Well, I’ll be damned! Miss Snark, the faux agent, has finally had enough. One post from me, and she gets out of Dodge! Not really. But you can bet a book deal is on the horizon and you can bank on that. So said Sammy months ago. You just don’t walk off stage while still queen unless there is something else going on. Sammy has said for years that she would do one of two things: Reveal herself or get an offer. Can’t wait to see how she tries to worm her way out of this one.

I know it seems strange that Sammy disappeared and then off goes Snark, but that means nothing. Nothing at all. I mean, you don’t think it could mean anything, do you? What a coincidence! Sammy reveals he’s gotten hitched, and suddenly Snark decides to go on hiatus. Could she have been, you know, in love with Sammy? Was she devastated? Or maybe Snark was Sammy. No, I know that’s not so. I know Sam, and he’s the real deal through and through, but…

Oh my God, you don’t think that…

No, this could not be possible…

You don’t think that Mrs, Sammy Kitzler is actually. . .

Snark Kitzler!?!

Wouldn’t that be funnier than shit? I’ve never met his bride, but I do know that even though she told Mr. Follow-My-Dick-Wherever-It-Leads that she's not in publishing, she could have lied. Snark lied all the time. What do you think?

You know what’s funny? It hasn’t made such a big deal that she’s left. There were no parades in her honor that I know of. Is everyone in shock? Doesn’t this say something real loud about wannabes? Their hero leaves and the world goes on without her. I’d say that what Sammy has said all along is true: Wannabes are selfish assholes and deserve to rot in recycled ink (most of which is the result of their rejected manuscripts anyway). Think of all the trees that go into appeasing their vanity. Disgusting.

I kind of take the sorrowful lack of print on this development from what Pub Rants said today. Kristen Nelson—a huge devotee of Snark who should actually know better— devoted maybe a line or two on her blog to how she wished that she could say what Miss Snark could get away with saying. Well, Kristin, if you had anything going for you, you could say what the fuck ever you wanted to say. What do you care if writers do or don’t like you? What? Will they snatch your IPod away?

Yes, Snark will be missed—like jock itch or a sore tooth. Speaking of which, I need to go scratch my testicles (for you wannabes, that means BALLS).

Sammy is a wreck. If love does that to a perfectly screwed up human, then I’ll always be single. So this is my first post and he kind of gave me free reign to do what I want to with his blog—within reason—and his reason, as he has repeated time and time again is that he just don’t give a fuck. So here’s what we are going to do.

First of all, here on Agents Overdrive—Outlook, what the fuck ever---we’re going to give do a kind of Carlos Mencia, a true rundown on my take on other agent’s blogs, which, for the most part are pathetic. Let the fun begin with the queen—Missy Snark—and we’ll work our upward from down there. For those of you who have never been on the Queen’s blog, don’t bother unless you fall below the rank of wannabe and there is no animal or mineral lower, so you’d have to be a space creature, and I don’t want to by felt up by some asshole’s eye tentacles.

As for me, who am I? Let’s just say that I’m in publishing and let it go at that. I’m actually further into publishing than most of the subliminal assholes that I’m going to be paint-stripping here, let’s say.

Let the fun begin:

Miss Snark, who the fuck are you? Who the fuck cares? It seems, from my mild somewhat un-objective observation platform that, according to her, a million or so reality TV wannabes have visited her site. My question is, why? Is it because her worshipers have nothing going on in their lives? Do they think that an invisible faux wannabe agent goddess might be just the thing to fall down in front of? Better to fall down in front of the Midtown express. It seems to be kind of like the invisible god—the almighty and powerful omniscient being who rips you asunder only to pick you up, dust you off and make you right again. Woooo!! How pathetic!!

How can anyone who is somewhat conscious and whole think that this attention-seeking tart could be anything but one of these: A pizza delivery person who reads a lot or a Bayonne, New Jersey prostitute who has plenty of free-time. You tell me which because either will fit. But why should anyone with have a brain care?

It’s the way of the world that so many can be deluded into thinking this being is an agent. I ask you one thing while my sides heal from laughing so much, “Who are her clients?” Has anyone thought that here is a person who is supposed to be running a literary agency, which, according to her, is quite successful? But if he, she, its literary agency is successful, how come he, she, it has so much time to read slop and post comments on a blog? An example of a successful literary agent comes to mind. Have you noticed, for instance, that Jennifer Jackson posts about once a month and then only a short paragraph? Or has this escaped your pea-brains?

If this creature is an agent, I pity her poor clients. Those who patronize her slop and goo-goo, ga-ga all over themselves over it and themselves are supposed to be writers. How do you have spare time to even go there either? Aren’t you supposed to be writers? Whoops, how silly of me. Of course you’re not writers, you’re silly-assed wannabes. What difference does it make that she’s screwing her clients every hour of the day as long as she’s entertaining you? But those of you that do have a conscience, how would you like her representing your interests? Answer that one and maybe, before this is over, we can be friends.

As for me, I’m not an agent. I work on someone else’s dime so I, like you, can fuck off all day until I’m caught. But why should I worry? Hell, if this blog takes off like Snark’s, I will snag a book deal. Ah, I get it now. She took off this week to finalize her deal—and you shills are responsible. Give yourselves a good pat on the back—and one on the ass for old Miles here.

Miles Standoffish

Sorry for the long absence, but I’ve been busy doing what most wannabe writers and watch puppies don’t have the sense enough to do…have a life. I found me a woman and we got hitched. Yep, that’s right. Sammy got roped into another com, er, committttt, uh, you know, the “c” word. The legal kind. I think this time it might last, since she’s not a complete bitch and knows nothing about publishing. She also doesn’t realize I am rich beyond her wildest dreams and basically thinks I’m the best lay she’s ever had, even without the vibrators and edible underwear.

I like her and California a lot more than NYC, a city that is an awful mistress. Cali is more laid back. People out here are not in such a big hurry go no place. Besides, I did two big deals that will keep me busy walking along the beach trying to avoid over-sexed sea birds for a very long time.

Still, I’d love to write more on this blog. Just because I’m practically out of the game doesn’t mean I don’t care if the game is taken over by idiots and dipshits. Wannabe writers, stupid editors, and the dumber and dumber watch-puppies are not off of the hook yet. It was quiet for a while, but there is no end to the evil that wannabes do. Even Vicki-Voo Voo and her watch dorks know it, because she’s actually provided a link on one of her posts to this blog. She doesn’t have the balls to discourage the wannabes and lose her status, so she sends them here hoping this blog will do it. I told you these people were lazy.

I’ve asked a good friend to take over for me. He’s going to post his first, so see what you think. His name is Miles Standoffish, but you can call him Andy. Or Miles. Whatever. He’s a hell of a guy, but if he gives you any trouble, just come get me at the beach. I’ll be the one rolling around in the sand with a beautiful woman who is not a writer, editor, agent, publisher, or writer advocate of any kind. She’s actually quite normal when she takes her meds, so that disqualifies her from publishing all the way around, doesn’t it?

Anyway, if you don’t like what Andy posts and can’t find me picking sand out of my underwear to complain, then, as Marley would say, go fuck yourself!!

What have you done?

You are a miserable lot, aren’t you? Those of you who truly believe that you belong in the publishing world so that you can create the empire that is you and be worshipped and adored by admiring fans even after you cease to exist on this planet. It isn’t good enough to be a decent, hard-working law-abiding citizen. No, you want the free and easy existence that wealth brings, with all the perks and power, but none of the sacrifice. You have allowed your own needs to override those of everyone else and quashed the greater good with a press of a computer key, all because you needed to feel important.

God, how did it get so bad? How?

I am sure you thought you’d seen the last of Sammy-baby, didn’t you? Well, you haven’t, not as long as there are wannabes and wannabe enablers in the world. My job won’t be done until someone—anyone—realizes what a pack of lies dictates the “new” publishing paradigm (look it up if you don’t know what it means dum-dum).

And it is lies and bullshit, and that is why I exist. The one true voice who tells you publishing doesn’t NEED you or WANT you. The one true voice who has said all along that being published is a huge responsibility that only certain people, those who have prepared themselves and write well, deserve. The one true voice that pointed out that those who don’t know what they are doing shouldn’t be telling others how to get published or how to avoid scams. Who told you that one day wannabes would cause things to end badly for the rest of the writers who might, although probably not, have a chance?

