David Thayer

The New York Observer has discovered platforms as they relate not only to writers, but writers of fiction. I’ve added a link on the sidebar to the article which quotes literary agents Richard Pine, Larry Kirschbaum among others as well as Jonathan Burnham at Harper-Collins. The consensus is that even novelists need a platform because as Nan Talese put it you have to compete to attract readers, they don’t wander into bookstores anymore predisposed to reading. Thus at all stages of acquisition the question is raised “what is the author’s platform?” Bear in mind that this is an issue primarily for the big NYC publishing houses and may be less important to smaller publishers, British, French or Australian publishers. Since most novelists would like to be published by a major house, it might be worth taking a look at what a platform is, and whether the underlying assumptions are accurate.

Nothing is going to alter the New York publishers core belief that the audience for books is shrinking. They have statistics to back that up, but more importantly, they believe it. They believe it the way you might believe that it always rains on weekends where you live and that the storm will pass with the dawn of Monday morning. Readers of books have dwindled down to a handful of hearty Luddites who cannot manage MP3s or play video games on their cell phone. The 72 million Baby Boomers, for instance, who grew up reading, read no more. Most of them are dead. You can’t market anything to the handful of survivors among the Boomers because, being middle-aged, they no longer shop. It is not clear what they do with their leisure time, or leisure suits, but they didn’t buy The Nanny Diaries so they don’t read. Across the globe these Boomer generations still ponder the significance of the books they once read, but are perhaps baffled by the import of Bergdorf Blondes. And, so, authors must have platform.

Even the experts can’t seem to agree what platform is, only that it must be had. Oprah has it. Anderson Cooper has it. Babe Ruth use to have it, but he lost it. I have platform and so do you. My final thought on the subject? Mind the moving platform and watch the closing doors. Step lively. Grab some platform.

Dateline Wellington Leg: The virtual offices of the Druidical & Literary were raided shortly after dawn. The raid involved very tiny people wearing specialized equipment such as official Old Guy Sunglasses and Google Chest Protectors. Thus equipped the members of the flying squad were delivered into cyberspace with a specially modified squirt gun designed by D&L reporter and apparent turncoat, Bobby G. The warrants were provided by Judge Crater who indicated in court documents that he was tired of “missing out.” The jurist’s sympathies were aroused by Bobby G’s continued complaining about working from a stairwell, albeit a virtual one.

Collected in the raid were “various blogging impedimenta and equipamentos” according to reporter Aemelia Erhardt. These objects were gathered during a surprise heat wave that forced many of the strike team members to don damp cloths worn on their skulls. In one frightening encounter two men wearing identical Old Guy Sunglasses collided from five feet away, interrupting the flow of data from the blogger’s lair. Several pair of bunny slippers were confiscated.

Mrs. Prudentia Chalfont-Smythe ordered the raid after weekend “posts” were found to be both “offensive and silly.” She promises that new staff will be assigned to the Druidical & Literary as soon as suitable candidates can be interviewed. “I think the opinions of people…wearing bunny slippers must perforce be rejected out of hand,” she said. In an embarrassing sidebar to the story Chalfont-Smythe was discovered wearing Boris and Natasha slippers she claimed not to recognize. This is the earl reporting.

After several novels featuring Swedish detective Kurt Wallander, Henning Mankell brings Linda Wallander into the mix as a police officer in training. Linda becomes the focal point of a complex murder case whose roots are in the Jonestown massacre decades ago. Without spoiling the plot there is a very plausible reason why strange forces collide in Skone Sweden and the story gains momentum as Linda and her father begin putting things together.

Along the way Mankell explores a range of emotional issues including Linda’s frustration with her father, the nature of friendships, and the power of parents over their children. The novel centers on the Wallander household and Linda’s struggle for independence. Kurt Wallander is not the easiest man in the world to get along with, he has a quick temper and a domineering streak to go with his skills as a cop. Linda pieces together a family history as she prepares to join the force; her mother is a mystery to her. After a friend vanishes, Linda is embroiled in another family’s bizarre history.

