Literary Agent Appreciation Story # 6

This tale of success comes from Cicily Janus.

I have a story about Gary, AKA SUPER AGENT G or SECRET AGENT G or  
GDUDE.
 
Once upon a time, Gary and I met at an illustrious wreck of a  
conference in Massachusetts.  There were writers, agent(s), mainly  
him, one show-running dude and a very bad cook.  Got it?
 
I was, more or less, forced by the hapless leader of this group to  
pitch a novel I hadn't written yet, seeing as he didn't like my  
completed novel, to Gary.
 
Setting: Gary sat in the middle of a circle of seething, blood-seeking  
shark like humanoids, known as UNPUBLISHED writers.  We were supposed  
to pitch him while in the group and get instantaneous, loving, adoring  
smiles and agent representation...(AKA: REAL FEEDBACK) on the idea of  
our novels.  Gary liked my idea, wondered aloud if someone with no  
novel writing experience could pull it off and then proceeded to move  
his Texas twangy good nature around the room.  Only one gal teared up  
as he said, I don't get it.  (Knowing Gary very well now, I know for a  
fact that his pseudonym/nickname is Mr. Agent Ambiguity Man.  He's the  
king of finding all ambiguity in all works of art)
 
Later that afternoon Gary approached me, or maybe I kidnapped him and  
said, well, if you're going to pull off that novel, I suggest you read  
x, y, z yadda yadda.  He sat down with me in front of Amazon.com and  
gave me a frackin' long list of books to read.  And I bought every  
single one. And read them.  Relished them.
 
Fast forward a month later: I met a kind young man on an airplane,  
whom I watched kiss goodbye his very pregnant wife and then hobble  
onto the plane via crutches.  Grimace and all in tow.  It was ski  
season in Colorado.  Oh yes!  I got on the plane (I am also a nurse)  
and sat next to him (Southwest airlines, choose your own seat)
 
We began talking, as I believe he wanted a distraction from the broken  
bones he was about to have surgery on, pondering aloud if Vicodin and  
Chardonnay or Rum was okay on a flight.  He was in a LOT of pain.  Of  
course he asked me what I did. I said a nurse. He said, oh. Cool. We  
talked about the surgery, fractures etc.  then I asked him, so, wadda  
ya do?  He said, oh, I'm a writer.  ESPN Sportscenter something or  
other.
 
Dammit.
 
I said, awesome.  After a few minutes of listening to brilliant (not  
joking) sports writerly talk, I fessed up.  I like to write too.  Or  
so I said.  He said, oh really?  (I'm sure he was thinking, GREAT,  
everyone thinks they're a writer...) And I told him about the  
impossible novel.  The one Gary had directed me to start on when I was  
at that conference.  He said, MY WIFE WOULD LOVE TO READ THAT.  Uh?   
Sure...I said, well, it's not out, it's, as a matter of fact, in its  
infancy.  It's barely a conjoined sperm and egg lovemaking concept of  
strings of thoughts etc...wait, who's your wife again?
 
Shana Drehs of Source Books.  Editor-at-large.
 
GULP.
 
SHIT.
 
INSERT ENLARGED, BATTERED, SWOLLEN, SORRY-ASS FOOT.
 
She would?  Really?  You're too kind.  Really.  REALLY?????
 
Next day, I wake up and receive the email.  GREAT TO HAVE MET YOU AND  
THANKS FOR THE GREAT TALK.  HERE'S HER ADDY.  SHE WANTS TO SEE IT.
 
FLIPPIN' A!
 
So, I email Gary, tell him, hey you, you remember me don't you?  Can I  
run a few para's by you and ask for some literary valium/advice?
 
His response?  You Betcha.  Of course I remember you.
 
He critiqued, read through and offered advice within a two day  
period.  It was invaluable.
 
A year, some odd change and a few days later, I email him again.
 
Hey Gary, Remember me?
 
His response?  You Betcha.
 
I briefly gave him a run-down of the jazz book I was thinking of doing  
and he answered me back within 48 hours: For practitioners or  
listeners or both?
 
We've been literarily married ever since.  Random House was our  
first child's home and to this day, we're working on my new book prop  
together.  He's my rock in this crazy business...they're not all like  
him, but I sure as hell am one lucky writer to have him on my side. 


The Jazz book Cicily modestly refers to is titled The New Face of Jazz:
An Intimate Look at Today's Living Legends and the
Artists of Tomorrow

It is available now for preorder on Amazon.com