I did.

But everyone tried to discredit me, although I have hit on a number of issues and been proved correct every time. You will believe some anonymous dingbat working her Dr. Phil mojo on you with bizare and incestuous ties to the watchers, and you are more than willing to query agents who regularly get their own books published instead of their clients', but you won't believe me. Once again, though, I am vindicated, and my proof is in the form of an article from the Chronicle about the Sobol Award.

Oh my God, what have you done now?

You know how the minute this award was announced the watchpuppies and so-called professional agents (my ass) jumped on it because of the requirements and an entry fee of $85? That award got blasted all over the place, because wannabe writers have been weaned on the notion that they should never ever have to spend any of their hard-earned cash (sure, Jake Do-Gooder, I believe you deserve that raise you trampled on your friends in Corporate Americaland to get…sure…you earned it) or expend anymore effort than necessary to have someone else land that special seven-figure deal (six just isn’t good enough these days) for a lousy 15%. It must be a scam! We have to save those poor little writers from their own stupidity! Stop that lousy scammer!

Writers everywhere said the same thing: That guy is making $85 an entry, and he’ll make $___________(fill in your amount here) for just doing nothing. And that outraged writers everywhere! How dare this guy make money for doing nothing! I wanna make money for doing nothing! How do they know he does nothing? Because that’s what all agents do, didn’t you know? Wannabes really believe (and have been taught) they only need an agent because S&S won’t look at their manuscript otherwise. We are just evil blood-suckers who prey on the talent of helpless writers who are at the whims of those big, important publishers who have this silly ridiculous rule that they don’t want to see your shit unless someone with a brain sees it first. And you are so jealous because you think agents have nothing better to do than sit around all day reading queries and praying that they’ll find the next JK Rowling or getting laid at conferences. Why should you, as a writer, have to work when this agent just dibbles his time away? NOBODY SHOULD EARN MONEY THAN I DESERVE DOING WHAT I WANT TO DO! That is real issue here, isn’t it? You want to live the good life and think that agents have it made, don’t you? Jealous, jealous, jealous. Hell, editors think that, why not stupid writers? You are all so jealous that we agents have actually carved out a place among you, holding publishers’ feet to the fire and forcing writers to just shut up and goddamn write something instead of whining.

So a whole culture has sprung up to empower anyone who puts pen to paper, and the guardians of this culture (watchpuppies, incompetent industry professionals who perpetuate this crap, other authors) have become so caught up in their “mission” that they have failed to realize that their actions have basically closed every road open to new, talented writers. They have effectively leveled any chance a writer might have had to break in by making up their own set of standards that are based on nothing more than the idea that writers are gods. Unfortunately, that system doesn’t work and takes good writers down with the bad.

The Sobol Award is a perfect example of this. I don’t know if the guy is a scammer or not. I don’t care. Scammers are the wolves who thin out weakest of the herd; they have their purpose. Like viruses. I don’t like them or seek them out either, but they exist and keep the population under control or we would have more wannabes than we do now. Ick.

This guy gets this award together and then, as expected, gets blackballed on every writer’s board and the usual smear campaign got posted on the Internet, just as everyone knew it would. Some were upset about the contractual obligations, mainly that the guy in charge would be your agent blah blah blah. But it was the entry fee that everyone deeply resented. Must be a scam. Even the dipshit who wrote the article was wrong about it. He stated that “Industry policy prohibits agents from charging money to read manuscripts.” The problem here is that an entry fee is NOT A FUCKING READING FEE. Entry fees usually go for paying judges, offering prize money, and processing the goddamn entries.

Then they bring S&S on board. Yes, that publisher who won’t normally look at anything unless it comes from agent actually signed on to publish the top three winners, for a lot of money. Well, a lot of money to you anyway. But that wasn’t good enough. Let me tell you, those writers who whined that they didn’t want their precious book to be under a strict contract to S&S like that were fools. Do you think you could ever net a book deal from S&S for what they were willing to pay on your own? Even without this guy’s commission? Not in this life, champ.

But Sammy, they would have taken all rights and I could get more for them than that elsewhere. First of all, no you couldn’t, dipshit, and second of all, you don’t have a great novel just lying around you can send them and say bye to it? You don’t have spare masterpieces that you could sell for money? Why not? Professional writers, people with talent, have good books lying around that are strong enough to send in and maybe even win—they get the cash and who gives a shit about the book?—and they can write another one and another one. Professional writers have more than one book in them, and the quality of their first drafts is better than the fiftieth draft from most of the wannabes. Some smart writer could have worked the system right in his favor and still come out ahead.

But, darn it, $85 was just too much of a risk. ($100,000-15% commission=$85,000 dollars and $85,000-$85 entry fee=$84,915)

Some poor wannabe just lost some cash. What if it is was you and this was the only publishing credit you were ever going to get? I bet you're feeling pretty sheepish right now, huh? Now maybe the wannabes will turn on each other and their gurus, those leaders that even lemmings wouldn't follow.

The article contained this quote: "Maybe the message is that unpublished writers have been exploited in so many different ways that it's difficult to launch an effort, regardless of whether it's in good faith or not," said Paul Aiken, executive director of the Authors Guild, which represents thousands of published writers. "Charging people is fundamentally suspect and it's hard to overcome that."

That says it all. Look at what you have done, you stupid, stupid wannabes. Look what you have done to MY industry. And that includes the new breed of editors and the old breed of watchpuppies, the authors who promote this stuff, and anyone in the industry who won’t speak out against you people because they are too inexperienced to know any better or too solicitous to care that they are promoting bad habits in the wannabe kingdom, as if merely existing isn’t bad enough.

People who don’t give a shit about you tell you what you want to hear; those who tell you the truth, as unpleasant as it may be, are the ones who truly care, if not about you, then about something.

Think about that for a little while, wannabes, and happy fucking new year.

Okay, so I post about something that is actually IMPORTANT in publishing, and all I get are e-mails asking me about the Snark/Anne Stuart thing. As if I care. As if anyone in the real publishing world cares.

You want my take on it? Here it is: Finally, someone (Jennifer “I can’t stop writing chick-lit though it’s dead” Crusie) in publishing who uses her real name and who has clout with the wannabe crowd has basically said what I have said all along. Snark is full of shit. She makes statements that make it obvious that she doesn’t really understand publishing and how it works. I don’t care if she’s in it or not, she doesn’t “get” it. The biggest clue is that she hangs with the watchpuppies and most agents could care less about watchpuppies and their drivel because it is just not part of the overall entertainment picture. You get scammed? Fuck you, wannabe. That’s just one more piece of goddamn slush that I don’t have to deal with. That’s what most insiders think. Big fucking deal. No one but a wannabe publishing power freak offers free advice to wannabes based on the idea that getting into publishing only requires desire and meeting certain standards created by the SFWA, like they matter any more than anybody else in the fucked up kingdom known as the Realm of Publishing.

As I see it, people across Cyberville are finally cluing in to the fact that Snark is mouthpiecing the core values propagated by the watchpuppies and their related industry outsiders. Other publishing people, LIKE ME, couldn’t give a shit less what anybody thinks except talented writers and the publishers who seek to exploit them. I have seen lots of comments, finally, from editors and other agents who are basically saying that Snark is on a very wrong tangent. She always has been, but nobody important said anything because SNARK JUST DOESN”T MATTER. Except to the minions she has created through her Dr. Phil Does Publishing persona. When she dipped into an area she really doesn't know anything about, she fell flat on her pretty little snout.

