Ephemeral

This weekend, local sailors participated in a race around the Farallones, islands off the coast north of San Francisco. This water is known to be difficult - windy with large swells. On Saturday, one boat did not make it - three people were rescued, one was found dead, and four are missing. The Coast Guard called off their search Sunday night, saying the window of survivability had closed.

One of those missing is my co-worker. He sits in a cube catty-corner from mine. I do not know him well, other than to smile or say hi as we pass, but he is close with others here. His cube remains with his belongings strewn about, just as he left it, although someone has laid flowers at his keyboard. It is hard to comprehend that he will not be returning; that we will not hear his Irish brogue.

I think it is the suddenness that is baffling. I have been lucky enough to not have been touched my too many deaths in my life, particularly unexpected ones. In college, a friend went on a solo-backpacking trip in Zion and was found dead. It was hard to comprehend that I would not see him at the next party or adventure.

These two young men were doing things they loved - enjoying the outdoors. One could say, "Life is short, do what you love," but that context seems perplexing here. Perhaps you would not choose to do what you love if you knew it would be your last time to do anything at all.

Obviously we accept risk in many of our daily activities. I have to constantly remind myself that driving is more dangerous than most things I do. It is probably more dangerous than sailing or backpacking. And still most of us choose to drive on a regular basis, primarily for the convenience. Here, the risk is accepted; why not in the other areas of our lives too? Are the rewards for driving greater than the rewards for things we love?

Perhaps the aphorism that applies more appropriately here is, "Life is short, love hard."

Pictures

Someone said a picture paints a thousand words and they were right. Sometimes God speaks to people through pictures. He probally is the greatest picture maker of all time...move over Warner Brothers! He certainly speaks to me in pictures. He famously spoke to William Booth founder of the Salvation Army on one of his many train journeys. He called it the vision of the lost. In it lost people are drowning in the sea sorrounding an island in which saved people were engaged in various activities, none evangelical! The central message of the vision was God saves people to save people. Last night while counting sheep I saw a great sea with many ships on it, ships of all shapes and sizes. Close by was a safe harbour. Coming out from the safe harbour was a radio call for all ships to return. All the ships received the message but the majority looked around, saw the calm sea, the blue sky and decided to ignore it. A few decided to take head of the warning and enter the safe harbour. The safe harbour is of course Our Lord Jesus Christ, the boats unsaved people and the radio call the Gospel Message. That unfortunatly has been my experience...the majority ignore it. Heres another picture that got me...Its a qoute from a Rabbi.."If a man shot an arrow how far would it travel? One or two feilds? However repentance is so powerful when released it reaches the very throne of God." I can picture the arrow flying through the sky. Release yours and see how far it will travel. You might be suprised!

And So We Say Good-Bye

In 2006 I had the idea to start a blog. Not a lot of thought went into this idea other than the fact that blogs were the hot new medium for marketing and it could help not only build our agency but our clients as well. At the same time I was cutting back on my conference speaking schedule and missed the interaction with authors and the ability to teach what I know. The blog seemed the perfect way to continue this.

It's been five years and a terrific ride, but after much thought and deliberation I've decided that it's time to say good-bye to the blog (obviously my work with BookEnds and the agency will continue). And while I can't promise I'll stay away forever (watch for the occasional blog post to pop up) I also can't promise those posts will pop up.

It doesn't seem like blogs have as much "power" as they used to, especially with the ease and speed of sources like Twitter and Facebook. Most important, however, I don't have the passion for the blog that I once did. While I will surely miss hearing from the authors I've learned so much from, I think I will find other ways to interact.

The blog and all posts will remain up indefinitely for those who are still learning or want to refer to previous posts and you can always fine all of the BookEnds agents on Twitter if you have questions or want to know what we're up to.

I can't thank you enough for all I've learned from you. Because of feedback and comments I've grown as an agent and changed a number of BookEnds policies. Because of you I've stayed connected with the writers and, hopefully, gained a better understanding of what this business is like from your end.

I'm going to miss the blog and all of you. I feel like I should have something grand and profound to say, but all I can come up with is a slight bow, a wave, and a heartfelt thank-you for joining me in this journey.

Jessica

Publishers Taking Risks

We've heard so often the complaint that publishers never take risks, that agents never take risks, and of course there are some who will say those are the reasons we're seeing the "downfall of publishing" today. I don't necessarily believe that. I think given how many new authors are published each year and how many of those succeed as well as how many fail shows that publishers take risks every day. Every book is a risk, whether it's a debut or not. No matter how much experience we all have we're never quite sure what's going to grab the attention of the reader.

