blume to get through puberty? You folks who can’t get published in the kiddie lit world now have your answer. The reason you can’t get “in” is because the editors who review your work were all weaned on this pre-yuppie, post-hippie “it’s all about me and getting my period” bullshit.

Oh, I know. Some of you are already tsking and shaking your heads. Hell, if I took on Poe and Hemingway, why wouldn’t I take on Blume? Come on, people. Have you read Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret? Have you? You know what I came away from that book with? The feeling that it must be nice to be able to turn in a letter instead of the major school project that was assigned and get by with it because you were so confused about growing up. Huh? The book Forever is even better. Comprised of 20,000 pages, in which the dirty parts are really hard to find and way too brief to be of any value to a hormonal teen, this book, according to the reviewer I mentioned, frankly discussed issues of the day about sex. Do you know what I remember about this book? The girl was always thinking about sex, even more than me, and she was a slut. Maybe it’s because I skimmed through it looking for the sex scenes, something from which I could have drawn some real inspiration, but at the time I remember thinking this chick didn’t need frank discussions, she needed a hobby that didn’t involving anything resembling the male reproductive organ.

You know what is worse? Some of the editors my friends deal with reference these books. They grew up with them. These books made them laugh. They made them cry. They made me cry, too. You want to know why? Because I wanted a real story to read. Something so fantastic that it was real. I didn’t need Deenie and her special spot and stupid back brace or a book to make me feel better about being fat or thin or the new kid or freckled or whatever. I needed a fucking story, not a story about fucking (although I never would rule that completely out as a plot point). What did I get? Feel good, didactic crap. Want a good book for your kid? Try E.L. Konigsburg. Try Nancy Drew, which is one of the most poorly written series I can think of, but by God, something is going on besides Nancy finding herself or worrying about getting her period (Thank God Carolyn Keene thought to add Ned).

Finally, keep in mind that editors who read Judy Blume acquire books that millions of people will read. Now does all the strife in the world make sense?

I thought it would.

Fuck you,
Marley

Kiwi Pigfucker Tells All

2006-02-15T16:17:00.000-08:00

I can think of nothing more vile than agents who are not only solicitous, but who ply their trade on writer forums that charge a fee.

Am I dreaming?

Some guy e-mails me about this forum, so I check it out. Sure enough, there are agents on there dispensing advice. The problem is that it is members only, and the membership comes at a price. Where are the watch groups screaming “scam”? Where are the writers screaming for justice? Nowhere. They are all on a brainwashed vacation. How is it okay for a writer forum run by some unknown twit to charge a fee, but agents who actually provide a service can’t? How is it okay for a self-proclaimed watchdog to donate money to a writer forum and not be questioned?

It is official—the world has gone mad.

I wouldn’t be so outraged except that the agents on the forum I checked out are supposed to be legitimate agents—hell, I KNOW some of them are legit—yet they give voice in an arena that profits from the ignorance of writers. And yet I get hate mail because I charge an exorbitant reading fee, mainly to keep the lowlifes from querying me. Where in the hell are the editors and agents who really know how the publishing world works? Why isn’t someone saying anything besides me? Why are there now all these agent and editor blogs using their real names and answering writer questions (for goddamn free) when they know the truth about our industry?

I will tell you why: If writers really knew how the publishing world worked, they would not pay for memberships to writer organizations, magazines, or online services who claim to have the “keys to getting published.” Nor would they listen to agents who, for God knows what reason, offer free advice to millions of writers, one of which will get published in the next decade. Ninety-nine percent of this writer-centered crap is bullshit; there are no “keys to getting published” any more than there are keys to curing cancer or world peace. Getting published is a complex series of events that involves strategic preparation and a great deal of luck. And let’s not forget that tiny little thing that puts you over the top—talent (although no one has ever called my “talent” tiny!), There are things you can do to prepare yourself for success in the publishing field, and there are things you can do to up the odds of getting published, but anyone who charges you money for what I am about to give you for free--just to shut up the wannabes--is full of shit. Here is exactly what you need to know to get published…

1) Learn how to write in your area
2) If you are talented, you should keep trying.

Other than that, there aren’t any “keys to publishing.” The books and magazines are a waste of fucking money that will tell you things writers should already know. For instance, you only need ONE example of how to write a query letter (it’s a fucking business letter—the standard for which is now taught in high school, probably elementary school). Also, what is a novel? Don’t know the answer? THEN DON”T TRY TO WRITE ONE! Writer magazines have published the same 12 articles over and over for the past 50 years…and no one seems to get it. Wake the fuck up! Don’t just read the articles and books with titles that have “how to get published” in them.

And for God’s sake, quit getting excited over little things that mean dick. I keep getting e-mails from dimwits chastising me and blathering about how close they are to getting published because they are getting personal letters from editors and agents. Or because they have an agent who just sold Milo Pigfucker’s celebrity tell-all, which was written by his chihuahua Kiwi, and their book is bound to sell, too. I have said this before, and I will say it again: There is no “almost” in publishing. You are either published or not published. Have a signed contract in your hand from Random House? Great, now you can get excited. And enjoy that twenty seconds of excitement, because before the ink is even dry, you will be working your ass off doing revisions.

Welcome to the real publishing world.

Dog Days

2006-02-03T16:55:00.000-08:00

Well, well, well…

Sammy bows out for just a minute, and all kinds of things happen. I have been away from my blog for too long, but at least I was selling books. Sammy needs to vent, and, like a teenager who will hump a bike rack, I will take the opportunity to feel a release no matter how far removed from the real thing it is.

For example, I read on CNN today that drug smugglers are cutting open puppies and implanting liquid heroin in their furry little tummies as a smuggling technique. Am I the only one who immediately thought about reporting these fucking halfwits to PETA? Do you have any idea what those folks will do to them? These are people who can bypass security to get close enough to celebrities to toss fake blood (or maybe it’s real, who the fuck knows?) on them, so they can certainly hunt down and torture stupid fucks who use puppies—puppies!—to smuggle drugs. Say what you will about me, but I have never used a puppy to sell a book, or even get a date.

However, I bet at this very moment, some wannabe somewhere is already plotting to use a cute little puppy to get an editor's attention. I have, in the past, been sent pictures of dogs, cats, parrots, kids, and one time something that was possibly supposed to be a sketch of a naked woman, although with the glitter on the paper, it was hard to tell. Sending pictures of yourself or your family members, no matter how furry they are, only aggravates and irritates agents and editors. What are we supposed to do with these keepsakes, put them in a photo album? I'll tell you what I do, I pick a name out of the phone book, tuck those fuckers in an envelope, and mail away.

On second thought and back to my original idea, don't call PETA, call the soccer moms Marley always bitches about. These were Labrador puppies, considered the most adorable in yuppydom, and I have a feeling that Mrs. P.W. Jones, III, is not going to stand for any relative of her family pet being abused. Go get ‘em, you minivan ho's!

And then there is the death of chick lit. A bump in the literary road, but worth a mention nonetheless. Raise your hand if you didn't see that coming. I can't help myself, so that subject gets its very own post soon. Very soon, after I wipe the grin off of my face.

Toodles,
Sammy

Note to Oprah and Nan: Go Fuck Yourselves…

2006-01-26T17:59:00.000-08:00

No, Snarky, this isn't for you, although I appreciate your comment. This is pure outrage--let my rant begin...

Is there no one left in our society who stands up for what they believe in? In Marley’s words, Jesus fucking Christ, people!

Did you see the debacle that was Oprah today? How dare you, Miss Winfrey! How dare you call for reform in MY industry, when your industry has fucked up and continues to fuck up generations of viewers. You want reform, girlie? Look in the mirror…

And I’m just getting started.

I saw enough of Oprah’s nauseating attempt to pass off her screw-up as being scammed by a publisher and author to know that this is nothing but a Cover Your Ass maneuver. Like Oprah has never knowingly foisted a guy full of bullshit on her viewers (or publishers) before?

Anyone heard of Dr. Phil? James Frey is karmic revenge for all of Dr. Phil's books.

I liked her much better when she was just someone who read the book, liked it, and recommended it, our opinions be damned. Then, at least, she could plead ignorance as a plain old reader. One that should have done some research (all responsible "journalists" do that), but a plain old reader nonetheless. That I can almost forgive. Everyone has bouts of bad taste, and, as I said in my last post, just admit you like stupid books and that you are just a talking head. There is no shame in that. I am just a literary agent. My beef was with the ridiculous shit Oprah promotes as “literature” on her show without really knowing what good literature is. I give you Anna Karenininanianainainaaaaaa, for God’s sake. So some professor Marley slept with really thinks it's a classic; that doesn’t mean that Mary Jo Housewife is going to enjoy it for any other reason than Oprah said it was a good book and that it makes her look smart when she reads it at the bee-u-tee parlor. All I wanted was for Oprah to keep her nose out of my industry and realize that any book she picks will immediately go to the best-seller status and take that responsibility a little more seriously. Therefore, Oprah dear, learn to pick quality books.

Simple, right?

Apparently not.

Oprah decides to cover her ass with miles of insulation, playing the put-upon, beleaguered reader, just like every other little old reader, instead of standing up and saying that she liked Frey's book, like she did on Larry King, and fuck the rest of us, even me, if we didn’t like it. That I would have expected, and even bought into. But she freaks me out. She turned on Frey, and then proceeds to blame the publishing industry for foisting crap on her. Whose industry started foisting crap on audiences first?

And then the publisher bails on Frey, too. Who do you think you are, Nan? Judith Regan? Gonna pack them bags and head west? Everyone is smelling defeat and bailing. What a bunch of losers. All the apologies in the world can’t make up for lack of character. Do I feel sorry for James Frey? Nope, he deserves everything he didn’t work for and the consequences thereof. Sorry, Lumpy, but you are just going to have to deal with your wannabe status.

However, Opie and Nanner Nanner Boo Boo can go fuck themselves. The heat was turned up, and you guys turned and ran. How pathetic, and what a metaphor for publishing and our society in general. I would have stayed with it. I would have rode it till it dropped from exhaustion. I’m so good, I would have turned it into a retirement plan, by God! But I would never, ever, desert my authors. Of course, I would have never sold a novel as a memoir, either…

And now everyone wants to reform publishing like they reform education or government spending. Sorry, Oprah, this is not YOUR cause; it is MY profession. Keep your talk show hosty, emotional-pandering hands off. Reform publishing? Not as long as Sammy breathes polluted air, talks to cab drivers in their own languages, and bangs easy women.

That’s a long goddamn time, ladies.

Frying Frey (tastes good with smoked Snark and baked Editor)

2006-01-23T16:51:00.000-08:00

And the Wannabe of the Year Award goes to…

James Frey, Oprah, and Nan Talese

I wasn’t going to join the fray on Frey, mainly because every literary pundit has weighed in on this little scandal, which takes the fun right out of it. However, someone e-mailed me and wanted to know my take on what happened, A Million Little Pieces-wise. What I really want to say in response is that apparently this writer has not read my prior posts. Hasn’t Sammy ranted about this enough in the past?

James Frey is a great example of the wannabe that I’ve tried to take to task in many of my posts. A wannabe will do anything to be somebody, and Frey is no different. His type will lie, cheat and do just about anything to get published in typical wannabe fashion. Then, when caught, the wannabe will blame everyone except himself for his misfortune. At any time this guy could have said during an interview, "Hey, I want to make it clear that I may not remember everything clearly" or "This is actually loosely based on my life" and no one would have given a shit. But he didn't.

Writers worry so goddamn much about scams, yet they fail to see the scam perpetuated by writers who will say anything to get their work published. The scam is really on the reader, and it’s such a shame. Memoir? Sure, I guess you could call my book a memoir. Maybe. I named the character after myself, so does that count?

And Oprah is a wannabe, too. She wants to be a great literary consort…a patroness of the written word…a contessa of books. She isn’t. She’s a chick who likes beach reads and melodramatic horseshit. Sorry, O, but facts are facts. You’re a gal like 70,000,000 other gals who like women’s fiction and girly reads. The difference is that they don’t call Larry King and talk about the emotional resonance of a book that has only one emotion—anger—and a whole lot of defiance (and some bullshit thrown in for good measure). There’s a lesson to be learned here, o mighty TV persona. Mainly, that lesson is that you are a talk show host—an entertainer, not an art critic. I won’t host a talk show if you will shut your fucking yap about books. Deal?

What I mostly want to say about this, however, is that I don’t understand who the 1.5 million supposed readers who plopped down good money for this liteary POS are. I read a few pages and it was enough to know that I probably rejected it. This guy writes in lumps, never met a punctuation mark that he liked and doesn’t know how to capitalize…anything. Who the fuck does he think he is, ee cummings? eeeeeeeee!

I won't even mention the fact that it is just like 30,000 other "memoirs"
about addiction, puking, snot, gagging, blood, disappointed parents, and lost teeth on the shelves. What the hell are you people thinking? Or not.

Nan Telese must have left her glasses at home the day she read this. Surely she is not advocating that budding authors copy this jerk-off’s style, is she? Normally when an author breaks the rules, he should know what the rules were to begin with, shouldn’t he? Apparently not. NOTE TO WANNABES: Don’t try JF’s bullshit at home. The scary part of this is that maybe Nanner Nanner Boo-Boo really, really thought it was good, or worse, she really does think it is a memoir. Maybe she had on her glasses after all and went running through her office screeching, "You've got to read this! It's wonderful!" Wait a minute, I am enjoying that picture in my mind just a little too much.

Need I say more to those of you who seek publication? This is what you face.

True masters of the art know the rules, have fucked with the rules, and then can creatively and brazenly ignore the fucking rules. Got it? Do you u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d?

All I can say is, yes, this is the depths to which American publishing has sunk. It’s all about greed and money, folks. Fuck literature. It’s all about entertainment, you know. No matter what people say about me, I would have never taken this schizophrenic hodgepodge of gobbledygook on, and I’m a literary whore. But kind of a Mary Magdelene kind of whore, not like the Julia Roberts dorky Pretty Woman kind of whore who no one really believes got anything in the end except Richard Gere's big one, VD, and lots of ticket sales. There’s a difference, goddamn it!

And if you don’t know what I mean, you’re a fucking wannabe!