But the reason she matters to me is that she is one of many people who continue to encourage people to write for publication who should be writing for a hobby. So do the watchpuppies. So do the solicitous agents and editors feeding off of wannabes. These people are sucking the life from my industry, as I have mentioned many times, and my advice is for writers to go figure the fuck out what they think they are doing. Like any wannabe, their presence changes the dynamic of the entity to which they pledge their allegiance. And sometimes it is not for the best, dragging down those who buy into their bullshit. For example, I give you…

George W. Bush—President Wannabe
Judy Regan—Celebrity Publishing Wannabe
O.J. Simpson—Serial Killer Wannabe
Snark—Agent Wannabe
Dick Cheney—Human Wannabe
Arnold Schwarznegger—Android Wannabe
Michael Richards—Comedian Wannabe
Angelina Jolie—Activist Wannabe
Brad Pitt—I’m Fucking an Activist Wannabe
Paris Hilton—Celebutant Wannabe
Karen Hughes—Anybody Important Wannabe
Bill Frist—Doctor Wannabe (Seriously, after that whole Terri Schiavo thing, would you let him touch you?)
SammyK—Isabella’s Sex Slave Wannabe
George Clooney—Marriagable Material to Get Nook Wannabe

And I am not the only one who thinks these things. Here is part of an e-mail from a writer using the name The Casual Observer, who is probably a whacko freakazoid, but what the hell…

Who is the real Miss Snark? Is she or is she not a real agent? Who cares? Personally, I believe she is Jenna of Absolute Write fame. I think this because when AW was in trouble, Snark was right there defending those speaking out against the injustice of such a thing. How dare they do this and that!. Most of us, those of us with a brain anyway, where hoping it would stay shut down. Just so much more crap that no one cared about anyway—no one except Jenna and friends.

I have also noticed that each time anything watchdogerish is in the forefront that Miss Snark is right there, defending all those who might get scammed. In my opinion, the only folks concerned about getting scammed are wannabes, as you have testified to many times.

The bottom line is that I don’t agree that Miss Snark is Janet Reid. A real agent would care less about watchdogs. So whoever this person is they have to somehow be connected to Jenna, AW or the SFWA. My thinking right now is that Snark is either Jenna or Victoria Strauss. Why? Because of their very close ties to AW and SFWA. This is my guess. Anyone want to refute it?

I get this shit all the time. I also get stuff like this:

I think you’re a male chauvinist pig. I don’t think you have sex with anyone but yourself. I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were the last man on the planet.

And this…

Why don’t you have a pet like Miss Snark? Your blog would be so much better if you had a dog or something. Miss Snark has a Chihuahua and can prove it. (What?)

So, now that I have put my opinion to rest on this most recent pathetic excuse for a scandal, can we get back to whether News Corporation should have cancelled the O.J. book and interview? Think 1st amendment, people. Would we have burned those books if they had been published? Is censorship an issue real writers should worry about? Nah, they’re too busy reading Snark.

Not.

…at least in publishing. Ooh, I’ve heard about the Snark/Crusie thing, and I will get to that, but what I am going to post about is so much FUNNER! And so much more important because it proves I’m an agent and you all aren’t. It proves that publishing is not the coochy-coo land all those solicitous, mind-fucking bastards out there sucking off wannabes say that it is. It is my world, my realm, and the lawyers in the O.J. Simpson case, who couldn’t prove his guilt or innocence even when the evidence was handed to them, have proved that I have been right all along about the state of publishing. I just didn’t realize it would come at the lovely hands of one of our very own go-to-it gals—Judy R. at HarperC.

I know Snark’s fans are too wannabe to understand the profundity of this little scandal in the ranks up here where the air is rarified, but us REAL agents are giddy. Kind of like watching someone get caught with her underwear stuck in her pretty little crack. By the way, the theme from “The High and The Mighty” is playing on my Zune right now (snapping fingers to the beat). Eat your heart out, K.N.

Pop quiz question:

All along, Sammy has been:
a. right
b. right
c. right
d. all of the above

Now, you self-righteous nay-sayers; you nefarious ineffective do-gooders; you underachieving, over-reaching, ladder-climbing leeches, who has been right all along? Let’s say it together now:

Sammy was right.

And Sammy still is. Oh, the absolute joy of being able to point out via public example the epitome of all that I have spoken. But why wallow in my glory alone when I can please my darling wannabes—see, a non-writer like me even knows that you have to please someone besides yourself—by giving a quasi-scoop on the most recent poop in publishing?

Oooh, you just can’t wait, can you?

Well, I am afraid you are going to be disappointed, because I am not going to let you in on any secrets I haven’t already alluded to before (Go Annie, You Rock; Note to Oprah and Nan: Go Fuck Yourselves). Anyone who knows Ju-Ju is not surprised at all about this O.J. Simpson book fiasco. Why do you think she convinced the powers that be that she could conquer H-Wood for them, then took her heels and designer clothes and tottered off to the anti-Big Apple? It wasn’t because she wanted to give voice to struggling writers or bring great literature to the world. It is because—and you should know this refrain by now:

She is a wannabe and knows nothing about the industry and she shouldn’t be in it.

Judy, as lovely as she can be, is the ultimate wannabe. And no, she is not one of my exes. I can imagine how she got her start: The corporate robots at HC said one day, “We want to be nothing but a sleazy entertainment entity, beholden to consumers who feed off of the celebrity culture because they have no lives of their own and have not yet decided to write a book themselves. We need someone who loves to feed parasitically off of the attention given to celebrities in Glittertown—movie stars, politicos, sleazy and obnoxious lawyers, etc.—to lead the way. Also, someone who likes having a year-round tan.”

And probably Ju-Ju Bear waved her arm wildly in the air, like those answer-rich nerdy kids in high school I used to teach how to get dates (mainly I told them to quit answering all the fucking questions and stick a sock in their pants—amazingly, it worked). Actually, if I know Judy, she most likely told them the way it was going to be, and the next thing you know Ju-Ju is driving her wagon train West and publishing books by people who are not writers by trade, but cash-cows by circumstance. For our most recent example, the people who are most irate about the O.J. “confession” book are the lawyers who lost the case and are now mentally comparing their advances to his, and probably considering killing a spouse to get a bigger book deal next time. Really, most of the people who are outraged are people who have, at some point, been a part of the case and had a book published already…some of them by Judy. Really. Really, really. There’s some irony for you.

In an interview with Larry King, that very subject came up. When a caller asked the panel (which included the lawyer who represented the Goldmans in the civil trial and an LAPD detective who are both so important that I can’t remember their names, Gloria Allred, Chris Darden, and Rosie Greer) why Judy shouldn’t make money off a book about O.J., by the actual person himself, but they can (with the exception of Rosie Greer, who was there to lend some Samminess to their watchpuppy fanaticism), they only being peripheral to the case and not actually O.J. himself, their excuses ranged from he’s a murderer—even though found innocent in a court of law—and so they have the right to write about it to get their “truth” to as many God-fearing Americans who have $26 to spare as possible—to Chris Darden’s spectacularly ridiculous comment indicating that he deserved it to make up for going to law school and working hard all his life. So, do readers have to somehow compensate all lawyers who failed spectacularly to get a conviction in a supposedly “open and shut” case? Hmmm? I don’t know how they didn’t manage to get Marcia Cross on the panel—maybe she’s too busy with her TV show that resulted from the trial.

And speaking of rationalizing our behavior, Judy, again, wins the award for her statements defending publishing the book. Why couldn’t she have just said, “I want to make money off of celebrities” like I figured she would? Instead, she asserts she did it to vindicate both families and let people know the truth. Pssst, um, Ju-Ju Bear, even a 4th grader can see through that bullshit. In addition, she noted that Hitler’s Mein Kampf is still in print, with publishers making dough off of it, and this is true. But those publishers didn’t call up Hitler and pay him lots of money while he was alive and do an interview with him, although I am sure they would do so today in a heartbeat.

The most moronic thing about the interview is that the lawyer guy who represents Nicole Brown Simpson’s estate and therefore helped the families sue in a civil trial did so supposedly in the interest of the children, who have been living with their father until they went off to school somewhere. So all this was done to get money for O.J. and Nicole’s children, who O.J. has been supporting and giving money to all along. Methinks me smells some rat shit.

Look, I don’t know if the guy offed anyone, and I don’t really care. Oh, well as much as I care about anybody tried for killing his wife and her friend—there are cases like this all over the US every day. But people only cared about the Simpson trial because it had that celebrity angle, being televised on a nauseatingly regular basis, and it offered opportunities for total nobodies—wannabes in the making—to become celebrities. It’s the same reason people go on stupid reality TV shows and eat bug shit. On a side note, I have yet to see a reality TV show where a handsome literary agent has to, in order to win a Porsche, bang a beautiful woman on a keyboard. How is that fair?