Before the Frost opens slowly and builds tension in an analytical fashion. There are enough indicators of bad things coming to keep the pages turning. The payoff is a thriller that draws power from the characters presenting the univeral conflict of parent and adult children.

Hi, Marty here. This is a paid advertisement for my memoir Marty Blames Mom. I want to stress that I’m not blaming my mom for the mess my life has become, but Mom as a kind of surrogate for personal responsibilty I find compelling. The fact that my mother helped plan the invasion of Cuba and may have been at the Bay of Pigs is not even relevant. I only know that we had baloney sandwiches over and over during the Cuban Missile Crisis, but I doubt that had any lasting impact on my life, although, that might change once my regression therapy swings into high gear or if Oprah telephones.

Yes, I’m the guy who bought all those publishers and wrecked literary culture, blah, blah, blah. In order to prepare for the writing experience I read Ben Kunkel and Lillian Hellman. Not for nothing I’d like to point out that Ben Kunkel is a young guy who started N plus One, a literary magazine. That wasn’t in 1952, my friends, but last year. If literary culture is dead why he is writing about it?

Marty Blames Mom should sell a lot of copies, like 350,000. It turns out that if it’s considered non-fiction, I can write a proposal and receive an advance of $1,400,000. If it’s fiction I would get maybe $ 5,000 plus a lot of ballbreaking about style. I mean, people, come on. This is non-fiction. I’m going to fact check the part about mom and the Bay of Pigs, but the part about the baloney sandwiches was verified by my sister Terri. “We had baloney sandwiches,” Terri said. “There were Russian ICBMs in Cuba.”

So now I need an agent. Do agents discount for big advances? I’m new at this. I typed Book Proposal on a blank sheet of paper and wow, I felt it. I’m like a writer, dude. I tried different looks and settled on Book Proposal with the Italics. Where’s my check?

The other day I was attacked by a toy poodle whose teeth sank into my denim cuff forcing me to go about my daily chores with the dog attached as a sort of talking point-conversation piece along the lines of “did you know you have a dog attached to your leg?” In the interest of solid journalism I had to admit that I did know that, but I was trying to ignore it. This got me to thinking about literary representation. As an aspiring novelist I have been both the dog and the pantleg, alternatively clinging to, and being shaken from the ranks of the represented. In this matter I have had three literary agents. On the one hand three does strike me as excessive, on the other, let’s say I had forty agents. That would be impressive to some. Former executives at Enron, who will certainly have literary representation now that they’ve been convicted, will require just one agent.

My first agent issued the following set of instructions: never call, don’t write to me, don’t email me. If you see me on the street, pretend you don’t know me. Over the course of two years I did violate that directive from time to time if only to confirm her continued existence among us. Thus reassured I was able to focus my energies on writing.

We parted company and since that time she rose to prominence, only to fall from grace in a very public and strange manner. She was not a scammer, she did not charge reading fees nor was she entangled with a phony editing service. Literary agents receive money from publishers, place those funds in a trust acount, and disburse them to their authors minus commission. The allegations against her involved theft or alleged theft of client’s money, not once but twice, resulting in court orders, judgments, and all the things attendant thereto.

After reading about Absolute Write’s travails on the web I got to thinking about my former agent. Why would anyone spend a decade building a reputation, a business, a client list only to throw it all away? I’m feeling sorry for her, but I also know she wreaked havoc with countless writers, appearing at writers conferences to draw more moths to her peculiar flame. This is the first year her activities have caught up with her and she is off the list of agents invited to hear pitches, bestow advice, and bend the minds of the uninitiated. Her agency seems defunct.

What’s the take-away from this story? The relationship between author and agent is more complex than meets the eye. An agent is one part advocate, one part fiduciary. They run small businesses for the most part, and as a group are struggling to make a go of it. In the aggregate there are too many agents chasing the big five or six houses in New York. This is a massive shift from thirty years ago when editors and imprints outnumbered established agencies. Crunch time is approaching, and as writers we have to be more vigilant than ever about who is representing our work.
We’ll explore another facet of literary representation in our next episode of Don’t Call, Don’t Write.

