Love Literary Style
Page 13
In Aaron’s case it was bran flakes to maintain bowel health. Posting that every day could get monotonous. Although now that he was with Laurie he occasionally added berries to his routine.
“The days when an author could cool his heels and let his publisher do all the promotion work are long gone. Authors who sit on their backsides don’t sell as many books, simple as that.”
“Genre writers I can understand, but literary writers?”
Bernie popped the cherry from his drink into his mouth. “They’re all doing it now. Even the Pen Prize and Pushcart nominees.”
“Well, you might expect that from Pushcart nominees…It’s hardly a prestigious honor. Do you know how many writers are nominated for a Pushcart each year?”
“Er…I think we’re getting off track here.”
“Three thousand.”
“Damn. That is a lot. Guess I won’t be impressed anymore when I see that mentioned in a query letter.”
“Regardless, someone needs to take a stand against publishers forcing social media on authors.”
Bernie dabbed at his moustache with a napkin. “Even if means you might not get published?”
“I have a contract.”
“So? Publishers back out of book contracts all the time.”
Aaron’s mouth was dry. He took a sip of ginger ale. It was flat.
“I didn’t realize that.”
“I’ve seen it happen more than once.”
“Andrea couldn’t stop them?”
“Not likely. And even if she could, she’s not going to go out on a limb.”
“Why wouldn’t she? She’s my advocate.”
“In theory, but don’t forget that, for Andrea, Max represents dozens of future book deals. You’re just another author to her, and a pain-in-the-butt author to boot. You’re already on her bad list. I can tell by this restaurant she picked.”
Aaron glanced about. It was nicer than any restaurant he’d ever been to. Not that he went to many restaurants back home. He preferred simple food: a baked potato, a plain chop, tomato soup. Restaurants tended to fuss with food too much.
“What’s wrong with this restaurant?”
“It’s strictly D-List. The New York Times restaurant reviewer’s dog wouldn’t eat here. It’s for clients who need a spanking. The valued clients, like R.K. Harris, are living it up at Michael’s with muckety mucks like Barbara Walters and Anna Wintour. This place, on the other hand, is so far off the radar, soap opera extras don’t even bother with it.” Bernie picked up his glass and rattled the ice. “It does, however, serve a decent Manhattan.”
The food arrived, but Aaron barely touched his prime rib. Bernie ended up eating part of Aaron’s. He asked for the rest to be boxed up.
After the check was paid, and they were both outside the restaurant, Bernie said, “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news…For what it’s worth, I’m on your side. I probably read a hundred or more novels a year. You’re the real—”
“McCoy?” Aaron said wearily.
“That’s right. A true talent. Fifty years ago you’d get the treatment you deserve, but the world has changed since the days of Hemingway and Fitzgerald.”
“Yes,” Aaron said in a stricken voice. “It certainly has.”
Bernie left, and Aaron walked back to the hotel to collect his carry-on bag before he departed for the airport. For years he’d dreamed of getting his book published. Never once in his fantasies did he imagine that he would have to peddle it himself.
Twelve
Marvel sent a nice little note to Laurie, apologizing for her behavior and saying that of course Laurie needed to move on with her life. She wrote:
I hope this boy treats you well, although it’s hard to imagine anyone loving you as much as my Jake did. I remember how he always used to say, “Laurie’s the perfect wife. I wouldn’t change a thing about her.”
I don’t know what your plans are with this new beau, but remember a man doesn’t buy a cow when he can get the milk for free.
Love,
Marvel
Laurie read the note to Delilah over the phone. Apparently her husband Bart overheard one of their phone conversations and that’s how the news about Aaron got out. You couldn’t keep a secret in Swainsboro.
“That cow saying is older than spit,” Delilah said. “Eve’s mother probably said it when her daughter was romping around buck naked with Adam in the Garden of Eden.”
“Eve didn’t have a mother. Didn’t you learn that in Sunday School?”
“I must have cut that day. So what are your plans? Do you want Aaron to buy the cow?”
“Honestly, it’s a little soon to be thinking about that. We’ve only been together for three months. But I can tell you this. I surely did miss him when he was gone.”
“Have you told him your good news?”
“Not yet.”
A few days after Aaron got home from his New York trip, Laurie attended Pitch Frenzy, which was held in the ballroom of a nearby hotel. She had only one minute to pitch her novel idea to a panel of judges. She pitched Canine Cupid, which was about a woman named Lucy who owned a loveable mutt that knocked up a purebred show dog. The uppity owner, Art, was initially irritated but eventually they fell in love.
A film scout was on the panel and he asked Laurie to send her the chapters she’d written and an outline.
“Why haven’t you told him?” Delilah said.
“It’s a long shot, and Aaron’s been in a funk since he got back from New York. His editor’s having trouble getting a decent blurb for the novel. If they don’t get at least one good blurb, Barnes and Noble might not order any copies.”
Silence.