The point of this rant is that Ju-Ju, one of the most famous of the group of publishing “gurus” who wouldn’t know an actual book if it bit her on her pretty little ass, is the ultimate wannabe, feeding off the notoriety of others and truly believing that she somehow deserves it. We in publishing all knew this, so no one here is surprised. We just let these types do whatever it is they do and then work deals to our clients’ advantage. Hell yeah, we do. Why not? It’s like taking candy from a baby, and fine-looking baby at that. Their books are like mental blowjobs, and their effects last about as long, leaving the reader wanting more and being willing to pay for it over and over again. You’re better off to buy the solar battery-powered Jolie-Lips 2000 for $49.95 from Sex Toys, Inc.

The bottom line is this is what publishing has become, plain and simple. It’s about money, not literary quality, and it’s certainly not the world the solicitous know-it-alls perpetuate. As I have mentioned before, I know how to work within that world to get good stuff past the morons, the parasites, the dipshits, the corporate flunkies, the senior editor's mistress, the mailroom snot- turned- marketing genius, and, yes, even lovely celebrity-obsessed wannabes. Good agents understand this. Or should I say that real publishing industry professionals understand this?

But you would know that, if you knew Judy like I know Judy.

Oh, what a gal!

I am tired.

Very tired.

I am a publishing industry professional who has put a lot of time and effort into doing my job well enough that I can take pride in my work. And yet, as I look around the internet, I can’t help but wonder if I am completely crazy or what. Other so-called industry professionals are blogging their little hearts out, providing information to wannabes as if it is going to get them somewhere besides Looneyville. I just sit here and wonder if I am delusional. I look around. There’s the contract on my desk from a major, so that’s real. Or did I print it out on my computer? What are those scribbles on it—signatures? Am I hallucinating? Maybe. But the call I got from the Oscar-winning director’s assistant yesterday--that seemed so real! The option offer seemed a little too high--could I have been drunk? Maybe I’m in a coma somewhere and don’t know it. The things I read on the internet just don’t add up, so it must be me. Have I finally lost what little mind I had left before the wannabes started sucking on my brain?

FUCK NO! YOU OTHER PEOPLE ARE LIARS!

There, I’m back again. I’ll be goddamned if some moronic warm and fuzzy solicitous twits will pretend to be in MY industry and get by with it. Who do you people think you are? The reason writers bitch and moan that they can’t get any answers is that they don’t get any answers. Here’s an experiment, my dear little wannabes: Think of any question you have about publishing. Any question at all. Got one in your wittle bitty head? Good. Now Step Two—and don’t worry, there are only two steps so you don’t get confused. Say the question aloud, then read the statement below. Aloud, of course.

For example, you might ask yourself why the agent you submitted to rejected your work. And the answer is…

You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

This is a stock answer that applies to almost all publishing situations. It is one of the only statements you will hear in publishing that makes any sense at all because it is true. Here’s another example:

I am new to publishing, where should I begin my quest for publication?

Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

And here are more examples:

That agent is an asshole and doesn’t know what he is doing.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Miss Snark is so informative!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Watchdog groups love me and want to help me get published.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Editors are mean and like to turn people down after leading them on for months at a time.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

I’ve written the great American novel and I will be famous.
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

You are a mean, horrible agent for discouraging me!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Should I use Courier or Times New Roman font when submitting?
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

What’s wrong with being a wannabe? Everyone has to start somewhere!
Answer: You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Now, there is irony floating around here. I know that the wannabes who read this will immediately rally and take up arms and say that just because they are new doesn’t mean they aren’t talented and that the industry should take a chance on them and that everyone has to start somewhere and if we would only give them a chance…

But, hmmm, how can that be? If an agent is new to the industry, everyone lands on him or her for being too new and inexperienced. He/she is told how to do his job by people who don’t have the foggiest idea about being an agent or any kind of publishing professional (and, no, being a writer doesn’t make you a publishing professional; it makes you the labor force). You all say the same thing: We new writers don’t want a new agent. We want someone experienced who has the best contacts and can get us the best deal to make us rich and famous and get us on the talk shows. And you are al worth it, too, aren't you? And all the loudmouth literary talking heads nod and agree and, even though they qualify their statements with a comment about working hard and learning to be professional, they poo-poo any agent except ones like me—the big boys—who are not going to give your work a second look. Why should we? What have you ever done to prove that you deserve a shot at the big time? I’ve lurked on the boards. I’ve seen some of the awful, cruel things people say about agents when they think no one is looking. I’m looking. And my first thought is that if you don’t want a new agent, why do you think an experienced agent would want a new writer? Isn’t that a double standard? What? I am supposed to use my experience for the lousy 15% of shit you can draw in? Newbies don’t rate high pay, baby. They rate dick is what they rate. Maybe you think your book is the most outstanding piece of literature since the form was created, but considering that half the population won't agree with you on principle, how is a publishing house supposed to invest in your crap with any hope of return?

So two shay and go fuck yourselves.

This is just one example of the thousands of frustrations and the stupid ideas that are reinforced by the glop out there written by wannabes who think they are at my level. I wish the fucking internet would explode and then maybe there wouldn’t be any wannabes or watchdogs or fucking blogging agents. God, I hate them. For those of you who are shaking all over, so happy that you think you have caught me in a mistake (as if), I am not a blogging agent. I am an agent who has a blog. I do not write every fucking day, every fucking hour. I spend most of my time selling books and porking my “girlfriends” (okay, fiancés, wives, other people’s wives--whatever). I vent and I rant, but I don’t blog and I don’t solicit or kiss ass. I don’t offer any advice, either, but I do tell you the truth. And that is (can you guess?)…

You are a wannabe and know nothing about the industry and you shouldn’t be in it.

Tooshay.

Oh my God! I can’t stop laughing. The fates are conspiring to kill me with mirth. I haven’t guffawed this much since Bush got elected. Gimme a minute to catch my breath, would ya?

deep breaths
deep breaths
giggle
snort
deep brea…

Aah, to hell with it. I’m just going to type while I’m snorting my libation out my nose. So what if you wankers have to read typos? So what if I have to buy yet another keyboard? It’s worth it.

gulping for air
snorting
laughter

Okay, I’m composed now. At least enough to compose for my beloved wannabes (I hope you recognize the sarcasm there). I just got an e-mail from which I would like to share an excerpt with you…

“You are so stupid Sammy! Like we all don’t know that your part of this IILAA group. Your just a pathertic scammer like the rest of them. It's probly your idea. Asshole!”

So I get on this site and read about this new agent organization for "independent agents" who are pro-fees and against watchdog groups, which, of course, has all the usual suspects grabbing their bunched undies out of their collective self-righteous cracks. And now I can’t stop laughing. This has made my day, folks, just made my day. Can none of you see the ridiculousness of all of this? Probably not. You haven’t seen through the smoke and mirrors that is the fantasy (no pun intended) promoted by watch puppies and thoroughly useless and talentless members of the rapidly disappearing publishing community.

Wannabes only see what they want to see…

But I digress. Here’s a little quiz for the loyal readers of my blog who should know by now exactly why I couldn’t be a part of this quaint little effort, as much fun as it would be.

Quiz

1. Sammy doesn’t do which of the following?
a. work/play in groups (that incident with Angelique at my friend’s wedding reception doesn’t count. For one thing, I don’t know where the midget came from, and for another, technically, that makes it a ménage a trios, not a group)
b. lower himself to deal with agents/writers/editors, etc., who crawl around in the lower echelons of some mythical publishing world promoted by the watchpuppies and the scammers and the wannabes and the pathetically young editors who don’t know any better and Oprah
c. Call reimbursements “fees” (You idiots—there’s a difference)
d. All of the above

2. Sammy has said which of the following?
a. The relationships of the watch puppies and scammers and anonymous bloggers and writers groups are more incestuous than Oedipus and Lolita ever thought of being. In the last case, just as creepy, too.
b. If somebody in the publishing world, including published writers who wallow in their own glory, says that he is trying to protect poor wittle wannabes, translate that to mean “feed off your worship.”
c. Snark will ultimately prove that everything on this blog is true and that the whole racket is geared toward getting a book deal. She and her “friends” (and if you haven’t figured this whole set of weirdos and their relationships out yet, you are either really naïve or just plain stupid) are the epitome of that which wannabes have been programmed to fear. Oh, the irony.
d. All of the above.