Comment Replies, Part II

2006-01-12T16:52:00.000-08:00

And now for F.E. Mazur, who is one of many writers (and just happens to be the most recent) who thinks that publishing wouldn’t exist without them.

F.E. Mazur says…
My only comment to Sammy's post is this: he should feel some indebtedness to the wannabes. It's they who brought about a spike in the number and importance of literary agents, Until that increase, editors were getting smacked on all surfaces of the head by thousands of horrible manuscripts that writers were tossing over the transom. Finally, a few publishers and editors had lunch together and said, "We need an army of %%())*@$&!s to sift through this crap before it gets to us." So thank the wannabe, Sammy, and be nice about it.

Are you kidding? Wannabes are why there are literary agents? There have been agents for over 100 years, before the word processor made everyone a potential wannabe. When people had to type their manuscripts, they took writing a lot more seriously than the yo-yo’s do now. Typewriters, God love ‘em, weeded out the lazy, fame-seeking shits, who then turned to Amway to make their fortune and their mark on the world. And if I follow the logic here, then I guess doctors should be grateful for diseases or dentists should be grateful for sugar. Icky.

And for my last reply for the evening, to Anonymous, who says of Marley’s post (and don’t worry, I am sure she will respond when she sees this comment, too)… You really need to make up your mind whether you are criticizing mothers with four kids for writing or people who are untrained to write for writing. There's no ipso facto relationship between the two in the first instance. I agree with you in the second instance, but, again, there's no lips-and-teeth relationship between mommies and untrained writers. A little fuzzy thinking on your part, I think.

Oh, Anony, but there is. Do you have any idea how many mommies are untrained writers? I am beginning to think it is now part of the birthing process. The hospital hands you a baby, a car seat, and a book on how to get published. And to make it clear, I think Marls was criticizing both. I doubt she mentions anyone without criticizing him, so that would be my guess.

And next, after I consume some more vino, I will comment on a rotten scammer who got caught red-handed—James Frey—in a post I like to call A Million Little Pieces of Bullshit.

Comment Replies, Part I

2006-01-12T16:35:00.000-08:00

Well, now, it appears that ol’ Sammy-boy has upset some folks.

Goody!

Tis my job, and my goal, to discourage those whose literary cholesterol clogs the arteries of the publishing world. We are to the point that publishing is looking at having the BIG ONE, partially due to its own bad habits, and partially due to the cholesterol. Just call me Crestor.

I usually don’t respond to comments personally, because I get too goddamn many, and most of them are from idiot writers or watchers who read only one part of my blog and then jot some self-righteous bullshit down and send it to me. Just like a wannabe, isn’t it? They just gotta be heard!

However, today I had a little extra time and a little extra wine, so I went through some comments and decided to pretend I was a wannabe. Oh, shit!

First, to Dave and McDonald: There is a vast difference between me and people like you and your watcher friends. You are part and parcel of those who feed off of wannabes. I do everything in my power to discourage them, and some of this blog is dedicated to that goal.

Dave says, “If PA (Publish America, I assume) was actually throwing shit at the walls, as you so eloquently put it, to see what stuck (meaning sold, I presume), then there be would PA books in numerous bookstores from sea to shining sea.”

No, Dave, when I said “throwing shit against the wall,” I was referring to published, not just sold. PA does what every writer wants them to do: They get a book into the author’s hands. Any book. They publish anything, and if it sells, it sells. If it doesn’t, they have 420,000,000 other pieces of shit available. .

I guess it’s education time, Dave. And McDonald, you might as well move closer to the front of the room so you can learn something, too. First of all, I think I clearly stated that I’m not an advocate of Publish America. But Publish America does fill a need. It gives the wannabe a place to get his feces masterpiece published. For example, once Wannabe Q. Writer has been rejected by agents and publishers alike and now hates everyone in publishing and just knows that this entire industry must be filled with assholes and stupid people because his shit is wonderful and deserved to be foisted on readers everywhere, PA gives him an avenue to publish to that costs nil. The alternatives are self-publishing, where he pays all the costs, POD publishing, where he pays set-up costs, or companies like PA, where he pays nothing. Okay, Dave and Mac, which approach is best for your wannabe...keep in mind that wannabes NEVER want to put any time, effort, or money into their writing careers.

Because it costs nothing to publish with PA, wannabes should love this. At the end of the experience, the wannabe gets a book. She has to pay for author copies of the book, but she took nothing out of her pocket to get it produced. Isn’t that what you guys advocate—writers getting everything for nothing? To go along with the rest of your philosophies, you should be bosom buddies with PA. You are all, after all, in the same coddle-the-wannabe mode, right? However, PA doesn’t offer Oprah, nor does it offer prestigious advances, multiple book deals, or the bragging rights that the author got published by a major publisher. Wannabes want it all, and when they discover that PA isn’t the publisher they thought it was, they scream “SCAM!”

And I scream for ice cream.

A Woman’s Place is in the Kitchen, Not in Front of the Typewriter

2006-01-09T16:37:00.000-08:00

Well, here she is, folks. Marley is back and rarin' to go. She opens the birth of the new year with a post especially directed at those who give birth, or rather, those who give birth and then decide to become writers.

As usual, be forewarned that this is Marley we are talking about here, so expect a little profanity and a lot of sass.

And here she is...

Who the fuck are all these mommies who suddenly decide, after baby number four, that they want to write books? Fuck you, mommies! I am sick of your half-assed queries and your schmaltzy goddamn kiddy books. Writing is a real job with real responsibilities, not a hobby. I take books as seriously as you take mommyhood, but somehow you have the idea that you could be a writer without any training. Hey, just because you decided to become a state-sponsored brood mare doesn’t mean you can do anything except have babies, and most of you are fucking that up, too, because of your goddamn selfishness. You want examples?

I give you, first off, SUV’s, the spaceship of soccer moms everywhere. I always hear this “Well, my kids need to safe” shit, but I never hear anything about the mommies driving the little two-door Fords who get plowed into and killed by your “safe” SUV’s because you were distracted by little Jason setting his brother’s hair on fire with your hidden BIC lighter (husband mustn’t know we smoke or he won’t like us anymore). What about the rest of us who drive regular, non-gas guzzling cars? We aren’t supporting an economy that degrades and abuses women, but you are. And that wouldn’t be so bad if you would just stop sending me queries about little Bunny Loves to Hop who hurt his toe and cried—Jesus fucking Christ, people!

And these are the same clueless mommies who "um, just weren't sure" whom to vote for in the 2004 presidential election, so they voted for Dubya because he could protect their kids. Well, dizzlefitz, are you gonna vote for Marley in 2008? You should! I'm protecting your kids, too, but I keep them safe by making sure that your ridiculous story about Keirnan's Very Bad Day never makes it to the desk of an editor (because some editors are stupid soccer moms just like you and might actually publish the damn thing). SIDE NOTE: I can always tell the amateurs because they name characters in their books after their own children, and, sorry, but Ashlyn or Kylan or Madison or Neenan or whatever fucked up, mispelled (and unusal!) name you downloaded on your poor child usually makes a piss poor character name.

The only thing worse that mommies in SUV’s with pens is ministers, or people who claim to be ministers, men or women. They write these pieces of shit spirituality (which is more like spirituality according to whoever wrote the book…Bible references optional) and don’t understand why I don’t want to take it on. For one thing, I am not a gay-bashing, self-righteous, woman-hating egotistical hypocrite who thinks that s/he has a direct line to God—I leave that shit to George W. Bush. And contrary to the title of this piece, the only women who I really think belong in the kitchen are the dumbfucks who decided having five kids isn’t quite fulfilling enough—over-populating the earth never turns out the be what it is cracked up to be, does it?— and want to be adored, famous and rich writers. Hey, raising five tots is pricey these days, what with the price of oil and all.

The absolute worst is an SUV-driving minister mommy who tells the kids that they should love all people, because God does, except for the Jews and gays who will burn in hell, along with all the agents and editors who can't see that she is the next Dr. Suess.

Jesus fucking Christ, people!

Fuck you, Marley

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave...

2006-01-07T17:07:00.000-08:00

There’s a new virus going around. No, it’s not a STD; it’s actually worse. I’m going to, for a lack of a better definition, call this thing BB, for Buddy-Buddy. This insidious virus is very selective about its host and only selects humans with limited brainpower, creating a symbiotic relationship with its host instead of feeding off of it so that it can infect the human subspecies called the Whining Wannabe (or WW). WW’s, by the way, are those who are not happy being what they are, and, although they come to the party ill-prepared, they always wanna be what they are not. Hosts infected with BB no longer see Whining Wannabes as human, though, but as book consumers. Herein lies the evil truth!

BB is usually cultured in the petri dishes we know as chat rooms, writer boards or watcher sites. The BB host can usually be identified because this type virus always uses his or her real name and is always a published author with a book or two to hawk or a career to foster.

The BB host ingratiates itself to the writers around them because it never criticizes anyone and is always optimistic about writing and wannabe writers, even though it knows in its genetic code that most will never get published. The typical BB host is always there to offer advice and to give a helping hand, as well as protect and advise writers against all the bad people in the publishing world. All Whining Wannabes love their Buddy-Buddies. Their advice is free, the mainstay of the freeloading WW. “This is wonderful!” thinks the Wannabe, “So-and-so is always there for me. My BB is so generous, kind and giving. My BB loves me! And my writing!”

But is advice free? Whining Wannabes will eventually learn (I doubt it, but where there’s life, there’s always hope) that nothing is free and nothing is what it seems to be. Most things, if they are of any value, are not free. Free stuff is usually sucker bait. The BB is a sneaky bug and its by-product is name-brand recognition. In the case of the published author, it’s his/her name you carry with you into the bookstore. Name-brand recognition is the greatest scam out there. It gives celebrity to the few and lets everyone else who might have a better product languish.

Like I said, BB is a sneaky bug, but oh-so-easy to catch. Why? Because after awhile, the BB host goes from just being helpful to being downright domineering. You will notice that anyone who challenges it will get snarked at—so uncharacteristic of the BB host! When discovered and confronted, it will always utter this phrase, “I use my real name because I have nothing to hide.” But Buddy-Buddy, you always have something to hide and that’s your real agenda. The fact that you set yourselves up as experts, when you are not, and immediately discredit anyone who disputes your supposed expertise, can only mean that you want to remain “out there” so that the writers you are supposed be helping will continue to buy your books or provide the word-of-mouth power that keeps you in the news (which translates to the type of celebrity that allows you to be able to write articles, be invited to conferences, etc.)

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.—Sir Sammy Kitzler (thanks, Sir Walter Scott, for lending me your words)

A Few Things I Don't Want to Hear in 2006

2005-12-29T18:38:00.000-08:00

Since everyone is coming up with shit for 2006, I thought I would join the club. Here are some phrases that I hope I never hear from wannabe writers in 2006 (although I will):

If you just read the whole manuscript…
Translation: I don’t know what the fuck I am doing, but if you read the whole thing and like it, I won’t have to ever learn my craft. I can’t tell you how many writers have rebuked me with this statement when I tell them, after three chapters, that their work is not ready for publication. As if reading the whole crappy book will somehow make up for the fact that they can’t use technique to bring the reader to satisfaction. Puleez…

Anything except “Thank you” from writers I have taken the time to give comments to in my rejections of their work.
This sounds arrogant, I know, but goddammit, I feel like I am giving you sound advice on how to improve your ms, and then I get some bonehead who challenges what I have said. For example, I told one writer that 260,000 words is too fucking long for me to take it on, and besides, his work is over-written to beat hell (most manuscripts over 100,000 words are), and he tells me that I haven’t been keeping reading the NYC best-seller list because Harry Potter is doing fine, or some such bullshit. What? I don’t give a good goddamn what is on the NYC list, his work was overwritten. When an agent—or anyone who has been in the business for 30-40 years—gives you advice, the least you can do is ignore it and not write back that you don’t agree. Say “Thank you” and move on, but don’t argue with me. I may be wrong, but I am usually right on the money. Fucker.

I was just setting up the story/character.
This is an excuse, plain and simple. It translates to: I want to wax poetic and have readers adore me for it. I want to use flowery language and have everyone gush about how wonderful my writing is. Sammy says: Get to the fucking story. Quick. Don’t describe the scene or the character ad nauseum. For God sakes, think of your reader, you selfish prick! Quit making them plow through your crap to get to what actually stimulates them.

The pregnancy test was positive.
This is self-explanatory.

Agents suck. I hate agents.
Would you believe I get writers who tell me this, then ask me to read their work? Yep, it happens all the time. I could do without this, but writers must think that this is some kind of weird psychological turn on, because I keep hearing it. Blah.

More later folks, as I am toasted this evening due to the efforts of a lovely lady who likes to cook naked and has a soft spot for guys who like books. And lots of soft spots in general.

Heh heh.

Is the PA System Working? Can You Hear Me Now?

2005-12-27T18:03:00.000-08:00

Post-holiday blues have set in, and not because the holidays are over—they aren’t. But the glut of queries from booger-head writers who got market books for Christmas from well-meaning friends and family have already started rolling in. Today I get yet another one from a dissatisfied PublishAmerica author bitching and moaning about what PA did with his book. I still don’t know if he was really querying me or not because all he did was complain about how his book wasn’t selling and that it was PA’s fault. Is that supposed to coax me into offering representation?

I honestly don’t know what the problem is here. Or maybe I do. PublishAmerica is what it is. It is not a scam business (Sorry, watchdogs), nor is it a trade publisher (Sorry, wannabe writers). It is a business that throws shit at a wall and sees what sticks.

I get letters every day from dork writers who whine that PA published their book but they “are unhappy with the company’s promotion efforts” or that they “can’t get their books into bookstores” or some other shit about PA. I also read a bunch of crap from dumbfuck watch groups who, again in an effort to look like they are champions for poor wittle wannabe writers, came up with a *Shhhh* top secret plan to “trap” PA into exposing itself for what it is (which, if you have been paying attention, is a publisher who will publish anything). From the story I hear, a bunch of dipshit sci-fi/fantasy (oh, excuse me, speculative fiction) writers all got together, lead by some dipshit watchdogs, and wrote a substandard manuscript (according to their definition) and sent it to PA. Guess what PA did? They offered a contract! Of course they offered a contract, dipshits, PA is working on the “throw shit against a wall and see what sticks” philosophy here. Ah ha! There’s the proof! PA will publish anything! Oh yes, and you dipshits are so smart to prove what anyone with a brain already figured out. Wow!! Brilliant!! No wonder so many scams are operating. With this kind of investigative brain trust, it’s no wonder.