The Earl here. I am recovering from the tumble I took from the summit of my prized rhododendren. Quite nervous as editors ponder my work in two different houses. That is to say two different novels are being considered by two different publishers. I will keep you all informed as soon as I know anything. Meanwhile Marty informs me that he was pinged by Booksquare! Pinged! If this keeps up Bobby G may soon have his very own desk and his engraved number two pencil.

Brenda Coulter blogs about Mad Max’s column entitled whining writers. On Bookangst 101 Max makes his case with a strong counterpoint from Peter Winkler. It’s all very thought provoking. if you’re just joining us from Singapore, Max and Brenda feel it takes talent and pluck to be published today. Peter suspects an “in-crowd” may have developed that leaves many great books unread. The earl is concerned that Max and Brenda may be right, and prefers to believe in an intergalactic conspiracy unless of course he is published wherein talent and pluck will ascend like one of those heavily armed individuals in Steven Segal movies best framed as “the escalator scene.”

JT Ellison wrote to say her debut novel is set in Nashville, not Memphis as our Mandi Rice-Davies reported. Frank Wilson of Booksinq. was quick to notice that “Mandi” is really “Mandy.” Yes she and Christine Keeler rocked the espionage world back in the day with one of those KGB love nest situations that drained the coffers of the USSR. A flat in Belgravia? Priceless.

A John Phillip Sousa march brought cheers from a small crowd assembled on the Once Great Lawn near the historic city hall and rotunda here in Goth. A similar triumph of engineering ended an eight day ordeal in Wellington Leg where residents filing absentee ballots listened to “My Sharona” while memorizing passages from “The Sot Weed Factor.” His Lordship The Honorable James “Jimmy Stones” Warden of the Whig and Tory Coalition vowed to resume banning books as soon as his team of readers resume the task of reading. His ruling party’s slogan “Free Beer” has raised eyebrows on the council of elders where eyebrow raising is thought to indicate official displeasure.

Among the books targeted for banning: Sara Gran’s Come Closer a tale that may have driven DCI Borchardt into the arms of Mrs. Chalfont-Smythe. Cornelia Read’s A Field of Darkness for revealing Mrs. Chalfont-Smythe’s recipe for lime jello salad. “I prefer shredded carrots,” she said. Patrick Quinlan’s Smoked wherein a late model Mercedes is heavily damaged in a car chase. “I was appalled,” said Borchardt. “That’s a Mercedes.”

The Dowager Princess enjoyed all three novels. She was stopped for exceeding the 15 mile per hour speed limit in the Costco parking lot. Her eight series Beemer was impounded until the matter of her regency is clarified. “Is she a princess or a bookmaker?” asked Jimmy Stones. Under the EU’s revised plan Italy would be divided into 345 kingdoms, duchies, burghs and principates to accomodate her accession to the throne of Bavaria. “She wants to annex Milan,” said an EU spokesperson. “All these speeding tickets don’t help,” noted Ventura county advocate J. Profumo. “This is a scandal.”

Wellington Leg. Mandi Rice-Davies reporting. Although he hasn’t lifted a tennis racket in years the Earl of Watership Down is the favorite to capture the men’s tournament at Wimbledon in June. A combination of poor weather and a light publishing schedule have created what organizers believe is the perfect storm. “He may win Ascot as well,” said one resigned observer. “He’s lost three pounds this month.”

Urquhart Depew was skeptical. “He’s an overweight middle-aged man with bursitis. He didn’t qualify for the tournament at Henley Hornbrook last month. In my opinion the earl is washed up.”

Indeed DCI Borchardt, fresh from his triumph in the My Sharona imbroglio agrees: “He entered the Hornbrook tournament by proxy and won the children’s division. A lot of kids were disappointed.”

Many are concerned that his recent fall from a rhododendron bush will complicate his training. “The Yankees looked at him and didn’t like what they saw,” said one major league scout. “Why was he on Fiji in the first place?”

Prudentia Chalfont-Smythe, chair of the clay courts and the Wellington Leg High Commission, author of Her Lyrical Poetry, agrees that the earl is a menace to the towne’s tranquility. “We’ve had Voltaire’s Miasma removed from local shelves. This is to protect our children from the notion that French philosophers are in any way superior to our local ones.”

