As a new member to Mystery Writers of America, I attended a cocktail party the evening before the Edgar Awards in New York City, April 29, 2009. It was held at the Lighthouse International.
It was an opportunity for writers to meet other writers, literary agents, and editors. Mary Higgins Clark, the grand dame of suspense, gave out the Award named after her and sponsored by her publisher, Simon and Schuster.
My medical murder mystery, The Fatal Blow, was in the final stages of polishing, and so, I went to pitch, meet and learn from experts.
My friend Mr. Art (his name concealed to protect the innocent) provided transportation into New York. At the door, I found Chris Grabenstein the President of the New York chapter. He is always pleasant. He introduced me to another new member from New Jersey. We spoke briefly, our mouths full of nosh, and our spirits elevated by the atmosphere.
Mr. Art then introduced me to C.J. Box who is one of his favorite authors. Mr. Box discussed the use of cyanide as a murder weapon in his mystery – the next night his book won an Edgar Award. He was generous with his time and enthusiastic. His joy in writing and communicating was blatant. I could even understand him through his Wyoming accent.
Mr. Art also introduced me to Dr. D.P. Lyle – there is something mysterious about two first initials instead of a first name - who is an expert in forensics. He has published several mysteries and an authoritative book on Forensics. He is a cardiologist by vocation. He had consulted for the US boxing team during the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. He discussed meeting Muhammad Ali, Evander Holyfield, and others. He will answer questions concerning medical situations in mystery writing via e-mail. He is a great resource for a mystery writer. He shares his time so willingly, and thereby becomes a role model for others.
The first agent I spoke with actually introduced herself and asked if I had a book to pitch. My name tag listed M.D. after my name, and that may have spurred her interest. She listened to my pitch and asked for my manuscript when it was ready, voluntarily giving me her card. Whether she likes my writing or not is not the point, I expect if I live long enough and keep improving, someone, sometime, somewhere will. The dignity with which she interacted with me, and the simple courtesy shown to me, made her special. When you talk to an agent, you should be sizing them up as they appraise you. This lady impressed me.
I found a coven of lady literary agents after Mary Clark Higgins presented the Award named for her. I stood patiently beside them waiting to be acknowledged. I waited and I waited. One agent looked me in the eye and turned away. I’m married over thirty-seven years, but I had flashbacks to college mixers and rejection. I know they had a long day with a symposium and such, but she looked embarrassed that she made eye-contact.
Eventually, my patience paid off as one of the four said, “Hello.” I introduced myself and asked if I could pitch my almost polished manuscript. She politely agreed. To be totally fair in the setting of the discussion, Mr. Art waited as my wing man, and in the wings to pitch his work as well. So I guess to agents, we were double trouble and she could have felt double-teamed.
Guys you know the girl who when you asked them to dance politely gave you that one dance and the minute the music stopped, she ran back in the protective circle of her friends, yeah well, more flashbacks.
The agent listened to my pitch and voluntarily asked for my manuscript when it was completed. Using my intuition, I surmised she was honest in wishing to read my first fifty pages. She lacked the enthusiasm of the first agent.
Mr. Art queried as to her tastes in writing style. She answered with several important things that would make her interested in a manuscript. She mentioned a famous client of hers as an example of the writing she favors. In that way, she tried to impress me, so maybe she really did want to read my manuscript, or maybe she was bragging. Once again, the level of professional deportment, allowed both agent and would-be-writer to leave the encounter with their dignity intact.
Mr. Art then introduced me to an agent he had met before. She knew him by name. He mentioned that I too had a manuscript whose completion was imminent. The agent maintained a conversation with Mr. Art, which was about Sleuth-fest and other events that they had attended. She interacted with me as if I were a wall. She made sure that neither Mr. Art nor I could initiate any conversation that involved the art of communication, writing and or manuscripts. She abruptly walked away, in mid-discussion with my friend to visit with someone else. I would take that as a bad sign as to a working relationship. Mr. Art suggested she is more interested in female writers. I could not be sure, as all I learned was she wasn’t interested in listening to me, at all. Good for her, live long and prosper, bitch.
I have performed over 120,000 interviews – history taking – as a practicing physician. I have learned to read faces much more than adequately. I felt slighted by her behavior. However, at the MWA chapter meeting April first, Judith Kelman advised me that I should expect to be treated like contaminated dirt by some agents. As a writer you must have a contracted ego and immediate amnesia for situations such as that. I guess I’m an elephant, too bad for me.
I therefore thank all the agents who treat writers with respect and show courtesy. I know they don’t have to, but when they do, writers should appreciate the effort. If writer and agent are to work as a team, and if the agent is looking for writers to work with, how could they behave in any other manner? That’s rhetorical.
I was fortunate to talk with an agent I had meet in the past. She is a little ball of fire, whose personality lights up a room. She spoke at our writer’s group and I know that she respects and wants to aid young and new writers. I consider her a friend, who would be willing to help, even if she isn’t representing me. To create that feeling between an agent and a writer, an ease of talking, is a goal for both parties.
I was able to meet with two other young agents – under 30 – who had the enthusiasm of day old codfishes. You know the silvery eyes that say enough, when will he stop talking. The in an effort to hasten the conclusion they say, “Ok, send it me.” The begging for their card and the referral to their web site, they personalize it by saying, “Just follow the directions on the web.” How special did that make me feel?
They mean to say, just leave me alone. In their defense I am sure they had a long day. They probably wanted to BS with their friends at the party. I am sorry I disturbed you. Please accept my apology, but not my submission. By rejecting me, you are doing us both a real favor.
Take this exactly as I mean it. I am not the next Hemingway, closer to the next two-ton Tony Gallento. If I was however the next James Patterson, how would they ever know. When I send them my manuscript, will it ever be read, or will it go straight from the mail chute to the greased chute to the reject/shredder pile.
I have saved the best for last. I spoke with Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carole. They were cordial, sweet and patient. Writers who have succeeded to the level at which they have, could be superior, sullen, snide, cynical, or sarcastic. They represented the antonyms of these words. The respect they showed me pumped my enthusiasm to go home and finish polishing that manuscript.
Mary, I wish you health and continued vigor. Standing next to you, I felt the energy that drives you forward, and the joy that life brings to you. I wish that you continue to possess these gifts, for you and your readers. I wish your reading public, another twenty novels to drive their imaginations. I look forward to visiting with you this summer. It’s a plan.