Who in the fuck didn’t know this? Every agent I know, and most editors, get letters from wannabes “published” by PA all the time. The quality of this stuff is lower than a snake’s balls, and the books are over-priced to beat hell. Excerpts from books on their website speak for themselves. Who buys these books? Mostly beleaguered family and friends who would buy twelve copies just to get you to shut the fuck up about your so-called writing career. PA has to make a profit somehow, and they make it off of gullible authors who are so desperate to get published that they force themselves to believe that PA is anything except a means to an end.

What gripes my ass are writers so new that they didn’t get this. If you want to be in publishing, you should know how the whole damn process works. Learn this before you start querying. How does a book get published? How does it get to a bookstore? What can an author do to promote his/her work? What is quality writing? Do you know anything except that you want to be rich, famous, and be able to write all day? Fuck, who doesn’t want that?

And I don’t have anything positive to say about the fuckheads who spent time and energy trying to out PA in an effort to claim another notch on their scam-fighting wonder leotards. When you have someone protecting your ass from something you should have figured out yourself, that isn’t watchdogging, that is mommydogging, and it perpetuates ignorance among the unpublished masses (who then get published by PA and send me queries trying to get me to bring their book to the big boys at S&S…as if).

If you have been turned down by every publisher everywhere, maybe your work sucks. In that case, maybe PA isn’t a bad choice for you, if you don’t mind giving up the rights to your work d’art. Your family and friends will be able to get copies, and you can buy a bunch, too, and contribute to PA’s ongoing efforts to publish lots of stuff and hope for the best. It isn’t mediocrity at its finest, but even lower than that. And our President thought that HE was special!

Of course, no agent or editor will touch your PA masterpiece unless it sells about 10,000 copies or so, and then the agents and editors will be calling you, not the other way around, so don’t worry the pretty little artistic right side of your brain about it.

As for watch groups and their groupies, why don’t you do something that could really help someone beside yourselves? PA is such an obvious target that it didn’t take a genius to figure out they are making money some other way besides selling schlock to the masses. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would say that watch groups deliberately try to make it look like you give a shit about protecting writers, but the misinformation you perpetuate throws them off the track (it seems) so you’ll not have any competition for your own garbage. That’s got to be it. You can’t be that stupid, can you?

Okay, well, maybe. Whatever.

Is it 2006 yet?

Ho Ho Ho is Oh Oh Oh if You Look in the Mirror

2005-12-24T16:00:00.000-08:00

Tis the evening to be jolly,
so forget porking Sally and
do it with Polly!
Ho-ho-ho!

Hey, who called me a ho?

Yep, I've already been to one Christmas Eve party this evening and got invites to three more, even though this really isn't a holiday I tend to celebrate. The masses can't be denied, though, so I have on my red velvet boxers with appropriately hung mistletoe.

Tis Ol’ Sammy’s wish that each and every one of you gets what you deserve this holiday season, and for those of you who are of different beliefs, happy whatever you celebrate. As for me, I’m leaving cookies and Scotch out just to see who or what it attracts.

By the way, after the holiday Sammy will explain rebinding since Miss Snark doesn’t know what it means. It’s very hard for me to believe that a literary agent wouldn’t know what REBINDING means since it, at any time, could affect her client’s bottom line. But, as promised, I’ll be taking up that issue while Snark fritters away her time fixing wannabe synopses.

Happy Whatever.

Transit Workers, You Go!

2005-12-21T18:14:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is e-goddamn-nough! This bullshit about the transit workers striking in NYC has really pissed me off. You want to know why? Because the greedy bastards who are bashing the transit workers are just like wannabe writers. They want everything for nothing, and they resent anyone who tells them that the world works on give and take, not take only.

First of all, what kind of idiots pass a bullshit law that says government workers can’t strike? Does THAT make any sense? So it is okay for the government to fuck over citizens as long as those citizens SERVE in a capacity that suits the needs of the majority of people in a given location? Herein lies the reasons publishing is ready to take a plunge into the depths of nowhere: Selfish, greedy fuckers from the top of the pile on down, including wannabes who are scratching their way up from the dirt floor of the literary basement, are sucking the life out of the system they so desparately need and want to be a part of.

How sad.

So far, I have not heard anyone stand up for the transit workers and say “Way to go!” or anything positive. All I have heard is people bitching and whining, and articles detailing that hospitals are running out of blood and poor Joe Schlepdog Workerfuck can’t get to Starbucks on time to serve the anal retentive assholes standing in line complaining about having to share body sweat with three other co-workers in the ride-share lane. I haven’t heard anyone supporting the transit workers in their efforts to fight for the rights of people who have somehow become the slaves of the sort of middle-class-that-doesn’t-exist drones who really believe that if we all just take it up the ass from the corporations, they will take care of us. I don’t believe it, and I never have.

And I have never believed that literary agents should take it up the ass from writers who believe that they are the all important end-alls. You aren’t, and I think that the transit workers have proven, in the same spirit, that commuters need them more than transit workers need pinhead mother-fuckers who believe that getting to Scrotum and Sons to build widgets is the most important job in the fucking universe.

You hear me transit workers? This literary agent is with you. I, too, get shit from people who believe that without them, I would be nothing. Without them, I would have fewer dickhead queries to answer, that’s all. I find it appalling that most people in NYC, including top elected officials and the courts, are fighting against people who are just trying to keep from getting screwed. But that is how publishing is, isn’t it? Everyone loves an agent until he sends a bill for postage and handling, or until he tells a writer that she isn’t going to get 6 figures, but only 5 instead. Then he is nothing but a useless pile of shit.

So I say “Go transit workers!” The hospitals should have had enough blood in supply in case of a natural disaster (or terrorist attack, if you can imagine anything like that happening in our fair city), so if a transit strike affects their supply, how ready for an actual disaster are they? Pussies. Someone needs to kick some medical ass. The dumbfucks who are bitching because they have to get to their law offices of Get, Get, and Getmore so they can fuck the little old lady down the street who has a savings account but no way to sweep her walk to make it safe for passersby just a little harder can walk to work--might do their fat asses good.

Me? I can work at home if need be, but I haven't had to. I would walk miles in the freezing ass cold in my underwear to support people who just want to make a living. And you should to. Shame on you, NYC, and shame on greedy wannabe writers.

Sammy's SAT Prep For Writers

2005-12-16T17:39:00.000-08:00

For those of you smart enough to not have kids for whom you will spend approximately $2,000 on standardized testing materials so the little darlings can get into college and spend more of your money at the University's health center trying to explain to the doctor how the shot glass got stuck there, let me explain analogies. Simply put, these questions test your verbal acuity by evaluating your ability to connect words and discern the relationships in their meanings, or something like that. They look something like this:

turd:dog::______:faucet (When reading say, "Turd is to dog as blank is to faucet.")

Here are your options: pickles, orange, water, hairspray. Take a minute to pick your answer...

La la la la la la la
La la la la LA la la la la
etc.

Did you pick "water"? YES! The answer is water because a turd is something that comes out of a dog, and water is something that comes out of a faucet. Good job! Now you are ready for my weekly entry in Sammy's SAT Prep For Writers. Here we go...

1. the idea that Jesus had a kid:Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code :: blow job lips:_____________

Did you say "Angelina Jolie’s career"? If you did, you get a point. If not, you suck as much as those lips could if they wanted to. The connection: The idea that Jesus banged Mary Magdalene and had a kid is the driving force behind Dan’s best-seller book. The idea intrigues and beguiles and--dare I say it?--titillates. It sure isn’t his writing that woos readers, but the idea of something exotic and forbidden, no matter how dorky. Who gives a flying fuck if Jesus pro-created? The same thing goes for Angie’s lips. The driving force behind her career is those lips and the imaginations of every casting agent out there, as if she would give them any. If you look any further you'd find a skinny, almost scrawny, gal with big titties and a smirk. And don’t give me any shit about her “humanitarian” endeavors and how I shouldn’t pick on her. You want to be a humanitarian? Give all your billions you made off of pretending(?) to fuck girls to the relief effort, then you are a humanitarian. The same thing goes for Dan. Wanna promote religion instead of exploit it? Do something good with all the zillions you got off of people who bought your drivel thinking it would lead to some kind of enlightenment.

Didn't get this one? Well, there will be other challenges to come. Study up!

Editors Should Be Seen and Not Heard

2005-12-16T17:27:00.000-08:00

Godammit, I hate newbie editors! Almost as much as wannabe writers, if you can imagine such a thing. Why? Why? Because they are full of themselves, stupid, and have no taste in books (or anything else for that matter).

See, I have been working a big sale, and this schmuddling of a pissant editor has been fighting me every step of the way. There’s a rhythm to how this shit gets done, but Numb-nuts the Brown grad insists on nit-picking every goddamn detail to death, and talks a lot about “in good faith”, which are words I really don’t use when I negotiate with a publisher, mainly because I have no faith in their being good. They think they can’t make money unless they somehow screw a writer, and it is just a matter of which screwing they think they can get by with at the time. Most have learned by now that this bullshit doesn’t get past me, primarily because if there is any screwin’ to be done, Sammy will be the one doing it, baby. But Junior hasn’t picked up on this so far.

And Numb-nuts constantly reminds me that he worked on a book with a celebrity (think of the David Hasselhoff variety), and uses that to try to impress me and get his own way, the little prick. What the fuck to I care if you held hands with Ivana Trump while she got her snatch waxed?

Do you know how many times I hear this shit a day from editors? “Oh, I worked with so-and-so on his best-seller” or some shit about the movie star they “worked with” (translation: shook hands with once before his book came out). So what? I got a blow-job from Big Bird while Oscar the Grouch fondled my balls. Whoopee. You know what it got me? Feathers in my pubs, that’s what. (Juuuust kidding, Birdie, just kidding.)

See how ridiculous this shit gets? Who cares? But that’s the problem with these dipshit editors who want to go toe-to-toe with ol’ Sammy, or any agent, I assume. It becomes less about the book, and more about ego. What starts out as a simple negotiation turns into a cockfight of the worst kind. Do these fuck-ups forget that they are only as good as the last fingerfuck behind the copier they gave the cutie-pie in Marketing? You know, Marketing? The department that used to be told what to do, but now calls the shots much of the time? Yeah, them, dipshit. Better exercise those fingers, Nummy.

What happened to the people in this industry who weren’t in it for the ego boost and bragging rights? Where did they go? I have a female acquaintance who teaches high school, and, God help her, likes it, and she told me once that there is no room for the teacher’s ego in the classroom. The kids will eat you alive if you step on your own dick because you’re blinded by your high self-esteem, especially if you have nothing to back it up. If that’s the case, it looks like I might be having some baked editor for dinner, doesn’t it?

Mmmmm!

Forums? I'm Against Ums!

2005-12-10T11:13:00.000-08:00

God, please help me to stay away from writer forums!! Why can’t wannabe writers get the clue that unless you are well along in your path toward being an established novelist, you do not query a literary agent or even talk about getting one?

Actually, the post that ruined my breakfast was on a different subject. It went something like this: Do agents always have to have control of my money? Why can’t I have the checks mailed from my publisher to me, and then I send my check to the agent? On the surface, this is not a bad question, and I can imagine every wannabe on that board nodding and mumbling to themselves. This sounds good, right? Why shouldn’t I control my money?

Well, dear wannabes, in the first place, it isn’t all your money. Fifteen percent of that royalty, advance, or otherwise, belongs to your agent. The other part of this is that the agent, in every case, has more clout than you do and can get your money when a publisher decides not to pay on time—not a rare occurrence, by the way. The other part of this is that the U.S. Treasury owns part of this money also and wants to know who got what. If you, the writer, want to take care of hiring an accountant to do such things as issuing 1099’s, I’m sure that can be arranged.

The part that really upset me was this incessant buzz that seems to permeate writerdom. This, “I don’t want to pay for anything so I’ll find me an agent” thing. It drives me nuts. Writers shouldn’t pay for copies, writers shouldn’t pay postage, writers shouldn’t pay reading fees, etc. So, my question to you, dear writ-ahs, is: Who the fuck do you think you are? What talent have you got that makes you think you have that kind of power? So you can write—so fucking what? My ten-year-old nephew can write, but he sure as hell doesn’t demand that I send his shit to editors. And if I did, he would at least wash my car for me. Good lad.

So, you might take this into consideration the next time you open your yap about what an agent should or shouldn’t do: What do I have that’s powerful enough to get people to do things for me—for free? I’m sure that if you send me a manuscript that’s worth six figures, I will kiss your ass for you. Well, I will pretend to kiss your ass (I’ll pucker up, but blow when you aren’t looking). But I can tell you one thing for sure, wannabes, if you get one reject from one agent, your shit will not fetch six figures. When that happens, you should have the first clue who does the ass kissing in your client/agent relationship. If you cannot figure out who kisses (or in some cases licks or sucks) what and when, then don’t bitch when an agent asks you to supply your own copies and possibly even pay for messenger services to get your shit to an editor.

I can’t tell you how many writers grovel for an agent and then, when we sell their work, suddenly, Joe Jockwritah decides that 15% is too much. Why, that book would have sold no matter what, it’s so good, so why not 5% percent? Why not 2%? Why not nothing? What did that stupid agent do that earned him that commission—I probably could have done it myself. Blah, blah, blah. And off rides Jockwritah Joe and his one-hit wonder book into oblivion.

End of story. End of post.

The Things We Do For LOVE

2005-12-08T13:26:00.000-08:00

Okay, I promised my girlfriend that I would post something literary on my "website." I know what you are thinking, and, yes, I have many girlfriends. If we've done it, er, I mean, dated at least three times, then I call my amor my girlfriend. When we get past 7-8, then she's my special girlfriend. After that, I dump 'em because the next step is "relationship." Well, I don't really dump anyone, I just don't clamor for sex as often and they get the hint and go husband hunting elsewhere.

They will never take me alive.

Anyway, to keep girlfriend 6,075 happy, I promised her I would offer my readers something literary, and what could be more literary than fucking poetry? Without further bullshit, here goes:

My Life by Sammy She-Bammy

There once was an agent named Sammy
whose balls got all cold and clammy.
He lacked a soft mouth from a girl from the south
who could give Sammy some whammy pajammy!