3. Wannabes
a. Suck the life out of publishing
b. Suck the life out of publishing
c. Suck the life out of publishing
d. All of the above

4. Sammy charges…
a. A super large reading fee
b. For sex
c. For advice to wannabes on whether they have a life or not.
d. a only, but b is viable based on feedback from willing participants in a study done in Sammy’s bedroom, Sammy’s bathroom, Sammy’s kitchen, on Sammy’s computer desk, and at the zoo (don’t ask).


5. Sammy loves…
a. to see two groups of idiots who have no idea what really goes on in the entertainment field battling it out for the love and adoration of a group of emotionally needy, life-lacking, zombie-like, immature, probably overly conservative and horny mailbox watchin’ wannabes.
b. working in LA and NYC (coast to coast nook) and a good glass of California wine
c. knowing that as the publishing-as-we-know-it apocalypse looms, there will still be a scramble among those who think they know what is going on to convince their now angry believers they weren’t full of shit all along. I want popcorn for that movie.
d. All of the above

6. Sammy likes to spend his time…
a. making love, not war
b. venting on his blog when he’s not getting laid or selling something
c. waiting for the day when the whole damn literary system as we know it (or in most cases, as people think they know it) folds up and goes away, and all the newbies find some other hobby to keep them from focusing on their sad, miserable lives, allowing publishing to be reborn and progress without all the sludge clogging the pipelines. Maybe blogging. Or porn.
d. All of the above, and happily

7. Scenario: Sammy meets a beautiful woman who says her name is Sasha at a party given by a close friend and they hit it off immediately. He takes her back to his place, and they have a little wine and make a little small talk before heading to the computer desk. Suddenly, in the midst getting down to business (Psst, dum-dums, I mean s-e-x), Sasha pulls away and, breathing heavily, says, “Sammy, I haven’t been honest with you. I really like you, and I think you should know that I am really a man.” Sammy’s reaction is…
a. At least he’s not a wannabe.
b. Dave? Is that you?
c. Really, Snark, you’re a lot more feminine than you give yourself credit for.
d. All of the above

Score: Here are the answers, for you reprobates who honestly can’t figure it out. They are all d, as in dumbfucks.

I think I will go start my own little organization, of which I will be the only full member. I will have lots of associate members, whose dues will keep me afloat (hey, that’s how writer’s organizations all work, isn’t it? Writer’s conferences, too. Or anything with the word “writer” in it, for that matter). It will be called Sammy’s Fully-satisfied Women’s Association, and we will have a Canon of Ethics and a section on our website with names of men who haven’t satisfied women lately. Of course, I will take complaints from members and tell my followers that I help the FBI track down low-lifes who promise and then don’t deliver orgasms. Wow, what a concept. I have to go now. I think I need to work on a logo. And a theme song!

Heh heh heh.--Sammy

I can think of one good reason: You will lose the masterpiece that you were getting ready to post on your blog.

Yep. I didn’t have computer safe sex, and now not only is all my work lost (how her **** hit that delete key I will never figure out) but my F keys are sticking. So now you get a quicky instead of the longer, more desired read you so desperately need. Pant, pant.

Oh well, at least I don’t have prison fantasies like one of my loyal commenters (You know who you are, DK).

Just a response in reference to some comments on my last post and then I will go off on another tangent. How many times do I have to say this? Some people in this business are not out to amass a gaggle of followers for the money, although that is one of the biggest motivators. They want power. Lots of power. And then they can do whatever they want and make publishing whatever they want because their minions will spread out through cyberspace like a plague and beyond, spreading their “truth” and backing down any nay-sayers. This is how it works in all aspects of entertainment, so it is not that unusual. Just annoying. Their names on the lips of everyone, or so they believe, and that translates into book sales, baby, book sales. From wannabes, mainly. If you are looking for altruism in the publishing industry, you are on a sad and fruitless journey, my friend. Woe is you. Woe is you.

And don’t forget, just because Snarkalina and friends (hint) haven’t published books yet doesn’t mean that they won’t. I can just see the whole pathetic production now, including giddy fans and even my long-awaited “I told you so” post. However, I do have to give Snarky just a little credit. She has built a huge following, indeed, which is quite a feat for someone like her. She could actually come out and do a book deal and I bet she wouldn’t lose any fans at all, even though, technically, that would prove that I was right about her and…well, her, anyway, using the blog to build up a fan base for just that very purpose. But who am I to say anything? Just little ol’ Sammy She-Bammy with a terribly wicked grin. Hey, if Dr. Phil can nearly cripple people with diet and exercise, I am sure Snarky could continue to abuse writers under her real name and they would eat it up, making her the Oprah of the Wannabe Kingdom. Just what the world needs—yet another addition to the ranks of the pundits. Can’t wait for that shit.

Along those lines, someone (okay, a bunch of someones) commented and e-mailed that I offer nothing to writers but negativity, which is absolutely not true. Everything you need to know is right here in this blog, and if you don’t get it, at least get a clue that you’re a dumbfuck.

That’s all the cynicism I can spare for now. Besides, I think, from the look on my little darlin’s face, that it looks like I might have to buy a brand new keyboard tomorrow.

With a wink and a smile--Sammy

Enough!

I am sick and tired of the articles posted everywhere about scamming agents and shady agents and incompetent agents and so on. I just read through one that someone sent me, written—AGAIN—by someone who is completely unqualified to write about the subject of agents at all. And no, I am not talking about the folks at Writer Beware or P&E, although they fall in that crowd too.

Some wannabe writer went around and did interviews with several folks who were supposedly “in the know” about all the bad things agents to do poor wittle wannabe writers. Nobody interviewed me. Maybe they thought that I didn’t care, because I don’t. They didn’t have an agent write it. They didn’t ask the AAR to write it either. Nor did they write about the dirty rotten things that writers do to agents and to each other, the things that so-called publishing “professionals” do to writers, and the things that publishers do to writers. Do you know how many times I have saved a writer’s ass from some ridiculous (or vindictive) thing some editor from one of the publishers that every conniving little wannabe wants to get published by has tried to pull? (Yes, that’s a convoluted sentence, but I don’t give a fuck. Read it twice if
you have to.)

I see it all. I see how writers and agents and publishers manipulate and are manipulated by each other. It isn’t pretty. Neither is the movie business—the dramatic arts industry—but for some reason my expectations are lower and their bullshit is even easier to spot. I guess a guy trained in NYC is no match for the uppity snots I deal with now. California pussies. They worry too much about being thin. Combine that with the dumb, easy broads and I’m a happy b-o-y in C-A.

Anyway, where are the articles about the dirty doings at S&S or HarperC? Where are the naughty notes from the meetings between writers who firmly intend to screw an agent out of his hard-earned cash? Think it hasn’t happened? It has. For some reason, once the check arrives, the writer suddenly is overcome with a pang of regret that 15% has been carved out for the guy who got the jack-off his deal. After all, why did he need an agent in the first place? His work is magnifique! The first client who verbalized this to me was, shall we say, let go. More like I told him to go fuck himself. In the early years, I had writers query me because they wanted to have a bunch of queries out, and then when I showed interest and started reading the ms, I would get a call that the writer had decided to go with someone else. My time had been wasted while some prick who knew darn good and well he was going to sign with someone else just wanted a little more of an ego boost by having two agents (or more) interested in his work.

Enough!

That also about sums up my position on the morons who are bilking other morons by supposedly publishing, either via blog or book or website or pamphlets dropped over Iraq, advice on how to get published. Yes, that includes Evil Editor, Miss Snark, Writer Beware and so on. All of those touchy-feely superheroes who claim to offer the keys to publishing success—which usually come out with the emphasis on there is possibility that you will get published and little time given to the fact that the possibility ranges in the zillion-to-one range—screwing writers just as much as the guy with multiple fraud convictions who carries condoms everywhere he goes.

