Mega Woots to Janet Reid, Trés Shark

In which he awakens from his long blog slumber for a very good reason.

Janet Reid and I sorta zipped past each other for the better part of a year before we finally agreed to work together. I first queried her in March of 2004, but it wasn't until the following winter that she offered representation and I eagerly accepted. But it wasn't one of those query-and-wait situations. She responded to my query within days with a request for a full, and within a few weeks she called to discuss the manuscript and her situation.

The good news was she loved Lost Dog. The bad news is her client list was full and she couldn't promise to give me the attention she felt I deserved. Not the answer I was hoping for, but I appreciated her directness and honesty. We talked that day for almost two hours, a conversation that ranged from talk about tweaks to Lost Dog, to what to look for as I continued to query, to the state of publishing and more. One of the things that first interested me in Janet was her connection to Oregon, so my adopted home came up as well.

The call ended with her encouraging me to keep at it but to stay in touch and let her know how things went. As the year progressed, I had some near misses with a couple of agents, quality folks indeed, but didn't quite make it. In the late fall, I dropped her a line letting her know where things stood. She called again, we talked again. In this call the mentioned that she might have a slot open up around the first of the year—another client and her might be soon parting ways. An important point she made was that just because you have an agent doesn't mean you're going to get a deal, and there was someone for whom she hadn't been able to find a deal. This was a huge point for me. She wasn't trying to pretend like she was a miracle worker. She wasn't overselling herself, and she was willing to admit it doesn't always work out. All good agents will do this, of course. As soon as they promise you the sun and the sky, grab your wallet and duck your head. But that she was so open about it earned a new level of respect for me. She told me to check in at the new year.

At this point I did something stupid. I stopped querying. Yes, I know. I know. But I was feeling strangely confident. I let my query fingers rest and focused on other things. In January, I gave her a call. More chatting and catch up, which ended with: "Give me till the end of the month. I'll make a decision one way or another by then." It didn't actually take that long. A few days later I heard from her and an representation offer was on its way.

And by early summer, she'd found a home for Lost Dog. Midnight Ink, a small imprint of Llewellyn offered to publish it and we were off.

It hasn't been all roses and cupcakes though. Midnight Ink chose not to act on their option for Chasing Smoke, and I went through a very dark period when it felt like my writing career was over before it had a chance to get started. Publishers lined up in droves to say no, thanks. I got crabby, but Janet stayed patient. Even when I muttered about, "What the hell, I'm just going to throw it up on Lulu and go get a job as a Wal-Mart greeter," she stayed patient. And kept at it.

And found me a new home with Ben LeRoy and Alison Jannsen at Bleak House Books. And the great pleasure there is I've gotten to stay with Ben and Alison as they moved on to form their new company, Tyrus Books.

In the meantime, Janet has continued to be not only my agent and representative, but my friend. She talked me off the figurative ledge during the grim collision last winter of my seasonal affective disorder and ruptured lumbar disc (yeah, I got really down then), but she's also been a good drinking buddy during those two rare occasions when we've been in the same city together. (Inside joke: "They are now.")

It's an honor and a pleasure to work with Janet, and to be her friend. I look forward, I hope, to years to come in the gentle, sharp-toothed care of the the Shark. Janet Reid, here's to you!

Janet is an agent with the esteemed Fine Print Literary Management.

Note: Thanks go out to Kody Keplinger for instigating Agent Appreciation Day.

Prologues, or, The Hate That Would Not Die

So out there in the Twitterland, the unending debate — To Prologue or Not To Prologue? — has arisen like a glampire in all its insouciant glory. Turns out I have an opinion on this matter. Like everything else is fiction, there is no final right answer, but you can be sure that there are people out there who not only believe there is a right answer — theirs — but that if you disagree with them, you are an [expletive], [expletive] double-dumbass. In my experience, the debate is always one with much light and smoke, but in the manner of all intertube flame wars, little genuine heat.

My own feeling is a book begins on page one and ends at the end, and if the first word on page one is "Prologue," then that's what it is. Yet many readers proclaim they will not read a prologue. They will either jump right to chapter one, or skip the book altogether. A common argument is the prologue too often serves as a lazy writer's means of setting up the story when what they should be doing is getting into the action and artfully building the set up info into the thread of narrative.

In one sense, I don't disagree with that. You don't want anything in your finished work to be seen as superfluous or added-on. But that doesn't mean a prologue is inherently bad. It just means the prologue should be as critical to the story as every other chapter.

Structurally, prologues at their best seem to do exactly what some complain of: set up the foundation of the story. It's often presented around a scene, a POV, or a voice that isn't continued in the main body of the story (though not always). In crime fiction, it might show an inciting incident the POV of the victim, the perpetrator, or some omniscient viewpoint. It's likely to provide an essential piece of backstory. And, as with anything else, it can be done well or done poorly.

In my own writing life, I had a semi-interesting prologue experience. Lost Dog has a prologue, but as it happens, it's not really a prologue. It's Chapter One with the word Prologue at the top of the page, all because of the way I wrote the book. Originally, what is now Chapter One was the beginning of the story, the first thing I wrote. Then I wrote the last chapter. From there, I went worked my way forward from chapter one to chapter done.

At some point, I added a denouement called the "Epilogue." And after I did that, I decided to write a scene in a completely different POV which took place well before the action of the novel. I reasoned it would explain an event later in the story. Since it was in a different voice and POV, I called it the "Prologue" and stuck it before Chapter One.

As I worked through revisions, I decided I wanted to to introduce my antagonist before I introduced my protagonist. I also concluded my prologue wasn't necessary — the later event didn't need the help and POV difference didn't fit. So my new antagonist scene became the prologue, even though because of the way the novel is structured with alternating POVs, it probably should have just been chapter one. But (and here you get a little insight into my process!) if I made it chapter one, I would have to go through and increment all the other chapter numbers. If I just made it the prologue, I wouldn't have to mess with chapter numbering. Weird decision when you consider writing a novel takes months or even years, and changing the chapter numbering would have taken, oh, say, ten minutes. But there you are.

When the book was in editorial, I discovered this vehement opposition to the concept of prologues. Considering the mighty power of the internet hissy fit, I decided, hell, who needs the grief? I emailed my editor and said, "Can we just call them all chapters, and get rid of the words prologue and epilogue?" And he made an editorial decision, carefully reasoned as to the effect of this change on how the book would be read: "Eh, let's leave it. I don't want to have to ask the layout person to go through and change all the chapter headings at this point."

Well.

Ultimately, you should make every chapter matter. Whether the first one is called "Prologue" or "Chapter One" is less important than that it be a crucial element to the story.
 
 

Causing trouble around the internets

I have stirred from my lair and gone a visitin'. Come and see me over at the lovely Kaye Barley's home, Meanderings and Musings, wherein I dig down into my dark underbelly and discover, well, I'll leave it to Kaye's fine hostessing to drawing me out. Come and visit!