What, you expected Poe?

Checkout That Crack!

2005-12-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

What’s that I hear? Cracking? Like maybe ice breaking from where hell just froze over? Yes, that is what I hear! And why? Because Sammy was very, very good today.

How, you might ask? Oh, do tell, do tell!

Okay, I will. I was so very good today because I had a wonderful opportunity to abuse and humiliate a newbie and I didn’t. No, it wasn’t because I was laughing too hard or drunk, although those two things tend to go hand in hand with me.

What happened was I got on a writer’s board over the weekend, just for fun, to see what kind of ridiculously pathetic advice was being tossed around by the board gurus, yo-yo’s or ho-ho’s or whatever. I see this post by some shiny green twerp about how he got an offer on his book but it was low and he didn’t know whether to take it or not. Everyone was intrigued and enthralled and oh so helpful schmelpful. I almost choked to death laughing after I saw the title of his book, which I had rejected out of hand a year ago—hey, what can I say? Crayon doesn’t appeal to me.

Anyway, my first instinct was to post something like, “Dear Jesus, man, take the offer! I’ve seen your shit, and it sucks. Take the money and run!” But instead I just gave myself the Heimlich and moved on. I guess I wasn’t that good, considering I chose not to waste post time thinking that, what the hell, if he doesn’t take the offer, he is going to eventually realize that he should have when Simon and Schuster doesn’t call, and then he will feel like total shit. However, I do get points for not posting it where all the world could see. Except for you guys, of course. But you won’t tell anybody, will ya’? No? I knew I could trust you! Here’s his name and the book title: ******************.
Damn encryption software.

No Means No

2005-11-30T15:50:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Naomi Gluckstein, for your response to my rant. I am glad you brought this up. Brought what up, you might ask? Well, in Naomi’s comment, she mentioned the following:

“the big rejection, despite, quote: well drawn characters; excellent dialogue, fast moving, good plotting. Ho hum. What was wrong with it, er, well, I had two heros and two heroines... major and minor. Perhaps it was guilt, but they asked to see my second manuscript - not quite so long to wait this time, only 18 months. Then the famous email: good dialogue, well drawn characters but pace a bit slow. And that was it.”

At this point, I want to point out something that many writers snivel about--not that you are sniveling, Naomi, but your comment brought this to my mind and I had to post on it—and that is what those rejections really mean. Agent 007 did a post on this, but let me reiterate my position on rejections: If an editor or agent is truly interested in your stuff, he/she will offer a contract, offer representation, or ask for a revision. Otherwise, that rejection note means just that—your work is rejected. It wouldn’t matter how many heroes you had; that can be revised. All of the items mentioned could be revised. If there is no offer for revision, then there is no interest…period. I have seen many writers who hold onto their rejection letters like they are scraps of gold. No means no, so move on to the next victim, er, agent.

I know some folks like to say, well, you are getting closer because you are getting hand-written notes or personal rejections. Bullshit. Keep in mind that most editors’ lists are full, and in order to get on one, your shit has to outdick all the others on the list. Remember this, all—in this biz, your work is either accepted or rejected. There is no middle ground here--no almost--only desperate writers eager for some kind of encouragement who are trying to decipher a code that doesn’t exist in a letter designed to do one thing and one thing only: Say “No.”

How Sammy Dares

2005-11-28T12:47:00.000-08:00

I'm in the mood to rant...and so I will! Mondays after a holiday are hell.

I had a writer berate me the other day, after I’d rejected her, that she had invested a year writing her novel, so how dare I call it a piece of crap? HOW DARE I?!? Let me shout so all of you can finally understand how I DARE. Writing, dear wannabes, is merely a hobby until you finally get someone to invest their money in publishing your crap. Until then I, being a PAID professional, can DARE tell you to FUCK OFF and get away with it.

Case in point: A golfer is just a golfer—a duffer, if you will—until he is good enough to turn pro and, even then, that golfer is still not considered a real pro until he places in the money in competition with his peers. Okay, I hear you. It’s unfair that Sammy compares golfing, a sport, with writing, an art. Okay, wri-tahs, let’s use dancing as an example--that is if you agree that dancing is an art form. How long does a person need to fork over hard cash for training before she starts making money at dancing—days, months, years? Probably years, right? If ever? Even then, after years of practice, how many dancers become prima ballerinas? Maybe one in a million…maybe.

So you decided you want to be a writer. Most wannabes of the variety of which I speak decided in their 40’s because it seems all wannabes get that gleam in their eye about this age. With no novelist training, you picked up your pencil and began. In most cases, most of you who receive rejection from me had no coaching, no schooling, no practice—no fucking anything. You sit your ass behind a computer keyboard and have the nerve to suddenly declare yourself a professional writer.

There’s miles and miles between whacking a ball and being a professional baseball player, and there's miles and miles between dumping ink on a page and being a writer. It takes talent, first of all, and years of practice, persistence, performance, and being pissed upon. You don’t just dash off ninety thousand words and declare yourself a professional novelist. So don’t tell me, “How could I dare?” Who are you? Your job is to know who YOU are and YOUR standing in a profession YOU hope to aspire to. As far as I’m concerned, until you are professionally published and have readers flocking to bookstores panting for your next novel, you are a fucking wannabe.

God, I hate the holidays!

Sammy's Turkey Day Wishes

2005-11-23T16:22:00.000-08:00

What I won't do for a little holiday lovin'! I didn't even think about posting a Turkey Day message until my lovely bedmate rolled over and said, "Hey, is this your vibrator or mine?" And then it hit me--the idea, not the vibrator--I forgot to post a T-Day massage, er, message.

Well, Gorgeous notices my scowl of concentration and asks what's wrong. When I explain, carefully referring to my bloggy-poo here as my "web site," Lovely refused me any more nook until I got up and posted this. She isn't anything if not conscientious, thoughtful, and really hard to resist when she uses them honey-flavored body oils.

So, here is Sammy's official Thanksgiving Day post:

I hope everyone has a great fuckin' holiday and great holiday fuckin'! Happy Thanksgiving!

Free Advice (which means it is worth nothing)

2005-11-22T15:33:00.001-08:00

Tambo posted this question on Anti-Plot Writers Rant:

Thanks for the post!I have a somewhat related question about pitches, if that's okay. I'm about to turn in my third novel with a major publisher (to complete my contract) and they've requested five or six more concepts to be pitched this spring. I don't pre-plot. How would you suggest an intuitive writer create a pitch package for several books when, other than loose "I'm thinking something sort of like this..." there's nothing to actually show?Just curious...

Sammy’s answer:

I don' t know that publishers would want that many ideas from an author--I have never had anyone ask for that--but what the hell, I'll play along.

Of course you pre-plot. It’s just not called a pre-plot but a story idea. Books don’t come out of thin air. They appear as thought germs that become “what-ifs” and “but, what-ifs,” which become questions and more questions and more questions until there is a story. Stories might be character-driven or plot-driven, but they are stories nonetheless.

The character/characters should always determine directions the story might take. If you let plot drive your characters, you will have a story that is forced, dumb, and unreal. This is what I was raving about, not just plotting in general. There is this idea out there, probably from MFA schools, that you get a plot board, map out the story, then insert your characters. In real writing, the kind gifted writers get involved in, plot is a loose idea. The story might go the way the story idea was originally formulated, but characters always must be given free reign to determine how the story will eventually go. Situations created by the author are acted out by his or her characters. There is no script. In a properly written story, the characters are free to act as they will. They may do one thing or another; this is the joy of writing fiction. The author watches and records the story as his or her characters act it out.

So, in your pitch, summarize five or six story ideas. You can flesh these out by injecting characters into them and begin by creating a life change (conflict) in the path of each character. Now envision how each character in each given scenario will react and try to resolve (try to move things back to normal) the presented dilemma in each given situation. This is how you present it; however, your finished story will probably never be the one you present.

For your purposes, you don’t have to go too far. You only have to think up five or six stories. For instance, two normally honest people rob a bank then find out they were programmed to do this by some unseen force (science fiction). A woman’s life is shattered when she falls in love with her first cousin, then later learns that he was adopted (love story). A woman flees from an abusive relationship only to find that her husband is stalking her with the intent to kill her (suspense). These examples are corny and have been done a thousand times, but, hopefully, you get the general idea. Flesh can be added to these story skeletons as needed for your proposal.

The other option is write five or six novels before spring--you get to pick.

Hey, look Ma, no expletives!

What Happens When Sammy Doesn't Get Laid

2005-11-21T17:23:00.000-08:00

I will tell you what happens: He spends the weekend beating his keyboard to respond to comments. Here is the first of many to come...

Dave Kuzminski wrote...Interesting remarks. I noticed that you didn't mention that one of the major problems in the industry is that any schmuck can start a site with the intention of scamming writers.I agree that one of the major problems in the industry is that any schmuck can start a site to help writers as you and I are clearly trying to do. But if we don't, then who? There is no federal agency riding herd. We can't rely upon state attorney generals. That leaves us, doesn't it?

Yes, Dave, and any schmuck can also become a fucking watchdog or start a porn site (not that I have, mind you, Wife #3 wouldn’t go for it…bitch). As far as helping writers, that’s not my purpose as anyone who has read my blog knows. My purpose here is to vent. Besides, many of the writers who read either of our sites are, as far as I’m concerned, beyond help.

As far as federal agencies and state attorney generals riding herd, who cares? They get paid for such things, and apparently they don’t see a problem. If you keep doing their job for free, why should they even bother with it? Maybe they are tracking down people like Ken Lay and his buddies, or maybe they are busy protecting their covert identities in case Dick Cheney/Karl Rove (Honestly, have you ever seen them in the same place at the same time? Have you?) decides he doesn’t like them. Most of the scammers you identify are small potatoes compared to the filthy pigs who scam for a living raking billions off of people through identity theft, corporate fraud, money laundering, insider trading and other scams people can’t avoid or have no control over.

The federal authorities don’t have a lot of time to deal with people who get scammed because they let their need to be someone special overrule their common sense. I would much rather my tax dollars pay to rescue someone’s little girl from the clutches of a dirtbag than to have some egotistical, sniveling writer who should have known better get his/her $200 back. I know what you are going to say, and it is true…I am way more full of expletives than sympathy.

That’s Sammy, baby.

WRITER SANITY TEST

2005-11-17T15:53:00.000-08:00

I just created this unique visual sanity test for writers, watchgroups and solicitous agents—you know who you are. Read the following two paragraphs below, and then, on a separate sheet of paper, summarize what you see.

FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES, FEES FEES-FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES, FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES, FEES FEES-FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES, FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES?

FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES, FEES FEES-FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES, FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES, FEES FEES-FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES? FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES, FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES FEES. FEES FEES FEES.

The answer will be in a future post. Happy testing!

Anyone for Some Smoked Snark?

2005-11-15T17:08:00.000-08:00

As usual, some dweebie newbie e-mailed me when he saw a recent post on Ms. Snark's blog and asked my opinion. Of course, I am so shy about offering it that I...oh, hell, let's get on with it, shall we?

In short, I was shocked by what you said, Snarky-poo. Do writers really believe that dog-dung you generate? You sound so outraged that agents should even think about recouping their money that I’m sure by now that you must be a writer, not an agent. You certainly had me fooled though—for awhile. Either that or you are very, very confused.

There are only a couple of agents I know who are this adamant about fees, and they are new agents hungry for clients. Solicitous agents let's call them. For most agents, this is a non-question: So what? What’s it to you?Who cares? The only agents that care one way or the other are those who are hungry and hope to solicit and harvest some newbies, so they coddle them. Established agents don’t even consider this worth wondering about. They bill their clients, most of whom are published authors, and published authors could care less if the stupid charges are up front or in the back or not at all. What a professional cares about is if her damned manuscript is going to make it to the right editor at the right time and if the damned mistakes on the royalty statements are being attended to. That’s about it. Only the newbie writer worries him or herself sick about how they are going to screw an agent out of money. If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: Writers are cheap and expect everything for nothing. They want an agent to do all their work for them and give them a free ride on top of that. How well does that work? Ask a hooker about free rides and see how far you get.

Agenting is a business, my friends, not a charity. Publishers do not exist to publish your books and give you an avenue to have a glorious career--they have to make money and so do agents. Don't give me that shit about, "Well, if the agent works hard enough, the large advance he gets will pay him for his work and for all expenses incurred for the joy and glory of handling my novel and being a part of my greatness." Fuck you, your greatness, and the little bitty horsey your greatness rode in on.

So, dear Snarkalina, you are undoubtedly a writer--a knowledgeable one, granted--but a writer wannabe is a wannabe nonetheless.

A horse is a horse, of course...

Of course!

Let Your Binky Go (or How to Pass Up a Blowjob and Get Happily Published)

2005-11-09T16:28:00.000-08:00

There comes a time when a child must leave his pacifier and blanky behind. The same is true of writers and their critique groups.

Critique groups are a poor man’s professional editor. I understand that finding and paying for a real professional editor can be time-consuming and a possibly painful experience, but there is no shortcutting the necessity for competent editorial review. If you, as a writer, want to be published, you are going to have to make some sort of sacrifice in the name of growing beyond the ordinary and comfortable.

In the real world, as it normally happens, agents and publishing house editors are constantly bombarded with comments like, “I’ll run this by my critique group and get back to you.” New writers are even being so bold as to take their critique group members’ advice over that of their agent’s. This I one of the best ways I know of to lose representation.

Who the fuck do you have in your critique group? Stephen King? Nora Roberts? Patricia Cornwell? Most critique groups are comprised of two kinds of people—the power-hungry and the emotionally needy. Talk about a match made in hell… I have never understood the mentality of a published, successful writer who goes back to become the diva of a critique group. Where does she get the time? Why are you training your competition? The answer: Feeling like the adored and powerful leader of group of people who would be lost without you has its own rewards.

