(continued . . . )
As soon as I hear that the agent loves my novel, I blurt out, "I love you, too!" Quickly I realize that this declaration might be interpreted the wrong way. What if that's not the way a writer usually speaks to his agent? What if my new agent is gay and thinks I'm coming on to him?
"Well," I say, "I know we've just met, and I don't really know you well, but I have a good feeling about us. I really like you a lot already. May I send you some chocolates?" But, of course, this sounds even cornier.
"Hold on there now," the agent says. "Let's talk about the novel." He introduces himself. I'll call him "Warren." (Actually that is his name, but for the sake of this blog, let's just say his name is Warren.) He tells me that he is gaga over my novel, that it holds a lot of promise, that he wants to shop it all around Manhattan and use it do gain favors from unsuspecting editors and dine in fine restaurants on caviar and Burgundy wines. And then he closes his introduction by asking, "How quickly can you do a rewrite?"
"You don't like the novel?" I ask.
"Love it," he tells me, "but it will require some additional work to get it into submission shape. I need you to rewrite it from first page to last. Can you get me a revision in two weeks?"
I don't have the heart to point out that this is a 100,000 word novel. It took me four years to write it. But he offers me some instruction and I say, "Yeah, sure, I'll have that on your desk in two weeks." My love for the agent has already faded and I can see us now being just good friends.
"Keep up the good work," Warren tells me. "I'm going to make you a star."
(continued)
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