That being said, recently when I heard that lament it made me think back to a publisher I once worked for, and by publisher I mean the individual, not the company. This particular publisher was a dreamer and a believer in all the good ways. The publisher loved the business and was enthusiastic about all the things about it, especially the books. One of the things this publisher charged was that each editor was allowed to buy one "book of the heart" each year. What that meant was that even if everyone in-house had doubts about whether the book would sell or could sell, the editor was given the ability to make a modest go of it, meaning the editor couldn't spend a million dollars for a book no one thought the house could do justice, but the editor could take a chance on something everyone else felt a little on the fence about.

For a young editor like me this was a really exciting opportunity, and while I never was able to buy my "book of the heart" before the publisher went another way, I held that feeling of excitement and carry it with me as an agent today.

I can't begin to tell you how often I've offered representation to an author for a book that I honestly thought would be a challenge to sell, but one I was excited about. And before all of my clients get worried, upon making the offer I've always been up front with the author about my belief that the book might be a long shot, but one that I thought was worth the risk. Some have sold, others have not, but either way I've never regretted taking the chance.

One caveat to all of this is that, as a writer, if you have an agent or publisher taking a chance on your book you still want to make sure it's a place that has some knowledge of where they're taking the chance to. In other words, you probably don't want me to take a chance on your illustrated children's book since that's so outside of my knowledge base that it just wouldn't be a smart move. I wouldn't even begin to know where to sell it to. You probably wouldn't want a business publisher taking a chance on your romance novel. Again, do they have the sales force available to even talk to the right buyers?


Jessica

The Great Abandon (Part II)

It has now come tothe time of hanging, stagnant heat. Approaching mid April, the temperatures are surpassing 90 degrees, butthe air conditioning in our apartment is not yet on.  The screen door gapes, all three windows areopen, and two fans spin languidly.  Todayis the first day a pleasant breeze has not been blowing.  So the heat settles.  Mid-afternoon was like a long summer day inthe Midwest; it seemed noise had stopped.  The stillness surrounding me was surreal, andthe heat drew me into a restless sleep on my bed, waking only to the phone, apierce to the not-quite-summer day. 

It is past six o’clock now and the sun stillhangs in the sky like a child refusing bed. Birds cheep-cheep, children laugh and chase outside, cars rumble downthe road.  The world has awakened fromthe oppression.  It is only earlyApril. 

The heat of thedesert is sometimes agreeable, like being wrapped in a warm blanket with a cupof hot cocoa.  Spending a summer in thehigh desert of Utah accustomed me to 85 degree days and30 degree nights, but a trip to St. George brought back the pleasantries ofhome.

            “Thatthermometer just said it is 108 degrees. This is stifling.”

            “Ilove it; it isn’t too hot yet.”

            “Let’sget back into the car and the air conditioning; my feet are sticking to theasphalt.”

I could not putinto words how the heat made me feel alive again, the sun testing my skin tosee if it still functioned properly. Somehow, for that moment, I was happily hot.  A few days now and I have had enough.  But every so often, it feels just right.

Interns

There's been a lot of discussion in small business circles about whether or not interns need to be paid for the work they are doing. The concern is that companies are "hiring" unpaid interns to do work that should be done by paid assistants. That an unpaid internship should be a learning experience. And I agree. I agree with much of what's being said. What I have concerns about, however, is what's defined as "learning."

When one gets a job in publishing you usually start out as an assistant of some kind, whether an agent assistant, an editorial assistant, publicity, etc. As an assistant you aren't expected to know the ins and outs of publishing, although some knowledge can be to your credit, but you are expected to do a whole bunch of menial tasks. As an editorial assistant I was in charge of all the filing. Lots and lots of filing, and my boss didn't check the files. It was my job to find a paper for her whenever she needed it, and quickly. I was also in charge of the Science Fiction library, which meant lugging boxes of books in and out of a small windowless room every month to stack, sort and rearrange, to make sure we had enough copies of each author and to find the space for them on the ever-crowded shelves. I spent a great deal of time faxing, collecting faxes, making photocopies, fixing the copy machine and sometimes, yes sometimes, I had to do things like run out for a cup of coffee or clean out the disgusting office refrigerator. Was it glamorous? No. Was it a job I loved? Absolutely. I also got to read and edit yet-to-be published books, meet famous authors, get autographed books for Christmas presents, and I got to read and discover new authors. It was my dream job, or would be once I jumped through the hoops.

