2 posts tagged “patricia volonakis davis on writing”

Famous Writer

Now that you have your newly-edited manuscript down to 143,122 words, (not including the 36,310 words of the ‘Back Section’ which includes recipes, a guide to additional reading, a history lesson, a wine list, and other information you deemed pertinent to your readers as addendums to your manuscript), you start looking for a book publisher. The only problem there is that you have no idea how to find a book publisher. Someone wiser than you, or maybe someone who just overheard someone else talking to another someone about this, suggests you get a “literary agent”. But you’ve no idea how to find one of those, either.  So:

1)     You go into your husband’s office and ask him, “Have you any thoughts on how I can get an agent for my women’s empowerment memoir?”

Your husband, a stockbroker who reads the financial pages, baseball biographies, and P.G. Wodehouse, and is at that very moment trying to make an important stock trade, replies (quite flippantly, you think), “None whatsoever.”

2)     Unreasonably irritated, you leave his office, go back into your own, and type, “How to Get A Literary Agent” into the search engine on your computer. This is when you discover that Google has approximately 818,000 articles on how to find a literary agent, and amazon.com sells more than 50 books on the subject.

Surely you don’t need to read a whole book and all those articles? After all, how hard can it be to get an agent? Aren’t they like realtors? Don’t they want to sell your work? That’s how they make their money, after all, isn’t it?  

Thus, assuming that selling a work of literature is like selling a house, you choose to follow the directives in a concise, one-page article you find on ehow.com.

3)     The ehow.com article says that you need to first write a ‘query letter’ to an agent. Again, you are clueless. So again, you rely on Google, typing in, ‘what is a query letter?’ to find out on Wikipedia, another of your ‘unfailing’ information sources, that “a query letter is a formal letter sent to magazine editors, literary agents, to propose writing ideas.” 

This seems simple enough, so you sit down and write your first ‘formal’ query letter, which goes something like this:

Dear ____________:

My name is Patricia Volonakis Davis, and I have written a women’s empowerment memoir called, “Amerikanaki”, which is my story about being raised first generation Italian-American, marrying a Greek national, and moving to Greece with him.

I hope you will be interested in reading my manuscript. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely yours,

Patricia Volonakis Davis

Address

telephone number

email

4. After formulating your concise query letter to match the concise instructions which you followed to write it, you make a list of the top ten agents in the United States, finding their names through Google, too, of course.

You go to the agents’ individual websites and discover the particularized instructions on each. Some want you to post your query letter, along with a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Others will only accept queries submitted by email. Some ask you send the first 30 pages of your manuscript, to also be included in email, pasted, not attached, in “WORD format only”, or “RTF format” (a format you assume is an anachronism for RUT the F*ck?!). Some want you to include any three random chapters, to be sent along with your SAE. And yet others ask that along with your query letter, you send the x-rays of your teeth your dentist took during your last exam.

Following all these instructions diligently (you were a teacher, after all) you send out your ten query letters/emails to your ten top choices of agents, and expect to hear from them all within a week or two at the most.

5. Three months later, you’ve written and emailed over fifty literary agents and received two replies detailing further instructions, and after having complied with those, you never hear from those two again. You now have six of those fifty available books sitting on your desk, with one more on order from amazon.com, and have taken five writing courses. One of those includes a three-day class given by a literary agent, (who shows no interest in your manuscript at all, by the way), simple titled, “How to Write a Query Letter”.

It was during this class that you learned how pathetically inadequate your first query letter was,  and you rewrote it so many times that it actually took longer to complete than the manuscript itself.  You also learn that apart from your manuscript and your query letter, you need to write something called a “book proposal”, and you have a new list of books written down and ready to order on how to write one of those.

You’ve spent hundreds of dollars on postage, photocopies, books, and classes. Additionally, you suspect your husband is seriously considering moving his office from home, so that you can’t barge in every day to cry over the latest rejection or out-and-out disregard from literary agents. You know these suspicions are well-founded when he suggests that you go to a writers’ conference where you can meet agents in person.

“But, writers’ conferences are very expensive,” you point out to your beleaguered husband.

“True, but a lot less expensive than my having to move my office,” he replies.

(You see? You were right.)

6. And so, you register for BEA (Book Expo America) in New York. You need to pay the conference fees, flight, hotel, meals, and transport to and from BEA, so that once there, you, along with hundreds of other hopeful writers, will have two hours to meet with as many agents as you can, who will give you three minutes each to pitch your manuscript to them. You have no idea who any of these agents are, you only read a short blurb description of them, and of whether they are looking for ‘fiction’ or ‘non-fiction,’ ‘children’s’ or ‘adults.’ You can also clearly see, as you stand on a queue waiting to speak to them, that all of the ones you’ve chosen are already annoyed at and/or bored with the writer who’s talking to them at the moment. And you’re up next.

7. You’ve spent thousands of dollars and another three months up to now, but guess what? ─ you walk away from the conference with seven business cards from agents who have told you to send them your manuscript! A month later, of the seven, two actually offer you a contract! Once again, you have no clue which of the two you should choose, so you go with the one who shows the most enthusiasm for your work. She turns out to be the less experienced of the two; as a matter of fact, you learn that you are her very first client, but no matter. You have an agent! You’ve done it!

8. You run into your husband’s office again, this time with excitement, kiss him and thank him for his brilliant suggestion.  You then ring your best friend joyously, informing her that you finally have a literary agent! You will be published within weeks!

Or so you think.

                                               (To be Continued.)

Note: Please remember that comments and replies are now at http://patriciavolonakisdavis.wordpress.com.  I am really sorry for this inconvenience. I hope VOX fixes the bug on my blog someday.