Nine year old Timmy of Goth is grateful. “I thought French philosophers were superior to our local ones,” he said echoing the towne’s fears. His book report on Her Lyrical Poetry earned Timmy the coveted Gold Star at Attila the Hun Primary School. Headmaster Gareth Fierabend supports the ban of the earl’s works. “No one here believes that the Musak malfunction was anything less than sabotage.”

City engineers are restoring background music as quickly as possible. “What has this to do with Wimbledon?” asked Mrs. Frothingmunster. “Or Literature with a capital L?” Mandi Rice-Davies reporting.

Marty, the actuary who swallowed publishing, isn’t happy with the way our previous interview went down. He’s checked the numbers and demanded another bite of the apple. This, in the aftermath of the Yankees’ win at Fenway last night, which is like Spurs at Arsenal, John. Marty did not attend the recent BEA conference. He was in DC for a presentation by the Export-Import Bank.

Marty, did you catch Chris Anderson’s explanation of the long tail?

I thought that was a reinsurance term differentiating risk maturities. Anyway my ex-wife lives in Alexandria with Numb Nuts…can I say that?

Hell no.

Well, I took the train back to Jersey ( he means New Jersey, ed.). I got to thinking about destroying literary culture after reading Plum Sykes and Jose Canseco ( he’s good, isn’t he?) and decided that I’m going to write a memoir. And I’m gonna put all the stuff about my divorce in the first few chapters so the reader will understand what happened.

What did happen to book publishing?

Nothing. See, nothing has happened since I bought all of those publishers. Oprah is pissed off, but that only matters about three times a year. Google? The concern I have about them is confusion, like if you Google the word “actuary” they send you to an article about capital requirements for Bermuda Insurance Subsidiaries. I googled “great writers” and was sent to Newsday’s sports page.

Marty there seems to be a vigorous small press world out there. How soon can you buy them up?

I think you’re talking about poetry and literary fiction. Maybe university presses. I tried buying a university press only to discover that you have to buy the entire university. That would be cool if they were in the Big East Conference, but until then I don’t see the economies of scale in literary work.

Will you hire a ghost writer?

No, I’m going to jot all this down and then buy a literary agency, William Morris or ICM, someone close to a subway stop. I’m not walking all over New York with my manuscript. This is my tip to aspiring writers: buy a publisher. Who needs suspense?

Thanks Marty. It’s good you’re not bitter.

Let me know if you want to form an offshore captive. I’ve got them off the rack.

You’re the Big Casino, man.

Since posting fiction over the weekend traffic on this blog has skyrocketed. Not where I expected to see a spike either like in the Outer Hebrides where John is a faithful reader, nor in Japan where my words are examined for hidden meaning. No, two groups have rallied to the cause, truck drivers and residents of the Benelux countries where this reporter once resided on Avenue du Brocqueville in Brussels. I know I posted something about the aqueducts in Luxembourg months ago when I was kidding around about the Archduchy, but wow what a turnout from the Netherlands. Yes, the Romans have invaded California, ask any gearjammer on Siskiyou Summit.

Dry cleaners, Canadians, our friends in El Salvador, those of you tuning in from Australia, Singapore, Chile, hey this is like that Steve Miller song…Tacoma, Philadelphia…Ghana. Welcome.

You know I was thinking of posting some original poetry, something of a gaffe in my culture, but as we shape and refine our knowledge of who reads this blog, I realize that those of you outside the United States wouldn’t know that, would you? Dry cleaning professionals are probably neutral on poetry, i’m guessing, but I do worry about alienating the growing fan base in Brazil. Here are some tips for enjoying One More Bite of the Apple:

A friend of mine recently journeyed by train from Seattle to Portland wearing a sports jacket, wool trousers and a Viking helmet ( traditional style). My suggestion is when reading this blog, wear a Viking helmet, unless you work at a job where that might raise eyebrows. If you are a Viking or work from home, what are you waiting for?