Critique groups are fine for the beginner. However, when your writing reaches the point where you are seeking a literary agent, you should be beyond the need for critique groups and their moral support. At this point in your writing career, critique groups should only be used as confidence builders to get you to the query stage, not as writing mentors. I have had an agent friend (yes, I have friends, and some I don’t even sleep with) who have dumped clients because the writer argued some bullshit about how his critique group loved his book. The agent, he thought, was being too harsh on his novel. Then, after threats and a lot of screeching, the writer finally revised and the book sold. Unfortunately, the dumbfuck took the contract to his critique group, and they advised he hold out for some piddly-diddly fucking thing. My friend was half-insane and furious, and told him to fuck off after the editor ran screaming the other direction—those fragile souls can only take so much..

Why do wannabe writers go to other wannabe writers for advice on getting published or editing their books? Go to a professional—not a scammer, but an industry professional who can offer truly helpful feedback. That means you have to research and research and maybe save up by forgoing a blowjob or two at the local International Festival, but, I guarantee that it is worth it. Besides, trust me, the blowjobs from Slovenia aren’t worth the $15.

Anti-Plot Writers Rant

2005-11-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

The other day I was walking and listening to the birds sing. It’s Indian summer, you know. Then I got to thinking: What makes this business go ‘round?

I’m always thinking business because I’m a business man. But I’d just once like to think about plain old-fashioned writing, the kind I fell in love with when I was a kid. What happened to that?The hero wore a white hat and always won in the end. The cattle got to market; the detective solved the case; the runner, against all odds, won in the race. Simple. End resolved. What is all this stuff about the anti-hero winning? That jerk-off never won anything and all of a sudden he or she is the hero. What’s happening?

Well, it’s like this, dear writers. There are only so many plots. Let’s talk about this for a moment. Do you believe in destiny? Do you think that there are those who should do one thing or another and this is somehow programmed into their genes (spelled genes, as opposed to jeans)? There are many who think that anyone can write, and many entities out there that sell an awful lot of how-to books to writers desparate to believe they, too, are born with the gift. Writing ability doesn't come from a book.

I’m of the belief that, yes, anyone can write, but then there are those, who, through no visible effort, seem to be able to write circles around everyone else. Let’s, for the fun of it, call it a natural ability, shall we? These blessed few seem to get anything they write published and the rest of you, those not blessed with the writer gene, are extremely jealous. So someone devised a thing called plot. Now, supposedly, there are only so many plots that have ever been discovered and even this is in disagreement (scholars seem to disagree a lot). I’ve heard this expressed by at least five schools on creative writing. If writing well is a not, after all, a learned ability, then how do we make loads of money teaching lunk-heads to write?

But if writing is a natural ability, then that means that only certain people will be writers, right? Isn’t that pure discrimination? Well, I guess. If you can purify discrimination. But there are those who have the ability, and that’s that. Can you accept that fact? You and I know it, don’t we? I, at least, know this because I deal in such things. I know this is going to get me in trouble with those writers who love to plot their books, but I’m going to say it anyway...

“Natural-born writers don’t need a plot to write.”

There, damn it, I’ve said it. Plot-writers suck. Plot is a crutch for people who don’t have a natural ability. Plot can be taught, but natural ability cannot.

End of Plot Rant

The Blue and the Gray Come Out

2005-11-09T15:56:00.000-08:00

So, are we going to remain anonymous forever? Okay, well, I am, but you ladies WANT to come out, don’t you? I think many folks by now have figured out it isn’t an East/West coast thing as much as a North/South thing, isn’t it, Peaches? I just love that girl-on-girl action!

I know how you feel, you know. I grew up in a family that was half homosexual and half heterosexual. My father was a perceptive, kind man who stayed with my mother until her passing, but after that he came out. He had been gay and lived a lie so that he could raise his family without worrying about repercussions against us for his sexual orientation. This was way back when gays were still arrested for just being alive. Then, in his later years, he met a man and they made up for lost time, soulmates until he passed away himself. My point in all this? At some time, I had to break the news to him that I was straight, and semi-, okay, full-on, promiscuous. Remember, this is a man I loved dearly who taught me everything I know about being human and everything that goes with it, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. But he wasn’t disappointed in me as I was, just disappointed that I ever felt I had to hide anything from him. He knew how awful that was, and so I sometimes wonder about exposing myself. I mean my identity, you heathens, not my body. Get your minds out of the gutter.

Anyway, I figure by now that Peaches and Cream are just chomping at the bit to come out, to say what they say without all the cloak and dagger bullshit. To be taken seriously and get credit for those nuggets wisdom so lovingly heaped upon writerdom. I, on the other hand, have never been taken seriously in my life, which only made it more satifying when I dropped in on my high school reunion a few years back and slept with the wife of the guy who fucked my prom date three days before the big night. So, who wants to come out and play?

Ladies first.

I Am Drunk

2005-11-06T16:02:00.000-08:00

I am drunk. Really. I just spent a nice evening fondling a lovely lady who writes nonfiction of the type that I don’t handle, and we dipped into the love ambrosia to the tune of a couple hundred bucks…which means I am drunk. Unfortunately for her, even though I am drunk, I had the sense enough to tell her I don’t handle her kind of shit, which I believe I had made clear weeks before our “date.” All evening she kept talking about her book. I thought she really liked the ol’ Samster. Apparently, the lovely darling only heard what she wanted to hear, and she really thought she could get me drunk enough to take on her work, and not just her. I don’t think I have ever been that plastered in my entire life.

So, yet again, Sammy-boy gets scammed by a writer who will do anything to get published. Luckily, I have friends in close places, so I am not going to waste the rest of the good bottle of vino I plundered from the restaurant. I called an old friend who is on her way over right now to share it with me, along with some carnal bliss, which I could use. It helps me forget how much my industry has disintegrated into a bunch of conniving, unpleasant, do-anything-to-get-what-I-want cretins. It helps me get past the fact that every day I realize there are fewer and fewer real writers and editors and more and more people who want to call themselves those names but don’t want to put the work into it. How did we get to this point? Everyone wants to get rich in one generation.

And you know the sad thing? Our entire culture has turned to shit because of it. People actually think it is okay to screw someone over because it is their right to climb higher on the food chain. I may be a complete asshole, but I haven’t ever deluded myself into believing that I “deserve” the good things that come my way any more than the bozo sitting next to me in the limo. But what do I know? I am just a drunk, babbling literary agent who is about to get laid by one of his ex-wives.

Speaking of which, she is a-knockin’ at my door right now. Have a nice one.

Work for Hire

2005-11-04T16:44:00.000-08:00

Poor Marley needs to vent...SK

Jesus fucking Christ, people! Do you really think that I work for YOU? Are you fucking kidding me? Let’s get this straight: I work on commission, and I select the people I work with based on whether we can form a MUTUALLY beneficial relationship. I don’t work on projects where I can’t get a commission, and you shouldn’t work with an agent who can’t get you results. I DO NOT work for you, you lameasses. God, how arrogant is that? Do I go around spouting off about “my writers”? No, you are my clients…no more, no less. And I am your agent. Not your servant or your momma. And you don’t own me, and you sure as hell can’t fire me. You might go to another agent, but even johns frequent different hookers once in a while. It’s the nature of the business. No boo-hoos here.

Why am I ranting? Because I just told a client to fuck off, that’s why. And her response? “You’re fired!” ala The Donald. Why did I dissolve our relationship? Well, regardless of what bitchface says, it had to do with the following bullshit:

When I ask for a revision, I want a goddamn revision. No arguments here. I don’t ask clients to work if I don’t think it will benefit us both. Stephen King revises. Nora Roberts revises. And if you are my client, you better goddamn revise!

I don’t want to hear about what your critique group, writers workshop, or some geek mentor says about your goddamn book. What I say is important. Nobody else’s opinion counts. I am the one talking with editors who might buy your book, or did you forget that?

If said geek mentor wants to put his name on your work and send it out, then go with what geek mentor says. Otherwise, he can go fuck himself. My reputation rests on what I send out, and if I say your second novel sucks, it sucks. Don’t argue using some geek mentor’s comments. Remember, I got you fucking published in the first goddamn place.

Jesus Christ, people! Do you even realize how agents and writers are really supposed to work together, or are you so caught up in your own fucking egos so far that it’s made you braindead?

Fuck you, and fuck bitchface,
Marley

How Journalists Ruin the World

2005-10-29T15:18:00.000-07:00

And heeeeere's Marley...SK

Jesus fucking Christ, people! For the last goddamn time—being a journalist does NOT qualify you to write fiction, genre or otherwise! Do I have to explain this again? I don’t care how many fucking awards you win bringing down the mayor for dipping his pen into his city controller’s ink. Or for photographing the local dog catcher fondling Fido. You still need to get some training to write fucking novels.

Writing isn’t writing isn’t writing. It’s all different, you dumbfucks, or did you miss that day in Journalism 101? You know what I hate about journalists who want to write fiction? These are the same nitwits who have screwed up everyday news reporting because they can’t write based on the facts. Ooooh, no! Their muse convinces them to jazz it up a bit, because most of them are frustrated wannabes anyway, and so now when I read Newsweek, I get gobbledy-gook with biased language and mistakes instead of THE FACTS. Someone told you that no one wants to read plain old news—they need a little sensationalism. And you went, “Eureka!”

Great. Just fucking great.

Figure out what the hell you want to do as a writer, and if you want to be a novelist, deal with the fact you will be starving, but happy as a pig in shit. Borrow some balls, for God’s sake, and head on down your pre-destined life path. Don’t go to journalism school hoping to make the leap into fiction someday—you fuckers are ruining the print media and trade publishing. Hey, being a literary agent isn’t the easiest job in the world, but it’s who I goddamn am.

I can always tell a book by a journalist. Instead of maintaining the sparse quality of news writing and integrating it into their novels, these yo-yo’s just let the flood gates open wide, and out pours miles and miles of verbal garbage (usually in the form of similes, metaphors, metatags, whatever) that should have been dealt with in 7th grade. Scene setting, descriptive narrative, exposition out the ass, overuse of “be” and on and on. See below:

Patrick was surprised at the condition of the door. It was warped, and the paint was peeling like a snake shedding its skin, lending the same animal-like quality to the antique that Patrick was feeling inside himself. The cool November breeze was blowing ever so gently against the faded curtains that were making a frame around its lonely little porthole-like window. Leaves were dancing across the red brick, newly renovated, rectangular-shaped patio, and Patrick couldn’t help but wonder, and the breeze was tickling his nose hairs, why his mother named him after the next door neighbor.

Shakespeare may have written, “To be or not to be,” but Marley says, “Fuck “to be”, just goddamn use strong verbs and cut the shit, Eddie R.!” If there were a journalist who could switch over to writing tight, lean prose of any kind, that writer would stand a fair chance of getting published for more than goddamn name recognition and the world would be a better place. At least my world would be. I could pay my goddamn rent.

Fuck you, Journalists,
Marley

Grapes of Wrath

2005-10-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

It's been brought to my attention (Hey, asshole, you suck!) that I do not help writers on my blog. The complaintant stated that I made fun of you all--call you wannabes and such--and that someone with my experiences and expertise should be more helpful.

I would answer that I am helpful. I try to discourage those who have no hope of ever getting successfully published, which includes the vast majority of writers--98% of you, in fact (that's like 1-2 out of every 1000). Isn't it better to be aware right upfront than to waste otherwise productive time in a hopeless endeavor? Ask any couple going through fertility treatments.

Because I don't pander to and solicit writers, because I don't suck up like Agent 007 and Miss Snark (Tough love? Are you kidding?) , it is assumed ol' Sammy doesn't care. But yet not very well concealed in all my posts are pearls of wisdom. Clues, hints, road signs pointing the path to success on the publishing highway. You just have to look for them and know what to do with them when you find them. This blog is a metaphor for the publishing industry. Figure it out, and you get the key to the literary city.

Snark on 7 Action

2005-10-28T17:10:00.000-07:00

I was surfing my way through the blogs last evening, looking for a site with some naughty editor pix, when I came upon a posty-poo written by Miss Snark in which she severely verbally beat Agent 007 about the head and shoulders.

Oh my, I wasn't aware! What happened girls? Was it a turf war or something?

I leave you girls alone for just a little while, and what do you do but fight? For shame! Is it because ol' Sammy isn't paying enough attention to you literary lovelies or what? If you are going to fight, might I suggest naked mud wrestling (and we can substitute whip cream for the mud)? Let me know when it going to happen and we'll advertise--do I smell Pay-Per-View here?

To whit, my lovelies, put your differences aside! There is enough Sammy to go around! I am all rested up after Paris, London, etc., and I have a referee's uniform (don't ask, but I keep it beside the spare cheerleader's uniform in my closet, right next to the bunny suit) that's ready for action. Just tell me when, and you can blow my whistle any time.

The Skinny on Big Fat Corporate Publishers

2005-10-26T17:06:00.000-07:00

So, I keep getting letters from folks who want the dirt on publishers. “When you gonna dish on them bastards?” is the distinct message I get, ever so subtly. Something about a dog biting the hand that feeds it that just turns people on, and I am all for that. Here goes…

You want to know about publishers? Most of them suck. There are some who still try to get actual readable books out there while making a buck, but the majority cares about money, and only money. Unfortunately, they publish shit based on name recognition and trends, and just about everything else successful is a happy accident.

Do you know what my job is? Navigating around the dipshits who run publishing houses. Sometimes the editors are in on it with me and sometimes they aren’t. I know what publishers want to sell, and I represent talented individuals who know how to disguise quality in bullshit. It is an art, I tell you, and we are good at it. We slip in good books under the guise of grade-A prime horseshit, and the publishing house doesn’t know any different because:

1. Readers are getting a great read, so they buy the book.
2. Dumbfucks who buy the book for some lameass reason like the pretty cover art (yes, sometimes marketing departments are right) still get to live under the illusion that they got themselves a good book, even though they wouldn’t know a good book from a bad book unless it was stamped on the cover.

See how this shit works? My job went from peddling good books that could turn a dime to trafficking black market literature masked as commercial glop.

Now ask yourself, are you that talented that you can create something for everyone—greedy publishers, gullible consumers, avid readers, AND your artistic muse? Well then, I would love to see your shit. The thing about wannabes is they tend to not want anything except adoration for their work, and I gotta have someone who can work it, baby, work it. Churning out what you think is the next bestseller isn’t good enough these days; it has to be packaged just right. It has to have the boob job, tummy-tuck, and face-lift, whether it needs it or not. Publishers don’t look at the final result of the surgery, they just need to see the scars to know that your work endured it. Yep, it looks commercial, smells commercial, and tastes commercial, it must be commercial, even if it does have words over 5 letters in it.