Agatha Christie

May 2009 marks two years since I wrote my first blog , which was on VOX.com. These two years have been an extraordinary writing journey for me.

I started ‘blogging’ because my literary agent recommended it as a way to build my writer’s platform , but discovered that it offered me much more than that. Blogging helped me make friends from parts of the world I’ve not yet even had the opportunity to visit, taught me how much more alike across the globe we all are than I’d even suspected, and made me think about my perspectives on so many social and political issues. All because of comments left for me on my written posts by other bloggers, and comments left on the posts of others whose blogs I loved to read.  Blogging even introduced me to some extraordinary writers who add so much quality work and enthusiasm to my online magazine.

And then, my dream came true and my first full-length work was finally published.  And ─  boy, oh boy ─ did life change. Yes, “getting a book deal” is the golden ring all writers are trying to grab on the merry-go-round of the publishing world.  

So, for those who dream of it, or for those who know someone who dreams of it, let me tell you what it’s really like once you’ve obtained that objective. Sit back, as I go through it all, step-by-agonizing-step. I promise you every word following is true:

1)     You decide to write a book. You write every day for two years; some days you actually put some words down in a document. You then put manuscript away for one year, because:

a)  you move

or

 b)  your children move

or

c)  one of your children moves back in.

2)     You pick your manuscript up again, and write for two more years. You’ve now finished your first draft. That’s right ─ your first draft.

3)     You give it to your husband and your best friend to read. You wait impatiently, feeling unloved and neglected, as for unfathomable reasons, they do not drop everything to read your manuscript, which is over 400 pages, single-spaced.

4)     After finally reading, your husband and best friend both gently suggest that you might want to get a professional editor. You thank your friend sweetly, but argue with your husband bitterly for that heartbreaking and insulting insinuation, and then you put your manuscript away for another three months, because you have no idea where and how to find a good editor.

5)     A man whom you’ve never seen before is on the treadmill next to you at your gym. You blurt out to him that you are a writer, and are looking for an editor. It turns out that he is a writer also, and he recommends an editor he knows. This is not the sign from God you think it is. The man on the treadmill next to you is a writer because you live in Marin County, California, where everyone, including George Lucas, thinks, for better or worse, that he or she is a writer.

6)     You phone the editor and she quotes you an eyebrow-raising hourly rate. You say you will ring her back. You walk into your husband’s home office, and tell him the fee the editor wants to work on your manuscript. Your husband asks, “Is she a good editor?” You say, “Yes, of course.” Your husband tells you to hire the editor.

7)     Your new editor takes two months to edit 80 pages of your 400-plus page manuscript. Then she goes on vacation and returns after two weeks to tell you she won’t be able to work on your manuscript for another four months. You spend three sleepless nights trying to decide what to do about your new editor, whom you like as a person, but are very impatient with as an editor. On the fourth morning, you go into your husband’s home office, exhausted, and tell him your problems with the editor.

 He says, “I thought you said she was a good editor.”  You leave your husband’s office, annoyed with him once again, go in your office and sit down at your computer to write an email to your editor, terminating your working relationship as professionally as possible, your stomach churning the entire time. She sends you a polite acknowledgment back, returns your manuscript, and with it, her invoice. You sigh with relief, and send her the money, a hefty sum. You are depressed and sleepless for three more days.

8)     You go back to your gym, where the man who recommended your former editor is never to be seen again, but another man, whom you know a bit better, recommends his wife to edit your manuscript. You grab her email address and send her an email.

9)     Man-at-the-Gym-Whom-You-Know-Better’s wife meets you in person appropriately at the local bookshop to discuss your needs and her credentials. She sounds qualified to you, but then, what do you know? The price she quotes you is even more eyebrow- raising than the price the previous editor quoted, so you excuse yourself to use the Ladies’, where you ring your husband on your cell phone, interrupting his work once again, to ask his opinion again. Your husband again asks, “Is she a good editor?” And again, you say, “Of course,” to which he replies again, “Then hire her.” You go back to the table where your now cold coffee and your new editor are waiting patiently, and hand over your manuscript, and Mrs. ‘M-A-T-G-W-Y-K-B’ promises to have your work back to you in one month, edited.

10)  Your new editor returns your manuscript in one month, as promised. On it she has penciled in the margins dozens upon dozens of questions and comments. She also encloses a three-page document of her own that offers more suggestions, her invoice, and her doctor’s bill for the carpel tunnel surgery she needed to have after editing your manuscript.

11)  You quickly glance through some of the notes your so-called editor has smeared across your manuscript, outraged and upset by every one of them. You walk into your husband’s office again, crying this time. This time, he wisely says nothing, and just keeps working. Disgusted with him, your editor, your work, and yourself, you walk out of his office, and phone your best friend for sympathy. She says she’s glad you found an editor that finished the job she promised to finish. Really disgusted now, you make an excuse to get off the phone. You leave your edited manuscript untouched for two weeks.

12)  After two weeks, you look at your manuscript again, and decide you might as well try making some of the edits suggested, since you paid so much for them. You realize as you work that most, if not all, are not nearly as brainless as you’d first supposed. You type diligently and fruitfully for two solid months. Your manuscript is down to 337 pages and is much, much better. You run into your husband’s home office and tell him how exuberant you are over your brilliant editor. You run to your gym, hoping to meet up with her husband there, so you can congratulate him profusely for his choice of life partner. You now love him and her both equally, as a couple, as though they were old, dear friends.  You ring your best friend joyously, informing her that your manuscript is now ready to be presented to literary agents. You will be published within weeks. 

Or so you think.

                                               (To be Continued.)

Note: Please remember that I cannot answer comments here. If you would like to do me the honor of leaving a comment please go to: http://patriciavolonakisdavis.wordpress.com