“Delilah? You there?”
“Watch yourself, Laurie.”
“What?”
“You used to do the same thing with Jake. It was all about his accomplishments and his glory. In Jake’s case, of course, you literally cheered for him. Aren’t you tired of being the woman behind the man? It’s time for you to shine. Or is Aaron’s ego too fragile to handle your success?”
“My potential success, and Aaron has a fine, strong ego. Yes, he does get down in the dumps occasionally, but I’m usually able to snap him out of it.”
“He’s a grown man. Aaron should be able to cheer himself up. Most importantly, does he recognize your dreams? Is he a cheerleader for your writing?”
Cheerleader was not the word Laurie would use.
“He doesn’t discourage me.”
“Suppose your book does become successful, how will he take it? Some men can’t handle a woman’s success, and Southern men can be especially touchy about it.”
“Aaron’s not like most men. If my book sells to the movies, and that’s a big if, he’ll be the best boyfriend in the history of the world. I’m certain of it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You do seem very happy with him.”
“I’m ecstatic.”
Laurie wasn’t worried in the least. Their relationship was not a competition. After all, Aaron was a successful writer in his own right. Everything would be just dandy.
Facebook status update: (No picture) (Zero friends)
My name is Aaron Mite, and my novel Chiaroscuro will be published in the fall. I’d be grateful if you’d purchase it when it’s released and perhaps also buy copies for your friends and family. It’s vital that my publisher recoup its investment in me. Thank you very much.
First Tweet: (0 followers)
Please purchase Aaron Mite’s novel Chiaroscuro when it comes out in the fall. I thank you in advance.
Website:
Welcome to the Official Site of Aaron Mite, Novelist and author of Chiaroscuro.
My novel will be available in the fall. I urge you to pre-order i
t. My website designer has provided several links to online retailers to expedite your purchase.
From: Bernie Fields
To: Aaron Mite
Subject: Try again
Cowboy, you’re not getting this. First, you need to reach out to people. Second, you gotta be personable. Why not talk about your process? People love to hear how writers write. Be friendly! Don’t be so damn formal.
Bernie
Facebook: (1 Friend, Bernie Fields)
Greetings, social media friends. How are you today? What did you have for breakfast? Feel free to share this information on my wallpaper. It’s been suggested to me that you might be interested in my writing process. I write longhand, and then I type the entire document into the computer. I hope that satisfies your curiosity and you’ll consider purchasing my novel.
Tweet: (1 follower, Bernie)
Fellow tweeters. See my Facebook page. Space constraints prevent me from sharing my writing process here.
From: Bernie Fields
To: Aaron Mite
Subject: None
You know, maybe you’re not cut out for this social media stuff after all. Things aren’t looking great around here. Andrea had a phone call yesterday with Max, and I overheard her talking about some sad pre-order numbers for Chiaroscuro. I think they’re close to wiggling out of the contract. You need a miracle, cowboy.
Bernie
Aaron decided to write an essay for his favorite online journal, the Literary Lion, in hopes of attracting attention to his novel. Essays appeared weekly, and the timetable in between acceptance and publication was short.
He began the essay talking about his usual pet peeves like the anti-intellectualism of American literature and how genre fiction was dominating the national conversation. Halfway through the essay, he’d gone off subject and began ranting about the increasing expectations publishers were putting on serious authors. He wrote: “Not only do we write the novel, we’re also expected to hawk it with the persistence of a carnival barker.”
When he finished, he realized he’d written a completely different essay than he’d intended. Instead of pleasing his editor, it could alienate him even more. Yet he was reluctant to change a word. He suspected he had said what many other authors were thinking but were afraid to express for fear of upsetting their publishers.
For several minutes, his finger hovered over the send button. Finally, he went through with it. The deed was done, and he felt no regrets. As a literary writer he had the duty to uphold the truth. After all, if he wasn’t going to be candid, he was no better than a hack. Two days later he received an acceptance email; his essay was going live on Monday.
Monday came, and Aaron visited Literary Lion and checked out his essay. There were dozens of comments and most agreed with him. It was comforting to know some sanity still existed.
An email from his editor arrived two days after his essay was published. Max had cc’d Andrea and the subject line read: “Your piece in Literary Lion.” Aaron didn’t immediately open it. Even though it was only two p.m. he decided to pour himself a brandy. He downed the drink and stared at the email, trying to get the courage to open it. Meanwhile, he reread his essay, hoping it was less critical then he remembered. Unfortunately, it was worse.
A moment later another email came in.
From: Bernie Fields, assistant to Andrea Durban
To: Aaron Mite
Subject: Congratulations on your reprieve
A reprieve? That didn’t make sense. What happened? He opened Bernie’s email:
Hey, cowboy. I’m sure by now you’ve already heard the news from Max. It looks like you’re back in the game. You’re a lucky guy. I read the Literary Lion piece, and it definitely could have backfired on you.