I have gotten dozens of e-mails on the situation with Evil Editor—what’s my take on it? What do you mean, what’s my take on it? I have posted on this before. This is just another way that the lower echelon of publishing “professionals” can cash in on the dumbfuck population of wannabes who will buy anything that guarantees success in an industry that requires more than just being able to type to make it. These quasi-professional types are one step above wannabes; it doesn’t matter if they work at a major house or have published a dozen NYT bestsellers or that the President conferred an award upon them that states, “This here publishin’ profeshunal dun good werk and we’s xtreemly prowd o’ ‘im.” All that matters is that the person is using writers to his/her own advantage. Yet no one says a word. It’s all in their names, too—snark, evil, beware, predators, etc. Someone should start an agency and call it something like Scammers International Literary Agency. It would be a huge success. And on that note…

Enough.

Well, Marley may have been absent for a little while, but she’s back now in full bloom. Marley, love, take it from here….

Jesus fucking Christ, people! You really have no clue about children’s publishing, do you? I do. You know why? Because I am not in it, that’s why. But my kindred spirits in the realm of the Itty Bitties (i.e. itty bitty advances, itty bitty royalties, itty bitty prestige) have to vent to someone. That’s right—I am buddies with a couple of kids’ editors. Have been for a long time. And they tell me things. Naughty things. I went to university with a couple of them, and for some reason—perhaps they are mentally ill—when we decided to go our separate ways into the pub world, they went to Bunnyville and I went to where all the grown-ups go—agenting. HA! I knew some of you would snicker at that. Well, fuck you good and hard. I may be a mother-fucking agent, despised by the creative population in general, but at least I’m not a pathetic, lifeless, mommy-wannabe, daycare lovin’ children’s lit editor. Jesus, and the Christians think Satan is bad!

Look, I know that everyone thinks of these twats as the epitome of literary mommydom, even the guys. They publish books that supposedly guide our children, but have you seen any of these man-hungry wrecks lately (including the guys)? I am almost sisters with one of them, and she’s a fucking idiot. I love her, and I would raise her children if a picture book writer hunted her down and killed her with one of their drool-covered glitter pens, but she’s still an idiot. To make it plainer to the elfadeldos (no, I don’t know how to goddamn spell it) in Bunnyville, not only do you have to deal with editors who never quite made it out of the middle school mentality, you have to deal with editors stealing your spots on lists. Maybe you should think about this before sending your masterpiece off.

I don’t take kiddie lit, even though wannabes send me shit all the time, but I am “in.” For those of you who don’t know what that means, it is the opposite of where you are, which is “out.” Anyway, I know who these people are. When a writer bitches to me about not taking kid lit (which is like bitching to a Chevy salesman that he doesn’t sell Fords), I fire back at them with the ridiculousness of their hero’s quest to be the next Dr. Seuss. Why is it fruitless? Because the children’s editors are writing their own books and getting them published, so they DO NOT NEED YOU. You pathetic morons!

Have you been to a bookstore lately? Just look at the names on the shelves and you will find dozens of editors who work at Random House, Simian & Schuster (yes, that’s how I spell it since that fucking little bastard in lower management bragged that he touched my unmentionables—MY TITTIES!—when the closest he had been was across the hall), HarpyCollins (have you talked with these people lately? Three words: P-M-S), and Penguin Poundyourpudnam (draw your own conclusions). Yeah, I have issues with all of these houses, though I still sell books to some of them, but the fact is the kid’s editors are publishing their own shit and they don’t need yours. So stop idolizing the fluffy version of Attila the Hun, will you?

Oh, I know. In the adult world, we have Jason Pinter, who wrote a book for—snicker, snicker—MIRA. Ooooooh. And there’s others, too. Even bigger oooooohs. Yeah, so it happens in the adult world, too, that editors claim spots on lists that real writers could fill otherwise. But kiddie writers seem to idolize their editors, whereas in my world we just tolerate the slop they churn out, buy them drinks until they are sloppy-ass drunk, and then we set their shoes on fire. God, I love my job!

The adult editors won’t go to the police—they are too ashamed to explain how they ended up with second-degree burns on the soles of their feet. One guy did try to claim he was fire-walking, but the cops didn’t buy it. The kiddie editors, on the other hand, have never gotten past milkshakes and teddy-bear hug parties, and they will run to an authority figure the minute you seductively suck on their olives. Pussies.

My point is this: Quit sending me your children’s lit shit. I don’t take it. Never will. The editors are psycho and they don’t buy that many manuscripts anyway because they are all busy writing their own, which usually suck. Check the names and numbers and you will see. The editor that turns you down because she says your book just didn’t connect with her is basically saying you write better than her and won’t take on anything that might make better sales figures than her loser book about Abraham Lincoln’s mole getting a blowjob.

And to my sister editors who keep trying to lure me over to the dark side—you will never take me alive. I don’t want to have anything to do with passing notes at recess, ‘kay? And by the way, I have the most amazing assortment of glitter pens…

Fuck you,
Marley

Being that I am a reprehensible cad, I tend to judge a man by the number of women I have to console after he dies, and this morning I discovered, to my bedmate’s utter horror, that I am going to be a very busy teddy bear this week.

As many of you might have heard, Steve Irwin, the guy known as the Crocodile Hunter, died some hours ago after an encounter with a stingray that ended, unfortunately, with the ray’s barb stabbing Irwin in the heart. Since the news broke, my phone has been ringing off the hook (even though phones don’t technically have hooks anymore) with messages from my stable of beauties in near hysterics over this. In a desperate effort to appease some of my ladies (while fending off Violet's wrath) I promised I would write a short tribute to the guy on my blog, even though none of them know where or what it is. Apparently, just knowing that someone is posting in his honor is enough for them. So here goes…

Steve Irwin is the only guy that I ever knew of that--by just being himself and without even ever having talked to her directly that I know of--got Underwear Woman to quit wearing shoes made out of real crocodile hide.

For those of you who don’t know Underwear Woman, and I count you in the lucky sector on that one, she is a shrew of an ex-wife who won’t listen to anybody about anything because she is always right. The only thing that I have been sure she was right about was that I was diddling one of her friends, but I guess she was a regular fan of Irwin’s and decided that if a guy could generate that much enthusiasm for a creature that had a smile almost just like hers, then she would make the gesture. Not an empty one for a woman so vacuous and vain that she puts most show dogs to shame. A feat like that definitely indicates a higher order mammal of the most excellent kind (okay, I am quoting here).

Also, out of ten or so lovelies that I consider my steady girlfriends, eight of them called me needing comfort. Of course, one was fuming beside me because the phone kept waking her up, so on the Sammy Scale of Importance, Irwin ranked roughly eight out of nine, a feat unmatched to this point by any famous dead person. The highest the scale ever went was three out of ten, if that gives you any indication. And Irwin never even bonked any of my girlfriends either, so he earned this adoration just on his charm alone. I literally stand in awe.

I have to admit that I watched his stuff a few times myself, being a snake fan. Yeah, there’s some irony for you. I guess when you get compared to the slithery little guys enough, you get curious, so I tuned in. I can definitely say that, while we would have never gone out scoping women together (he was a dedicated family man), I would have definitely enjoyed hoisting a few with this bloke and listening to his exploits. He seemed genuine in everything that he did, and I don’t get to be around many folks like that in my industry. As one of my darlings sobbed, he was real like the Velveteen Rabbit real (I don't date all of my ladies for their brains alone). There were some people who got all bent out of shape over him holding his kid while feeding a crocodile—I remember this incident—and I remember thinking that they should fuck off. This guy knew what he was doing because he knew his shit, unlike most piss-brained parents nowadays who put helmets on their kids the minute they get out of bed in the morning. He knew what he was doing, and he was confident about it. The world is so filled with pathetic wannabes in every occupation (especially writers, don’t think that just because I am writing a tribute that you dickheads are off the hook) that no one seems to understand this anymore. I don’t meet too many of those folks in this industry either.

Jesus, I am getting more bummed as I write this.

On a bright note, I think that Irwin went the way he would have wanted to go if he knew he had to. I think that the best tribute to Irwin is that the Great Spirit (or Yahweh or God or whatever higher being you believe in) honored him by transitioning him to the next realm in a way that celebrates everything he ever stood for in his life. We should all aspire to such greatness.

Enough said.--SammyK

This post will contain the words of other people—editors, other agents, writers, a bookseller, etc.—who populate this dying industry. Some are questions I will answer; others are just comments from a frustrated group of people besieged by bullshit.