These are exactly the kinds of jobs (minus running for coffee and cleaning out the fridge) I ask both my assistant and my interns to do. Because what I've sadly discovered is that learning how to file is something that a lot of interns need. I'm amazed at the number of people who have come through the BookEnds doors who don't seem to have a basic grasp of how to file or how to fax (or figure out for themselves how to fax) or even how to mail a package. I wonder if doing these tasks would be considered learning, because in my mind they should be.

I remember Kim telling me once about her own internship at Berkley and how one of her tasks was cleaning out and reorganizing all of the files of a huge NYT bestselling author. She said she loved it. She got to read revision letters and contracts and correspondence between the author and her editor. She learned a ton about the process of publishing. And that's something I've noticed with my interns. Filing is a huge part of this job and some of them will pull up a chair and spend the day filing and reading the files and papers and, yes, learning. Others just seem to chuck the files in any folder (and yes, this has caused us many a headache) and not bothered to use the experience to learn.

Another job I often give the interns is reading. We ask the interns to do a great deal of reading and write readers reports, and I think all of us make an effort to give feedback on the reports and show the intern how to write a stronger and better report (something they'll need to do when applying for any editorial job). What they do with that is up to them. They can learn from the feedback we give them or ignore it. Again, I'm amazed by how many ignore it.

I also ask interns to review contracts for me. These are typically contracts I've already reviewed and negotiated, but now I want a second set of eyes to compare it to the one I negotiated and make sure every "i" is dotted, "t" is crossed, and comma is in its place. Let's face it, for any of you who have ever read a publishing contract, there is a lot of "stuff" in that stack of papers, and yet I'm amazed by how few interns have ever asked me questions about the contract, even when I ask if they have any questions. Isn't this a huge opportunity to learn?

An internship is not like school. No matter whether you're paid or not you're not going to get written assignments, papers and tests. You're going to be given tasks that will help the agency or business move forward. How you decide to learn from these tasks is up to you. In my mind, it's a first step to adulthood and a career outside of school. If you want success in this world you have to be bold enough to take the steps to find it and to participate in it. That's how you're going to learn. Two of the assistants I've had were interns. They were the kind who read the files, asked the questions and made themselves invaluable in their short time here. In fact, the interns who learned the most were always the ones who spoke up and showed a desire to learn more. We were always happy to give them more to learn from.

Jessica

The Great Abandon (Part I)

I think I have figured it out. That is, the reason Phoenix holds no place in my heart. I always feel I am a stranger here, though I’ve been a resident for four years. I love the Sonoran Desert; I am attracted to this land. The desert lies naked, quivering with heat, calling to me. The wide, embracing skies and rocky mountain walls stand testament. To something. I am drawn to the starkness, the great abandon. I cannot take water for granted, but rather search it out, pleadingly. A tinaja hidden among the rocks. A spring daring to rise above ground, filtering quickly back into the land. I felt it for a moment, just now, the reason I love the desert.

Tucson was my home for eight years, my middle childhood, played out in the foothills of the Santa Catalinas. I sprawled outside on our concrete pool deck/backyard and watched the monsoon roll in over the mountaintop nearly every summer afternoon around four. I transferred to the front porch to watch the lightning show from under the relative safety of an overhang. The rain came down and turned our perfectly landscaped yard into verdant fields of Texas Ranger, bougainvillea, birds of paradise. The natural desert portion of our land heaved with saguaro, palo verde, mesquite, cholla, prickly pear. If only the lightning came and the rain forgot to make an appearance, I watched the side of the mountain turn orange with flame, slithering like a snake, while the Forest Service decided whether or not to let it burn.


The mountains near Phoenix are far off in the distance; here I can never watch the storm come rolling in. The Valley of the Sun is not like the Old Pueblo, filled with native plants and visibly surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges, though development there is spilling out the passes, striving, always striving to become a second Phoenix. The desert here hides at the edge of town and sulks somewhere beyond the grass and shade trees. Here the desert is the enemy. Native cacti are ousted by plants from around the world, a usurpation of the native ecosystem, known as the ASU Arboretum. Snowbirds and displaced Midwesterners plant the vegetation of their childhood. Green grass is good memories brought to life again. Phoenix is not the Sonoran desert.