And that, minus several other expletives, is what I think of publishers.

I Got This Feeling Like Someone is Watching Me

2005-10-24T18:01:00.000-07:00

So I get home and on my e-mail is some watch group crackhead wanting me to send him an updated list of sales. If I don’t, he admonished, he would have to tell writers about my “nonexistent” sales record. Here is the irony: I have been a part of more best-sellers than I can remember, and this dumbass can’t apparently find the sales record. And HE threatens ME with exposure! Who is this fucking person? What a dumbfuck. I should expose him right here for not having the brains to find a big old elephant in a tiny little room. However, I am too much of a gentleman. So I e-mailed and told him to fuck off.

But that is typical for watch groups like Writer Beware and Preditors and Editors, among others. One of the major problems in the industry is that any schmuck can start a site to “help” writers (and I agree, wannabes need LOTS of help, but none of these sites offer lobotomies, so they are useless). Usually it is for techniques for avoiding scammers. They should look in the mirror. Do you know some of these sites actually recommend publishers and agents who are scammers, or just plain incompetent? Some even sponsor (by which I mean donate money to)sites that take in revenue from advertising services for hire for writers. Either they are completely clueless or on someone’s payroll somewhere. As I have mentioned before, what qualifies these folks as watch dogs? What qualifies anyone as a watchdog?

The problem I have with all watch groups is that they encourage mediocre and plain old crappy writers by intimating that it isn’t your shitty writing that is holding you back, but all those nasty people cheating you. Oh my God, everyone is a scammer! Here is how that shit works: As long as you scare the shit out of writers, they will keep coming to you for protection and advice, and you remain in control. I have met some of the nasty motherfuckers who run these watch groups, and they are arrogant, unpleasant, and feed off of the power they get from being in the know. They stretch the truth to make themselves look righteous. They lie, they stalk, and their information is iffy at best. Hell, I know ministers I would trust more, and, for me, that is saying a lot.

This helps writers how? In short, it doesn’t.

Here is what you need to know:

1. If you have tried all the legitimate agents and everyone rejected you, your writing probably sucks. Shelve it until you can learn how to write.
2. To learn how to write, take a class from a legitimate source, not some place who advertises the editors and agents who will help you hone your writing. This is a big ol’ scam that has been operating for years. And for God’s sake, don’t take writing courses from published authors. They are the WORST! I get shit from graduates from these “courses” all the time, and they don’t know how to write. And most editors and agents who work for them don’t know how to teach or edit or agent—they just need the extra cash. They have no intention of taking on your lameass shit. But they will take your money.
2. Never trust a watch group who sponsors a writer’s board or sponsors any entity who offers a service for hire for writers. Sleazy.
3. Never trust anyone who is sponsored by a group who has their very own literary agent on staff.
4. Never buy how-to books written by authors whose only credentials include some kind of college degree and the book that they are selling you. Jesus, what does an MFA know about commercial publishing? Usually nothing. And yet at conferences I always see “book editors” who have written how-to books on, let’s say romance, for example, but they have never, ever written or published a romance. Do I even need to tell you this? If you want to learn how to write a novel, sit down and try it. Get it edited. Write another one. Get it edited. Write a third, and get it edited, too. That is how you learn to write, by actually writing and getting feedback from a professional, not a Phd or a writer’s board. Get off the boards and in your computer chair. Quit looking for support and excuses not to revise. Writers who don’t want to take the time to revise are usually the ones who get scammed. Those who take shortcuts to get what they want usually get taken by those who know how to shortcut better than they do.

Jesus, I am just too old for this shit.

Sammy's Back, Baby!

2005-10-24T17:55:00.000-07:00

Sammy’s Quiz

1. What happened to Sammy in Europe?
a. He got laid.
b. He made some great deals
c. He drank as much wine and beer as humanly possible.
d. All of the above

If you dumbshits answered anything but D, you, as the song laments, don’t know me. Europe was great and I hated to come home to the NYC hustle, hustle go-go-go bullshit. Weather was about the same, but it’s slower there, you know? Not so capitalist. But, to NYC’s credit, the plumbing is much better.

Oh well…

On the long trip home I wrote out my next post, mainly because I was inspired by the goings on in Frankfurt. Let me ask you, what kind of people clamber after some drugged out, anger-filled sort of rocker turned actress just because she is willing to shill on her dead husband and her living kid? Complete losers, that’s who (hey, there is a reason I remain anonymous—it’s called backlash, baby, backlash). The industry is getting even sleazier, and so my next few posts will be about the crap that is bringing us all down. There is just too much for one post. However, the highlights include:

writers’ organizations
watch groups
publishers (and, yes, I do work with them, too)

And ooh so many more! I would talk about the great deals that were made, but, honestly, there weren’t that many that actually serve the greater good, or any good for that matter. The most talk was about how Google is trying to screw writers. I say, go for it, Googly-Bear! You screw ‘em good!

Mainly, those deals made in Hotdog City serve to put mula in the pockets of the pinheads running the corporations. Have you ever been in an industry you helped build, only to watch a bunch of sniveling outsiders bring it down just so they can say they have had a little taste of it? God forbid these losers work for it. No, it is much easier to play career dress-up. The problem is, those are my goddamn clothes you are wearing!
Jesus, I’m getting too old for this shit.

Be Back After Frankfurt

2005-10-13T14:25:00.000-07:00

God, I love Europe!! The weather is wonderful, the beer is great, the wine superb, and the women have such cute, ah, accents. Everything is expensive and that’s not a big plus (Dollar to Euro conversion and all) but the value is well worth it.

The blog will suffer until I get back. But for some, that’s a big plus. Marley will be at the Buchmesse too, so she can’t do it, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else. Hell, I barely trust her. She is all too willing to do a post with nothing but expletives in it, just for fun, she says. I say she’s a loon with a potty mouth, but she sells a helluva lot of books.

Und so, mein liebchens, tschuss und prost, and ich hoffe dass sie etwas ass getten auch. Ich weiss dass ich werde! Or whatever.

Heh heh heh, the women LOVE me over here. I’m a smooth-talkin SOB in more than one language! I might even sell some rights…yeah!

Sammy

The One That Got Away

2005-10-08T18:23:00.000-07:00

I saw her the other day…a girl—no, the girl—I dated between wives two and three. She was the one that got away. Big ta-tas, sort of big hair, a penchant for wine and cheese, and she liked to remain naked, just like I am now, most of the time. What a broad! She could out-curse Marley, but she could also be such a lady. Especially in the sack. You know the type I mean, guys. The one that reminds you of the teacher you always wanted to boink, the porn star you did boink, and the first lady you would have boinked if the Secret Service stick hadn’t gotten done in the john so soon. That kind of girl. She could do things that would make your head spin, and I don’t mean the one on your shoulders. Yet she liked to read poetry to me in bed, which is mighty hard to do when you are hanging upside down like that.

Anyway, I couldn’t get to her in time to ask for a second date. Why? Because a writer I had been avoiding—let’s call her The Wicked Bitch of the East—spotted me. She really wants to get her hooks into me, but only so I can represent her. But her reputation preceded her. She was all smiles to me, but she had dumped a good friend of mine when he tried to get her to do a simple revision. She gave me her card, and I told her I’d think about it…again. “You’d better not think too long, “ was her vampy reply.

This is a classic case of the “You can have her, I don’t want her” syndrome. There are some writers you just can’t work with, and that number is constantly going up. I thought there might be something in the water—or maybe the vodka—a Russian plot or something. Then I realized it’s what reader have encountered on bookstore shelves. I’ve coined it the “All About Me” disease. It seems to run rampant whenever writers begin to think the world cannot exist without them. Sorry, writers, when it comes to literature, there is only one group that we cannot do without, and writer hacks are shitting all over them. And me, too, considering I got cornered by Bitchy-poo, which prevented me from nailing, er, chatting with my ex-lust buddy.

All I can say is, wherever you are right now, Paris, maybe next time, baby. Maybe next time.

Marley Does Poe

2005-10-04T17:57:00.000-07:00

Here is another post by our beloved Marley Barley. Fair warning, she uses strong language sometimes (at this point you should laugh at my use of understatement—don’t ask why, just do it it and you will be ahead of the game, I assure you).

Jesus fucking Christ people, is all you do whine? How about changing the “h” to an “r” and the “n” to a “t”? That’s right, fucking write goddamn something. Agents like clients who write and write and write, then actually produce something publishable. It takes a while. If I get one more query where some dickhead tells me he finished his novel in 3 months, my nipples will spontaneously drop off. Sammy told me I got a bunch of comments about my Hemingway posts, and my response to those literary sticks is, “Go fuck yourselves.” Perpetuating miserable writing on students—or anyone--just because you are too lazy to read modern literature is in excusable and offensive. Fuck you again.

And just to make it worse, I am going to re-write Poe. That’s goddamn right; I am re-writing that drunk motherfucker’s work. How do you like that? Read and learn, Dr. Bozos…

Poe:
During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was; but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me—upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like windows—upon a few rank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees—with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveler upon opium—the bitter lapse into every-day life—the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it—I paused to think—what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?

Marley's Corrected Poe:
During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, I rode alone within view of the melancholy House of Usher. Gloom pervaded my spirit as I looked upon the scene before me, a simple landscape reflecting the utter depression of a soul tortured by an unredeemed dreariness of thought. What was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?

Set the scene my ass! Get to it Eddie, get to it! If Poe made love like he wrote, his partners probably died before he got to the good stuff. No wonder he had a thing for dead women. See how easily that was explained? Someone’s dissertation just went down le toilet, didn’t it?

Fuck you,
Marley

IMO, MLO, No They Don't

2005-10-04T17:43:00.000-07:00

This question was posed by a writer:

And how important is appearance in the literary world today?

And here is my opine on the subjectivo...

So, are you asking if how ugly you are makes a difference in whether you get published or not? Have you looked at pictures of authors lately? Have you? The NYT best-selling authors and some Pulitzer prize winners I know aren’t that easy to look at, I’ll tell you (but they are beautiful, remember). I wouldn’t suspect any of them getting where they are unless they are proportionally as good in the sack as they are hard to stare at. I guess the most direct answer is maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Depends on the publisher and what level they are at. Yes, I’ve seen hormones play a role in getting a book out there, and I am sure my reputation has preceded me in quite a few negotiations (no, I never put out until after the deal is signed), but I have also seen good writing make it. If you are worried about your looks, don’t. You should worry about your writing. That’s all. If you write really well, you make it at some point. If your writing sucks, then looks might help, but your mouth will get sore from all the blow jobs you’ll have to give. Definitely not worth in my opinion.

The Fall of the Empire, Chick-Lit Part Deux

2005-10-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

This just in: I found a news article proclaiming that archeologists have discovered at Pompeii an ancient chick-lit novel. That explains the fall of the Empire. I bet the fire at the library in Alexandria had nothing to do with a raging battle—the old librarians probably found a chick-lit novel and set it ablaze under the cover of war. Civilization as we know it survived only because of their efforts. God, I love librarians.

Chick-lit represents our miserable cultural malfunction wherein everyone can’t see past their own problems (don’t you know it’s all about me?). You know, I had an agent friend tell me a few years ago that she was disappointed at the new types of novels (stay with me here, clueless, she meant chick-lit) that were creeping in under the guise of being more sophisticated and sexy romance-type reads. She basically thought they were books by hacks who didn’t have much control of their writing and that they were targeted toward women who had laughed at their mothers for reading trashy love novels—snotty ingrates. The publishers have been laughing all the way to the bank by repackaging rejected, poorly written romances—just like mama used to ignore--and renaming them with a cool moniker that would attract the vacuous generation who would find it entertaining that some dingy (sorry, I meant quirky) broad can’t find a man because she is too empowered, yet vulnerable at the same time. How about because she is a dipshit?

Let me ask you, what is wrong with being single? Why do all the singles of any gender have to hang out in group therapy-type three or foursomes like some loathsome Sex in the City knock-offs, traveling in packs? I see these huddled, befuddled masses wandering through our fair city all the time. Why do we angst about being alone so goddamn much? You know when you should worry about being alone? When you are in a situation where you are elderly, sick and forgotten by society, and then a hurricane comes and you have two choices: evacuate from the only safety you have ever known, knowing that most of your needs will not be met and you will be scared, frightened and forgotten among a large group of strangers who could hurt you, or stay where at least you have felt safe in the past and risk getting blown away. When you’re facing dogpaddling in fetid floodwaters up to your craggy neck for days on end, unable to get to food or medicine or clean water, that’s when you should worry about being by yourself. Until then, fucking deal with it and quit whining. Or call my 1-800 number.

I know smart women who are offended by these books. I know kind women who volunteer to help others who think the characters need to grow up (and so do the chicky editors who identify with these screw-up protagonists and acquire this shit thinking that’s how EVERYBODY lives). I know sexy women who smirk at these misfits who don’t know what to do with the gifts God gave them (and if you don’t know what that means, ask a breast cancer survivor)—they always want more, bigger, or better instead of biding their time for the right schmuckaroo to come along to pay for the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed. Yeah, I know what you are thinking, and yes, I do know lots of women. I also know writers who can write much better who have been bumped from publisher’s lists (not mine, by God) because their space on the bookshelves is taken up by this pitiful British invasion. Hell, the British don’t even want it anymore! They passed it off to us! They started it there and let it spread like a disease across the ocean. Wanna know what I think? I think it’s cleverly disguised revenge for the American Revolution—it started with the Beatles and the Animals, and they just keep lobbing more inane shit our way. Thanks, Tony B., we all love you, too.

May your wickershires dredge a podgethacket in your cornswaggled wildebeast, you %$& basketsnatchers.

And a Few More for the Road

2005-10-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

From an editor:

“I hate going to writing conferences. Every year, because I am very visible in the field and my name gets out a lot, I get asked to a bunch of different ones, but I am starting to turn them all down. Why? Because I feel like a piece of meat, that’s why. If I go and the organizers pay my way, I have to be open to looking at manuscripts from the participants. In the past, if I said that I didn’t find any that appealed to me, the organizers were cool about it. Now if I don’t find anything to look at, they get mad and kind of give me the impression that only editors who are request their writers’ work will be invited back. Then they invite me again the next year. I just can’t deal with this kind of bullshit for the few manuscripts I get that might be publishable. In all, I think I have ever only found one that we actually published, and that was years ago.”