From an editor…
I hate what this industry has become. I just hate it.

From an independent bookseller…
Hey Sammy, have you heard about the book that we’re expected to order even though the publishing house won’t divulge the author’s name or what it’s about? I say fuck ‘em; my patrons can go to a chain to buy that shit. This is ridiculous. Is it that publishers are trying to show us that they think we are so stupid that we will take anything, even an anonymous book with no description, just because they say it’s going to be a huge bestseller? Remember the Harry Potter disaster? Right!

From an agent…
I really can’t believe how out of hand some of these writers have gotten. I have been an agent for years, and good lord! The e-mails I get are just atrocious. Nasty notes because I send a form rejection and nasty notes if I offer comments. I can get new clients from other venues, so I just stopped taking queries period last year. Things have been a lot better since.

From an agent…
I keep hearing this lament about we agents would have nothing to do if there were no writers. Bullshit! I have skills for at least three other professions, whereas most writers are writing because they want to get out of their miserable existences. Yeah, I need these writers real bad. I can go almost anywhere and find some pudhead to scribble out a yarn, no problem. It’s not like the editors that they’re hiring now would know the difference, and believe me, the really talented writers aren’t the ones sniveling about not getting published.

From a romance editor…
I know you rail against idiot writers, but I bet you don’t have to work with them like I do. Instead of waiting for a really good book to come along, I have to take substandard crap and try to make it sellable because my house publishes so many books a year. The truth? You’ve said it, Sammy. There are millions of wannabes out there, but only a small percentage of them can write. And a smaller percentage can write really good romance. You know what I see? I see every day the stupid trends that romance publishers come up with and the way the RWA tries to legitimize romance by adding women’s fiction and chick-lit and all those other types of “sophisticated” versions of genre romance. There is nothing wrong with romance except that every pathetic, dateless wannabe thinks she can write it. I end up having to sign these people, knowing that I will have to practically re-write the damn books, and the next thing I know, the author has a web site or blog and is giving writing advice. Or she has a glamour shot posted and the site talks all about her and her life and how she came to be such an important literary icon, what with her one book and all. I hate to burst the bubble, and I would never actually say this to the writer, but just because you get a contract doesn’t mean you are a writer, just a convenient list filler. Agents are terrible about romances too. They will try to sell me anything, because they really don’t understand what good romance is. It is so depressing. I used to read romances for fun; now, like many of our readers, I don’t read anything for fun. I surf the Net.

From an agent…
God, I get so tired of hearing how evil agents are. I never realized it until I went to a few conferences, and boy, did I figure it out fast. I have done my best to get fair deals for my clients and mediate negotiations so that it’s a win/win situation for both the publisher and writer, because that’s how good books get to readers. But I’ll be damned if I don’t get on these blogs and forums and hear agents talked about like funeral parlor directors—they’re needed, but you really don’t want to have to ever see them professionally if you don’t have to.

From a writer…
I hate other writers. I can’t even get on the forums and stuff anymore because I always read something stupid from one of the regulars. Then when I respond, they either post around me or, even better, and I know this has happened to other people, they take what I posted, re-word it a little and add a comment, and then everyone praises them for their wonderful insight. Am I insane? No wonder publishers hesitate working with new writers so much. I would, too. I can’t even stand to be around them and I’m one of them. They all bitch about the cliquey-ness of the business, but the first thing they do is form cliques. I thought I graduated high school years ago.

From a small publisher…
This industry has changed so much since I started and writers need to understand that. But I get the crappiest stuff! If people just want to share their souls, fine, but don’t ask me to invest money in your work so that you—and only you—can benefit. I saw on some writer organization’s site the other day tips for writers and what they should allow (allow!?!) publishers to have. I was shocked. When did it become us against them, with the writer being the most important? Fuck that. Writers have written shitty responses to my rejections, stating that they don’t need publishers and can do it all on their own. I say, go ahead motherfucker. All these writers post on the Internet thinking they are getting back at publishers and proving they don’t need us. Good for you. You don’t need us unless you want to get paid for your writing, and as long as writers are doing all the work, which they didn’t used to have to do, we publishers will let you. They are dumbasses, aren’t they?

Questions and Answers:

From Beth…
“I have a question. Why go to publishers? If you’re good, won’t they come to you? Every nut-bag has a blog and some of the nut-bags are getting deals!”--Pretty much, Betsy, they will find you if you are good. Publishers are inundated with crap every single day, and I have already given my uncensored opinion on how ridiculous it is that bloggers, most of whom are complete smartasses, are getting book deals. Publishers are getting desperate, and there are ways around them. The problem, my dear, is that you have to understand and know the industry before you can navigate away from the morons, and most wannabes don’t know the first thing about the basics as it is.

From another Beth…
“Has such a loss of professionalism (however chemically-induced) ever happened to you? Or respected agents that you know?”--In regard to a situation this questioner described about a agent who got drunk and fondled someone, no, I haven’t, to this point, suffered a loss of professionalism such as this, inebriated or otherwise. I should note, though, that this is because I am a completely unprofessional person to begin with, so people don’t set the highest standards for me anyway—just for my clients. As for my agent brethren, I know of plenty of incidents that have happened over the years, some of them pretty embarrassing, some almost illegal, and others just funny and/or titillating (Marley, love, I will never tell). However, I won’t post them because A) they will tag my identity B) I don’t share industry stuff with outsiders and C) as long as they know that I know and haven’t told, they stay in line. Blowing the whistle would lessen the iron grip of power I hold over some of these yahoos, so you really wouldn’t want me to post their dalliances, as that’s the only thing keeping them in control at all. Sort of like Saddam Hussein and the terrorists. Sort of.

From George…

“Why do agents suck so bad? Butt-juice sniffers!”--Well, George, it’s like this: Fuck off.

There are so many more, but I have to go enjoy the rest of my weekend with Bella. She’s getting antsy and shouting love words in Italian. If she gets to singing “Volaire,” I won’t make it out alive.--Sammy

As I have mentioned, I had the distinct pleasure of traveling a lot this past year, and particularly this summer. Back and forth between the coasts, grabbing a little vacation time here and there. One of those vacays took me on a visit to my friend in Canada, Victoria, B.C. to be exact, and though I had been there before, I was suddenly overcome by a distinct melancholy this time. It seemed so normal and pleasant. People there didn’t recognize me, and nobody bothered me. As my friend and I hung out, I realized that he gets to live this way all the time, while I live in a world where I am constantly dealing with other people’s fantasies and neediness and ambition and hopes and stupidity, and working with the movie people, it will only get worse. He isn’t a writer, and he laughs his ass off when I talk about my life in the biz. It’s different there somehow. More real. So now I hate Victoria and all its residents, who don’t have to deal with wannabes and get to be normal. It’s jealousy, plain and simple.

However, I love airports. I do. I love airports because I see all kinds of people just being who they are. You have to be yourself in an airport; the stress of flying, even if you enjoy it, brings out our real Id. If you are a lying pathetic bastard, you will be one on the airplane. A mousy little submissive wife will be a mousy little submissive airline passenger. A passionate ne’er-do-well agent will be a passionate ne’er-do-well first class passenger who smiles widely at pretty flight attendants who keep the liquor coming. A ridiculous, calculating wannabe writer will be a ridiculous, calculating airline passenger who tries to get ahead by putting out the least amount of effort and hoping for the most return.

Another reason I like airports is that they ground me. Not my flight, but me. I see all kinds of beautiful people, families even, where all the members are just beautiful. It reminds me how stupid people are to worship Brad and Angelina and Tom and Katie and all the other supposedly real “beautiful people.” The coverage of the births of their children was nauseating, as reporter, and I use the term loosely, after reporter kept talking about how genetically blessed their kids would be. And then at the airport, I see a family with a gorgeous mom, a handsome dad, and an incredibly adorable tyke. It takes away the sting of going to Victoria because I remember that Brad and Angie aren’t the best we can do. Seriously, I wouldn’t date blowjob lips if you paid me. Or girly boy, either. So, really, how did these two average-looking, average-talented, regular folks get promoted to the model for human perfection? You all know what I am going to say, don’t you? That’s right. I goddamn blame it on the…

WANNABES! The mediocre, mealy-mouth, mind-mushy wannabes.