Bernie
Aaron decided to open the email from Max.
To: Aaron Mite
From: Max Porter
Cc: Andrea Durban
Subject: Your piece in Literary Lion
You’re a ROCK STAR!! Guess who read your essay in Literary Lion and loved it? Frank Zenn himself. He loved it so much he had his editor call me, asking for a galley of your novel. He plans to read it ASAP. If we get a blurb from him, we don’t need anyone else.
I’m proud of you for shaking the bushes and getting yourself out there. I haven’t read the essay, but I’m sure it’s AMAZING!! Next time keep us informed, Mr. Modest. We want to hear about all your publicity triumphs no matter how miniscule. Not that I’m implying Literary Lion is miniscule. After all, look what your publication there reaped.
All best,
Max
Liberal use of exclamation marks aside, Aaron was pleased with the editor’s email. He hoped Max never got around to reading his piece, but even if he did, he suspected the Frank Zenn endorsement would lessen any insult. After all, Frank Zenn’s last novel Bondage won the Pulitzer. Aaron wasn’t a fan of Bondage. However, he respected Zenn’s first two novels and thus would be happy to accept his endorsement.
From: Frank Zenn
To: Max Porter
FWD: Aaron Mite
Subject: Endorsement
See the FANTASTIC blurb below. Everyone at Wilner is excited, and there’s talk of rethinking your marketing plan. BRAVO to you, Aaron!
Max
Dear Max:
I finished Aaron Mite’s excellent novel last night and have spent the morning crafting an endorsement that will hopefully do the work justice:
“A masterpiece of American fiction. Chiaroscuro is an intricately ordered narrative that eschews post-modernism and authentically probes the despair clouding one man’s mind.”
P.S. I would like to have a discussion with Aaron about his novel and other issues. Will you pass along my phone number to him? I write from eight a.m. to six p.m. daily, but would be amenable to a conversation any time after that.
Warm regards,
Frank Zenn
Aaron called Frank at six thirty that evening to thank him for the endorsement, and they spent an enjoyable hour in conversation. At one point Zenn said, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a stimulating conversation. Ever since I read your essay, I had a feeling we’d be simpatico.”
“Likewise,” Aaron said.
“By the way, have you read Carson Hyatt’s latest? Some are calling him the new wunderkind of literary novels.”
Aaron sighed. “Finished it last night, in fact.”
“And?”
“Pompous and dreadful.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t worth the papyrus it was penned on.”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you there? Did we lose the connection?”
“That phrase. That damn phrase.”
“What phrase?”
“‘Not worth the papyrus it was penned on.’ I recognize it. You wrote an anonymous Amazon review about Bondage, didn’t you?”
“Uh, well…I’m not sure if I recall…”
“That’s a distinctive phrase. It had to be you. And I remember that review well because it was the most sanctimonious, self-important—”
“Perhaps Bondage wasn’t my favorite novel of yours, but I was impressed by…” The beep of a dial tone. Frank Zenn had hung up.
From: Max Porter
Subject: WTF?
What did you do? Zenn has withdrawn his blurb from your book. Not happy. Not at all.
Max
From: Andrea Durban
To: Aaron Mite
Subject: Wilner contract
I’m sorry to inform you that Wilner has decided not to publish your novel after all.
Regards,
Andrea Durban
From: Aar
on Mite
To: Andrea Durban
Subject: For the best
Dear Andrea,
Initially I was distressed to hear of Wilner’s decision not to publish Chiaroscuro. However, upon reflection, I’ve decided that perhaps they weren’t the right publishing company. Would you consider making another attempt at contacting the editor at Featherstone? Eager to hear your thoughts on this matter.
Respectfully,
Aaron Mite
From: Andrea Durban
To: Aaron Mite
Subject: No Subject
Dear Mr. Mite,
I regret to inform you that I will no longer be able to serve as your literary representative. My client list has gotten too crowded. Best of luck finding a new agent. You’ll need it.
Andrea Durban
To: Aaron Mite
From: Bernie Fields, assistant to Andrea Durban
Subject: You were robbed.
Sorry about the heave-ho. Keep in touch, cowboy, and don’t give up the ghost.
Your fan,
The Bernster
“Eeeek!”
Laurie was reading an email from the film scout she met at Pitch Frenzy, and it turned out a big star was interested in her Canine Cupid proposal. The film scout refused to give any hints about the star’s identity, but Laurie imagined everyone from Katherine Heigl to Emma Stone. After she got the email, she rushed into the bedroom, deciding it was finally time to tell Aaron her news.
Aaron was propped up in bed, fast asleep, his glasses perched on his nose. On the bed was a copy of a book called The Idiot’s Guide to Finding a Literary Agent.
His poor dear face looked tense and anxious even in sleep. Over the last few days the fates had used him as their personal punching bag, and yet every day he still sequestered himself in the closet and bravely spent his hours writing.