From an agent:

“Writers always ask me why I quit sending anything but a form rejection. Well, I used to send comments or a little feedback on the manuscripts that were almost there, but two things happened: 1) People would write me back and argue, even when I said it was only my opinion and 2) I found out some of my comments were being posted on the web with writers making nasty or glib comments about them. I was trying to be helpful and polite, but with technology today, I guess I discovered that often writers don’t return the favor.”

From a publisher:

“I don’t see many publishers weigh in on these blogs, so I thought I would put my two cents worth in. I am an associate publisher at a house in a big city, and the bottom line for us is that a book has to make money as quickly as possible. Most books don’t. People don’t read anymore. I don’t blame the readers, either, but rather the publishers who starting focusing solely on the almighty dollar. Most people who used to read have just given up. If they had kept trying to promote good books, then I wouldn’t have to publish some of the dreck that we get by brainless celebrities to keep an edge in this shitty, decaying market. I miss publishing books that I feel good about, but I have stockholders to answer to.”

From a publisher:
“I get so tired of people bitching about this industry. It is about giving consumers a product they want, not about “literature.” I don’t get paid to enrich the world. I get paid to make a company money and entertain a target audience. Get over it.”

From a mailroom clerk:
“Do you guys have any idea where your submissions go? Into the slush pile or into the trash, and so far the trash is winning. No one looks at slush anymore except desperate summer interns who are trying to make themselves useful at something so they can keep a job in the fall. They plow through the pile, rejecting everything, and then I pile more on their desks. You should see the looks on their faces!”

I'm Here for You, Baby!

2005-10-01T18:22:00.000-07:00

Oh, I’ve heard it before! “I want to be there for you Writ-tas. I get all warm and fuzzy when I think that I might help someone.”

Translation: I get warm and fuzzy when you flock to me and make me rich beyond my wildest dreams.

Folks, I don’t know if you understand this yet or not, but I’m here to tell that agents don’t really like each other. And you say, “Oh noooo, Sammy, this cannot be true!!” Oh, but it is, my little rumcakes. And even as I say it, the many clamber louder, “But there’s the AAR, right? It’s like a club and so fine and true. And the members have parties and eat at each other’s houses and celebrate each other’s successes, and…”

God, I hate to burst your bubbles, but, honestly, we just don’t get along. Why? Because agents compete for those precious few of you who write well enough to make us money. Those who can really write are a rare commodity, and, like those gold miners—those nasty ‘49ers—we jump claims and steal the golden ones from each other. We do it cause we love ya’, okay? (big hugs all around)

So don’t perpetuate that crap about “I’m only here for you”, lovely blogging agent dears. The wool itself has eyes—even a wolf can see that. Wink, wink.

Chick-lit is a Literary Gum that Should Be Chewed by God, by God!

2005-10-01T10:12:00.000-07:00

Normally when a sexy broad with big ta-tas asks me to dinner, as just happened recently, I am flattered and usually fighting an erection. Hell, even if she didn’t have big ta-tas, I would be erect at the thought of a free meal. But no, this one had to spoil it by telling me not only that she is a writer, but a chick-lit writer. Flacid cannot describe my shriveled, er, ego. Let’s just say if the rest of me went that flat, they could have slid me easily under a door.

The first time someone asked me if I wanted a “chick-lit”, I thought they meant the gum and said, “Why the fuck would I want that? Does my breath smell or something?” As it turned out, even though I was way off on the topic, it was a good call. I have never jumped on that sucky trend, and don’t intend to either. No matter how tight you babes tie me up with your Gucci silk scarves, bought for you, no doubt, by the love of your life who jilted you and crushed your soul so that you could never love anyone else ever again. In that case, Sammy is just the ticket for you…but definitely not the agent for your shitty “sophisticated romance” wannabe books.

Chick-lit is meaningless drivel—mainstream by so-so authors who can’t master romance or the art of mainstream—disguised by a marketing term designed to make readers feel included in a hip, sexy club filled with empowered sisters. What is so sexy about a woman who can’t find her ass, even though it is supposedly huge in her eyes, with both hands? To me, that qualifies her as a dipshit. Who wants to read about a dipshit? Looks like other dipshits do. What is so intriguing about reading about people who have so many opportunities they can’t imagine how they will choose a life for themselves? I bet you this crapalua (that’s “crap a looa”, dipshit) doesn’t sell too goddamn well in 3rd world countries. What do you think?

Is this what makes you ladies feel beautiful and talented? Do you not know that all women are beautiful? I know I have my proclivities, but I do love women, and as a connoisseur of the fairer gender I have to say that those who long to be like the dimbulbs in chick-lit novels can take my name out of their little black books. If you can’t hold a conversation with me after I bang your freckles off, I don’t really need you around.

Oh Saaaammmmmy, Just Like That!

2005-09-30T18:12:00.000-07:00

As I promised (and unless I am married to you, you can just about bet I am a man of my word), here are some more tidbits for you to chew on:

From and editor
"I hate writers who send perfumed stuff or stuff that has been doused in cigarette smoke. I have allergies, and that just about kills me."

From a contrite writer…
"I once met an agent and he didn’t like my work, so I told him to piss off. Then I got published by an imprint of a pretty big house and sent him a note detailing how wrong he had been. His answer was really professional and nice. He wished me well and congratulated me, reminding me that this business is subjective. He basically indicated that it wouldn’t have mattered to him how great my book did, he still didn’t like it. It was then that I realized what an asshole I’d been. Not everyone is going to like my work and that is just a fact of life."

From an editor…
"I hate editors who tinkle away their time pretending to work. I work in a fairly new publishing house, and already I am starting to see cracks in the cement that holds this place together. Everyone here worries more about vacations than books. I would just like to see one of my author’s books get out there and do really well, then I’ll take a break."

From an editor…
"Sometimes I get so fed up with this business! Where have all the good writers gone? Jesus, everyone wants to be published, and nobody wants to take any criticism or change their work. Everybody thinks they’re Joyce Carol Oates, for Pete’s sake. It is getting rottener and rottener by the day. Do you know how many threats I have to make a day just to get the revisions I need?"

And under the “What the fuck is this, true confessions? Do I look like Sammy the Confessor to you?” category…

From an agent…
"Once I slept with a guy at a writer’s conference even though I knew he just wanted me to take him on as a client. His worked sucked, but he was a great late date, if you get my drift. I don’t know why I did it because I usually don’t do those kinds of things. But, I think for once I had just had it with people sucking up to me in hopes I would be their agent. I guess I just wanted to see how far he would go. He went pretty far. I never saw him again, but I hope he is well, because he was very sweet about all of it."

From an editor…
"I once responded to a query from a writer with a horrible, nasty note. Something like, “If you write us again, the green police will arrest you for killing trees to print out your garbage, you dirtbag. Your work sucks that bad.” I felt really bad afterward, but not as bad as I would have felt if the asshole had been published and got famous. That would’ve sucked real bad. I hope he’s not reading this now…"

From a conference volunteer
"One time I gave an editor a blow job after our conference had ended for the day. I didn’t even write what he was acquiring, so I guess I just liked him. He didn’t protest, and I think he sort of appreciated it. I let him know it was on me, not the conference. I mean, it was my idea--the conference doesn’t offer blow jobs to its speakers! We still keep in touch, but he hasn’t been invited back to our conference yet (not because of me, though, just because we rotate speakers sometimes). When he is, I will be waiting with bated breath. Literally. God, this is so naughty! I never knew publishing could be so saucy!"

From an agent…
"What I would like to know is why the hell editors are reading your shit when they should be working on my clients’ projects? Jesus, is all people do nowadays blogging? What is that all about? This is such bullshit. Goddamn it, I hate the internet!"

More? Do I hear you want more? I guarantee that, just like a busy giggolo, it’s coming soon, my dears, coming soon.

Naked Blogging

2005-09-27T16:35:00.000-07:00

You know what one of the perks of blogging is? You can be naked and blog and not have to worry about the gendarmes, or whatever the hell the French call their police, coming to get you. As I write this, I am stark naked. Some of my best posts come from communing with nature au natural.

Just thought you would want to know.

Be Careful What You Wish For

2005-09-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

Thank you for the great comments I’ve been getting on my blog. I especially like the ones about how small my equipment is and how a noxious odor seeps from my gonads. The writer calls him or herself anonymous, but I think it must be from someone that I’ve jilted lately, surely not someone I’ve slept with. Anyway, keep those cards and letters coming, folks, and I’ll try to keep you entertained. Not really.

Did you ever notice how some writers just can’t stand rejection? They hold off sending anything to anyone until they build up enough nerve, then they wait anxiously for the rejection bomb to blow up in their face. My timid little tit-mice, writing for publication is not a career for the meek or those who do not seek exposure. Sooner or later someone is going to hate what you write. Look at me. Everyone hates what I write, but does deter me from my mission of pissing off the world? You bet your ass it doesn’t. Not one bit!

Have you ever considered that what you write might be accepted and not rejected? What happens then? Which is more scary: getting a rejection letter in the privacy of your own home or having to explain your book in front of a million viewers and a live national television audience to a dickhead interviewer who hates your guts? Would you then die? Would you become so ill that you’d lock yourself in your home and never come out? Have you ever considered that everyone is afraid of being exposed, of being famous? Acceptance can sometimes be scarier than rejection. Think about it.

Sammy's Back and Ready to Blog

2005-09-25T11:43:00.000-07:00

Sammy’s back! After a nice long weekend of not doing anything except banging my girlfriend (and she even enjoyed it, too!), not reading anything, and consuming lots of good food and wine, I am in fine form. Aah, it is good to be me!

Waiting for applause to stop.

I can see that while I was gone, somebodies have been busy little commenting beavers, oh yes they have. But what is even better is that I returned to a mailbox full of goodies from editors, other agents, and other folks in publishing who have things they want to say but can’t dare say them around colleagues or chatty writers who like to post the contents of every reject on their websites or writer discussion boards. I had been getting a few here and there, but now the flood gates are open. These poor souls need a place to vent their frustrations and fast. And that’s what this blog is for, so here are some of the shorter ones to get us started. Yippee!

From an editor:
“The day the business started to decline was the day the marketing people were told they were in charge. We used to be able to say, here’s a good book, figure out how to market it. That’s your job. But now we get this bullshit about how marketing doesn’t think this or that book will go. I just want to say to these people, what the hell is that? Don’t they teach you how to market at marketing school? Or do they just teach you how to memorize five strategies for effectively selling a product and if a book doesn’t fall into a category you recognize you shake your head and pretend that it couldn’t possibly be the bestseller the house is looking for (because, after all, isn’t the house’s best interests your main concern? Right)? I just want to tell these pinheads, look, your job is to market the bleeping book and if you can’t figure out how to sell it, you are fired, end of story. As it is, all you do is wander out long enough to pick books with recognizable names that make your job easy and then slink back to your offices where you daydream about bonking the copy girl, who, by the way, is bonking the associate publisher. Sorry to spoil your day.”

From a publisher:
“I’ve looked at all the posts here and blogs elsewhere. The insider posts seem true for their level in the industry. But what the hell does an editor really know about publishing? Or an agent, for that matter? Give me a break. Sure they can tell you how they rejected so and so or how they took such and such book through the process in their particular house, but what do they know about distribution, wholesaling, or marketing? Writers, to be really good at this profession, you need to know everything about the publishing process. Once you know that, you’ll realize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to ever make any money in this business.”

From another editor:
“I wish writers wouldn’t send me self-published books. I can’t do anything with them unless they have sold a buttload before it reaches me. Most of the ones I get are truly pathetic anyway, and it makes me really sad that so many people feel that they have to get published to be special or to feel fulfilled. It’s really sad.”

From an agent:
“I get really weary opening my mail to find out that people who want me to represent them have not done any research to find out what I take, what my guidelines are, what I have sold in the past…zip. I am very, very tired of people trying to “hook” me with some hokey “grabber” without giving basic information about their book, like a word count or the genre. I think they think that if they WOW me, I can sell their 300,000-word diatribe against the Reagan Administration. First of all, Bill Woodward has already probably done that and second of all, I can’t sell anything that runs that length. I would rather know this up front than after requesting a partial, so I quit requesting anything, no matter how good it sounds, if I don’t see a genre and a word count. Some people like to put these items at the end of their query, but if they aren’t at the top, where they should be, then I reject it out of course Important info about your book is your hook, dumbass!”

Not as animated as me, are they, boys and girls? Oh, it gets better, though, and I will post some of the longer ones later. As these newbies get more seasoned at opening up to Sammy Blogmeister, I am certain I will have some shit that will burn holes in the web. I can’t wait!

Welcome back to me!

So Ya' Wanna Be an Agent, Huh?

2005-09-21T18:13:00.000-07:00

There’s a new trend, or maybe it’s an old trend and I’ve just found out about it. I had a conversation the other day with a writer I rejected sometime in the past (I didn’t remember her—small tits and stringy hair—but she said I had). During this conversation she asked me if I needed an assistant and when I answered in the negative, she informed me that she was going to form a literary agency but thought it would be best that she worked for someone in the biz first. My response was that I didn’t think that would be a good idea, to which she replied, “What’s wrong, afraid of the competition?”

Needless to say, I ended the conversation at this point. I find it very easy to end conversations with flat-chested, obnoxious women...or even big-chested obnoxious women, for that matter.

The point is that writers somehow believe they are uniquely qualified to be agents. I’m guessing here, but it’s probably because they somehow feel their fellow writer’s pain. Is that it or am I missing the point here? If I am, please steer me in the right direction. We have open discussion here, not like other blogs that I won’t mention.

Yes, having empathy with writers is an important aspect of being an agent. I won’t deny that. But what about editor contacts? As Agent 007 has pointed out on her blog, editors prefer to work with agents they have worked with before, those who they know (many times personally) and trust. So, as a writer, do you have these contacts? Probably not, because if you did you could get your own stuff published, right, or is this the real reason you want to be an agent in the first place?

There is a huge area that writers who want to be agents always lightly pass over. It’s that part actually, the contract part, that agents first came into existence to deal with. But writers, at least the newbie types, think big advance and forget about—THE CONTRACT.