You are the same people who elected George #2 because he represented, nay, is the epitome of, mediocrity being shoved into success (Lord knows he couldn’t have done it on his own). This is my own personal theory, but the people who voted for #2 were really voting for the grand illusion he represented: That anyone, truly, can be president, even those who don’t invest any time, effort, or money into becoming qualified. Joe Anybody wants to believe that one day he could be president, what with his BA in Mechanical Drain Clearing and his experience as Sunday school teacher, or that his cross-eyed, marginally-talented, semi-literate kid could grow up to be president even though he can’t name the three branches of government and forgot(?) to pay his taxes the last few years. A vote for #2 is a vote for the possibility that you might someday be important. The worst part is that these delusions are fueled not by a desire to help America be the best country it can be, but to become powerful and rich, either directly or indirectly.

Sound familiar, wannabes? It should. You can say that you write because you love it, but ultimately, unless you are handing your work out at the closest flop house without expecting anything in return but a whispered thanks, you are one of millions of people who are looking to become a glorified, overpaid, ego-heavy writah. So don’t get shitty when some guy who has paid thousands of dollars for training and worked for years in the bowels of some publishing house sifting through crap as an assistant editor gets his novel published while you’re still clawing at the underside of the mailroom floor.

The most recent bitch from the wannabe camp is that celebrities are getting published and taking all the open slots from them. How unfair! These celebrities haven’t done anything to deserve a publishing contract! All they have is a name! What about poor little me?

What about you, wannabe? Aren’t you the one out there going to the movies and buying these books? Worshipping celebrities and quasi-celebrities and making them a name brand? Why do publishers and movie executives, who base everything on the bottom line, want someone whose name will pull in money immediately and for a long period of time? Because you dumb fucks are out there buying their shit, that’s why! You’ve created the monsters who are honing in on your action. Who says Pam Anderson marrying Kid Rock is important? The people who buy the rags who show the pics of their wedding. Who says that the nobodies on the reality TV shows are important? The thousands of viewers who tune in to see who will screw whom and which cast member will get voted off. Who dictates that movie stars should get millions of dollars for pretending to be someone else? Not the producers, who would pay them $20 if they could, but the twits who go to see stupid movies with stupid actors and pay through the nose to do so. And who says Janet Jackson’s got a hot body, even though she has boy hips? The idiots that don’t look past the titty-job.

And that, dammit, is why I hate Victoria.

PS Sorry that this is not my typical fare, but it's been a long, hot summer.

People keep asking me why I keep mentioning Snark and her group of wannabe wannabes (and in case you don’t know of whom I speak, dear wannabes, check out her site for her incestuous publishing family tree). No, I don't need the attention, thank you. I'm sure my fans would continue to send death threats whether I mention Snark or not.

There's one reason mainly, and here it is: I don’t intend to let anyone forget for one minute that the people in this business who say they are helping writers and say that they care about writers are usually the biggest scammers in the universe. Perhaps I am wrong; however, every time I mention Snark or her watchpuppy or editor buddies (I am dropping clues here, by the way), it is a reminder that if any of them use their ill-gotten celebrity to get a book deal (or in some cases, ANOTHER book deal), they will, in the words of Ricky Ricardo, have a whole lot of ‘splainin to do. And that would be to you, wannabes.

Of course, some writers will never figure it out, and will continue to drool at the foot of their crumbling pedestals. But others will realize that all along they have been the victims of the biggest scam of all, and the prize isn’t money—although indirectly it is—but celebrity and the power it brings. I never trust people who say they are there to “help” people who should be able to help themselves. If a watchpuppy, for example, turned in his leash and collar and decided to help writers with no arms by typing for them, fine, that’s altruistic. However, when people tell writers things they should already know if they were actually qualified to write professionally, or when people tell writers that which should be COMMON SENSE in any business endeavor, then that’s solicitous bullshit, and the next thing to come out of that bull is usually a book.

Now, why should you care? Because the biggest bitch writers have is that they can’t break in to the field. There’s only so much room, and guess who’s taking up the slots that should be reserved for the .0000001% of the wannabe population that might actually have talent? That’s right—editors, other writers who promote themselves through “helping” writers, agents, established writers, watchdogs, forum gurus, bloggers, etc. I can’t tell you how many editors I know who have written fiction and nonfiction—just look it up, wannabes, the facts are there—and how many writers’ advocates make a living off of…WANNABE WRITERS!!

Now most of the editors and agents I can say deserve the opportunity. They went to school, worked their way up the ranks in mostly shitty jobs, that kind of thing. Probably blew a few marketing guys on the way up, too. I can even say that journalists deserve a shot at the big time, too, because at least they decided they wanted to write early enough that they went to school for it, and no matter what anyone told them, they put themselves through school and earned shitty pay for years until their big break came along (and for some, it hasn't and never will). But people who just set themselves up to build up an audience by getting writers to believe that their own motivation is noble make my balls ache.

The truth is, and I said this last year when I started this blog (happy anniversary to me!), that the reason wannabe writers can’t get “in” is because they should have started out wanting “in” and working toward that goal from the gitgo. If you just decided at mid-life that you wanted to write something because the muse bit your ass, but you don’t want to invest any time or money in following the path it takes to become a professional writer (the long arduous path), then you are a wannabe who will probably end up worshipping at the feet of those who are stepping on you on their way to the top.

Have a nice fucking day!

--Sammy

From the spastic e-mails I get, I can see that while I’ve been gone, AW has rapidly degraded to what it was before the Great Shit Filter In The Sky swooped down and removed it from the World Wide Web. It’s a damn shame it couldn’t have been permanent. The too short time that it was down had both great and very bad effects on the rest of us who are reasonably sane. The good effect was that some of the trash that clutters the web was cleared for a while, but on the bad side it allowed the crazies that normally get their fixes by feeding on each other’s egos to roam the internet without a leash and a trainer and allowed some of them to write shit on my blog.

Then there’s the Miss Snark crap: I could care less about this twit. Of course I know her secrets, and I'm not talking about her identity. Given my track record, I’ve probably slept with her. Did I say I’d reveal her name? Fuck no. Do I give a shit if people comment here on who she might be? Fuck no. You should see the comments I don't post. Woo-hoo. If I did give Snarkopolis one for the Gipper, that’s like screw and tell and I’ll never be guilty of that, even indirectly due to copulatory amnesia (which means she probably sucked in the sack, and not the good kind of suck either). That’s so high school. Oh, wait a minute you guys probably do that--screw and tell. Right. I forgot. I may be an asshole, but I, at least the last time I checked, made it through puberty. Some of us, I won't mention names (wannabes and watchpuppies among others), have not. Yet. What a long time to wait for reality to set in.

The only reason I even mention Snarky-poo’s name on my blog is to have some fun with wannabes. You guys are so easy and I know that every time I push one of your key word buttons, you’ll respond. You’re just like monkeys. Feed you a key word and you push the yellow button—how dumb for such a supposed smart flock of scammer experts and future best-selling writers of America. It’s no wonder scammers constantly outsmart the lot of you. Of course, by your definition, ol’ Sammy is a scammer. But I think you and your type somehow have confused scammer with entrepreneur. Folks who work for nothing are called suckers and those who charge for their labor are called businessmen and women. Wannabes, of course, fit into the sucker category—sorry. Companies like Writer’s Digest print the same advice so-called experts hand out for nothing (of course it’s more accurate) and writers pay for it. There is a difference.

Now for something important: As for where I’ve been, I’ve been prospecting for gold in California. Not that gold, stupid, modern gold. Personally, I’m tired of the New York scene and decided to try a new group of phonies out for a while. At least everyone, including Californians, know they’re phony. New Yorkers, on the other hand, are still in the illusionary stage and will only admit phony when caught in the act.

There is a great boom going on out here and I have been asked several times to be a part of it. I’ve made my bones--and jumped quite a few, too-- so to speak and besides that the women are prettier and not so Goddamn neurotic. Do you know how many hot babes moved to California in the ‘60s because they thought they could make it in the movies? Most did the titty bars for a while, found themselves a beach surfer-dood, settled down and popped out some fabulous-looking daughters. I’m finding I like it California.

Anyone want to buy a successful New York literary agency?