Scares the shit out of you the first time you see one of these monsters. Have you ever tried to decipher the dense legalese? These things are written by lawyers for other lawyers to understand. They have sneaky little things about them that if you don’t know what you are doing, you’ll end up buying the local Wal-Mart. How do you, as a writer, plan to understand the ins and outs of something that lawyers train for years to write? How do you negotiate terms favorable to your client without blowing the entire deal? And, even worse, each contract is different. Some are standard, but most are written by in-house lawyers who put their own twists and turns in the content so that satisfies that particular house’s special needs (and maintains job security). After awhile, when you have worked a vast number of contracts, a pattern emerges and they all begin to look alike, just like blondes with big blue eyes and massive hooters (you've seen one, you've seen 'em all). But what’s going to happen to all those clients (your supposed friends and fellow writers) who have put their trust in you in the meantime? You screw them, that’s what, maybe even to the extent of ruining their writing careers. But anyone can do it, right? It’s so easy. And yes, dipshits, there is a test for agents. It’s called knowing what the fuck you’re doing—that’s the test. And if you fail, you'll be the one that all those writers bitch about on writer boards, watch group sites and at conferences. You won't get to play in any reindeer games, except when Bubba (you know, Loretta the Christian fiction writer's third kissin' cousin twice removed--but only with a crowbar--with the nervous twitch and dislike for anything legal) wants to come hunting for your head.

He said, I said

2005-09-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

I got a call the other day from some jerkoff with a whiny nasal voice saying something like, “Um, Mr. Kitzler, I am from ACME Writers Watchdog Group, Inc. and we have some questions for you.”

“Fuck off,” I said. But he proceeded to waste my time with the following conversation.

”Um, Mr. Kitzler, we have had a complaint that you charge reading fees. Do you charge a reading fee, Mr. Kitzler?”

“You’re goddamn right I do,” I said, “Fuck off.”

But he persisted.

“Um, Mr. Kitzler (hack, snort, cough), we here at ACME Writers Watchdog Group, Inc. don’t believe that it is standard practice for agents such as yourself to charge any fees before you sell your clients’ work. We believe that you could be what we call a scammer and…”

“Spell that,” I requested.

“Um, “s” and “c”, then “a” and two “m”’s and an “er”,” he said.

“Fuck off and rot,” I said. But he droned on.

“If you don’t stop charging reading fees, Mr. Kitzler, then we will have to advise the writers who contact us that you are engaging in practices that are not standard in the industry,” he explained. Hack. Snort.

“You can also advise them that I make goo-goo faces at editors and eat only one meal a day consisting of taco chips and wine. Also, I co-mingle funds—makes it easier to steal from my clients that way.”

“What? I didn’t get all of that, Mr. Kitzler,” he whined.

“Hey, pal, you ever been an agent?” I asked. Politely, of course.

“Well, um, no, Mr. Kitzler, but I am a writer with 12 published novels to my credit and I know plenty of agents and none of them…”

“Listen up, Mr., er, what was your name again?”

“Todd Smith.”

“Okay, yes, that’s right. Okay, listen up, Mr. Dipshit. You don’t know what you are talking about. You have never been an agent. You seek the adoration of writers who hang on your every word because you pretend to fight for their rights against big, bad, evil agents like me, when in reality you don’t know a goddamn thing about this business except as a writer. Got it, Mr. Dipshit? Oh, by the way, fuck off.”

Click.

Now, this isn’t quite what was said. I am paraphrasing here, and, believe me, I used way more expletives. But it’s close. Normally I don’t give a fuck about this stuff, but every once in a while some dweeb will call or write and threaten that their organization will “put me on their list” of agents to avoid. The thing is, I couldn’t be happier. I only take clients by referrals from people I have worked with for years, and the only reason I get queries at all is because my name is in some old outdated writer’s guide—which I never requested to be in, by the way—and so I still get some yo-yos who say things like, “Oh, Mr. Kitzler, I am willing to take a chance on you, even though the writer groups say you charge a reading fee. Your record speaks for itself, and I am willing to consider you as my agent.”

Really? Really, really? I am so thrilled. They usually don’t write back after I send them my standard reading fee request with a note that I don’t review any manuscripts without one. This keeps the riff-raff out of my hair. The people who I get by referral are more than willing to pay me to read their work because they know I have picked lots of winners in my time and they know me by reputation. I don’t refund it, either, if I take them on as a client and sell their work. And they don’t get a written critique or any of that bullshit. That’s extra. Way extra. That reading fee money pays for my expertise in determining whether or not their work is marketable. It is an “application fee” just like you would pay at a college. When I take someone on, they get an education, and that reading fee pays, at least in part, for the knowledge they gain, which is a damn sight better than at college where you pay an application fee and then have to pay for the actual classes, too.

If I were starting out today, I probably would think twice about agenting. Why? Because everyone claims to know everything about the biz when in reality they only know their teeny-tiny little part of it. Everyone thinks it is easy to agent. You wouldn’t believe the stupid questions I get. How in the fuck was I supposed to know if Mr. Todd “Dipshit” Smith was actually with the group he said he was with? I was waiting for the phone query to start—writers will try anything to get to an agent. Who polices these yahoos? Does anyone ever call them up, wasting their time asking ridiculous questions about what they do? Are there whole websites dedicated to being able to spot a fake “watch group”? No, dumbfuck writers just believe them.

On a final note, since I am an actual real-life agent, I will take it upon myself to return the favor to these people and set standards for what they do. Here we go-go…

1. A watch group who claims to help writers avoid scamming by agents or publishers should be headed by someone in publishing or agenting who has been in that field for 10 years or more, with legitimate experiences and knowledge to determine what may or may not be standard practices.
2. Writers should not be allowed to participate in these groups, because of the potential conflict of interest. Duh.
3. These groups should be pro-active in going out and dialoguing with agents and publishers (which is why you need someone they would recognize instead of some writer, unless it’s John Grisham) on a yearly basis and keeping information updated by actually contacting people as opposed to sitting around and waiting for a writer to complain.
4. This would be set up as a non-profit organization, with the workers actually getting some compensation for what they do. Never trust anyone who works for free.
5. The goal should be to help clean up a crap-filled industry, not help poor writers avoid getting scammed. The industry is bigger than one group of people. If you really look around in publishing, you will find that writers are not the only group of people who get scammed.

There we go! Now go out and spread the word so that all those concerned writers out there can find these standards and start comparing how their watch groups hold up to them to see if they have chosen wisely.

I won’t hold my breath.

You Get What You Pay For

2005-09-13T17:01:00.000-07:00

Many writers are cheap. They want to throw words on paper, call it a masterpiece, have someone read it, edit it, market it, and give them feedback and lots of money in the form of an outrageous advance (so they can brag to their friends) while they contribute nothing, monetarily or intellectually, to the process.

Most professions, including mine, require some sort of expertise. Yeah, I know the writer’s adage that anyone can be an agent—there’s no test and all you have to do is say you’re an agent, and man, you are one. But dude, are you, really? (Cortez, dude, that’s for you) Many try, some are in jail, but most just disappear after a year or so of dismal failure. They are kind of like hack publishers who disappear the same way. The capitalistic system is cruel to those with no talent or ability. It’s its way of cleansing itself.

Oh, the horror--these agent failures take innocent writers with them when they crash and burn! The terms “innocent” and “writers” are misused here. Babies are innocent. Most writers are greedy, either for power, recognition, or money, and not that many are innocent, especially when they try to send me shit and hype their way onto my client list. Writers are those who can actually write. As in, they can produce a piece of writing that people want to read. In most cases, those who crashed and burned were probably not on the road to success anyway, and they probably signed with an agent thinking their book was going to get published the very next day; therefore, maybe they were innocent in some respect, but they were also stupid to believe that books get placed overnight.

So, what’s the secret to success? One of the many little secrets is to be aware of what has commercial appeal and what doesn’t. Try reading something. If you are one of the cheap-asses I have been talking about, try the library. You know, that big building in or near your city that houses books people might actually read, unlike bookstores that shelve anything the majors (okay, and technically me, too, indirectly, though) tell them to.

God, writers are cheap.

Another Agent Weighs In

2005-09-12T17:43:00.000-07:00

As hard as it is to believe, I actually do have some friends in publishing, including some that I haven't slept with yet, although Marley isn't necessarily in that category (Hey, I don't kiss and tell, although I do nibble and tell). As I mentioned in my Blog Orgy post, I am going to post some stuff from other people in the industry who don't want a blog of their own, but want to vent now and then. Here is one of those posts:

Jesus fucking Christ, people! You call yourselves writers? Get this: If I have one more "writer" send me something that starts with description of the setting, I will go insane. I don't care what your freakin' English teachers taught you, and I don't care what made those same English teachers give you an "A." What I care about is not having 20,000 words of descriptive narrative blocking my view of the goddamn story. How hard is this to understand? I have given lectures on this I don't know how many times, and, still, Goober Writer will come up to me and hand me a piece of trash that begins something like, "...and the fall leaves glistened in the sunlight as the crisp autumn air surrounded Tom and Marge and the garbage truck made its way through the city." Can anyone tell me what the story is here? Anyone? I want to know about Tom and Marge. Are they fucking? Fighting? Placing bets on the next presidential fuckup? And don't give me that shit about how you are building suspense for the reader, and the reader will keep reading, blah, blah, blah. Know this: You are pissing off the reader! The reader keeps reading to find the story. If you are writer who has to bribe the reader with descriptive narrative and false suspense, then you don't have a goddamn story. Here you go if you want an example:

Bad: The willow outside Molly’s window blew softly in the breeze, and the smell of lilacs filled the spring air. Molly made her way across her room, being careful to not trip over the piles of books on her floor. She admired the pink curtains at her bay window, the ones that matched all the other pink things in her room—her bedspread, her walls, her pillows, her tiny portable telephone. She grabbed her new jewelry box, which she loved even though it wasn’t pink, and plopped down on the window to explore the wonderful gift from Aunt Gina.

Good: Molly held her new jewelry box near her ear and listened. Yep, there was no mistaking it: Something was definitely rattling around in there. Molly frowned. What in the world could be wrong with the crazy thing? She’d only had it two days! Suddenly, as if in answer to her unspoken question, one of its legs dropped to the floor and out rolled the biggest, most glittery diamond Molly had ever seen.

Do you see the difference? If you don't, don't fucking query me. Okay, well you can't query me because you don't know who I am, so don't fucking query anyone until you figure it the fuck out.

Fuck it,
Marley

Spunky as hell, isn't she? Yeah, we did it. And after reading this, I am going to call her to see if she wants to do it again. God, I love those fiery women!

Wine, Women, and Writing

2005-09-12T11:50:00.000-07:00

You know there is nothing like a great bottle of wine or sex or both in the afternoon. Good wine makes my blood boil and even a bad day seem fantastic with sex in the afternoon. Afternoon sex makes one think that they are getting away with something. It’s almost like cheating and many times afternoon sex is—cheating.

Why do writers write? Let’s see, writing is like wine, and sex, too. All three have beginnings, middles and ends but the question was, “Why do writers write?” right? Probably because it’s there—pencil and paper were available—I had time on my hands . . ? No, that’s not it. I think it has to do with recognition—our fear of obscurity, dying with nothing and never having been anybody. We want to be known after we’re gone, not just a name on a hunk of marble. We want to be loved by more than our lovers and our children.

You know something, there’s always the possibility of rejection in life. But rejection is writing and visa versa. In peddling the written word, there seems to much of, “Not for us,” and not enough of, “Gosh you’re great, I’m going to publish your work.”

Sex and wine are much more satisfying. With these great gifts we win more often. As a great philosopher once said, “Even the worst sex I’ve had was wonderful!”

The quest for getting laid and finding a good vintage is mostly magic. Oh there’s always the possibility of rejection, but the beginning, middle, and ending are much more satisfying, don’t you think?

The Numbers Game

2005-09-10T17:48:00.000-07:00

I love a good mystery. There is nothing that’s more intriguing than a mysterious woman. This is especially true if that woman happens to be powerful. Being a romantic, I’m always excited by those women who hold their heads high and thrust their chest’s out—even if it is a 32A.

Here we all are, all us secret agents with all our little bloggie-poos, informing wannabes about all the rights and wrongs of publishing. I wonder how many more will join this cerebral gush. I can envision a day when we will have a big coming out party. Won’t that be fun? We can serve coffee and cake, beer and pizza, or salsa and chips for the more adventurous.

It’s got to happen, you know. That’s how it works on blogs. You have to have mystery as well as information. People go to car races to see a great wreck. Writers come to blogs to see cat and dog fights. So, fellow agent bloggers, we are going to have to do the spectacular or we’ll fail to be visited.

I say let’s meet and have an tryst and post the pictures. No? Paris Hilton did it. I mean, I’ve been married three times, what the hell? What do you say, Agent 007? Any other takers? How about you Miss Snark? Mad Max?

Nice Piece!!

2005-09-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

Hey, Agent 007!! Saw your Agent/Editor piece on you blog. Impressive and I’m jealous—wish I had thought of it first. Only one thing. Yeah I know, it’s easier to shoot at something that’s already in the pot. But here it is anyway: I find it scary that you would give up a client’s contact information to an editor before the contract. I mean I know he was sexy and all, but that should be all the more reason not to share, shouldn’t it?

I assumed you were independent, but your piece indicated that you were part of a firm. I know the scenario was fictional, or I assumed it so, but wouldn’t it have been more realistic in your natural element—no collogues (none that you can trust anyway)?

But anyway, congrats on a nice piece. Oh speaking of that, I know what you mean by good looks winning the day. Man this happen tres mucho. You can always tell, can’t you, when sex has reeled an editor in? They tend to act goofy and gush when they talk about your client—sickening!!

With Heavy Heart

2005-09-01T06:13:00.000-07:00

My heart goes out to all those in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama who have suffered such great loss during these last few days. Those of us who can afford it should dig deep to help those less fortunate than ourselves. I’m giving mine to the American Red Cross, but I’m sure there are other disaster relief organization to which you can contribute. These folks have nothing, so I’m sure any help will be greatly appreciated.

This disaster will test both our nation’s financial as well as our moral fiber. Hopefully we will survive it.