Finally, finally, finally, after a series of blown-off phone meetings, Child McStar graces me and Literary McAgent Jr. with her presence. We are joined on the phone by Manager McBlabbermouth and the eerily silent Spouse McStar.
Child offers no apologies, which is par for the course. (I once crashed a book for a reality show contestant -- who we will be discussing in the not-too-distant future -- in two weeks, and she never thanked me. Apparently a goodly number of C-list celebrities lack the politeness gene.) So since pleasantries apparently part of the game plan, we get down to business.
As is always the case during my first conversation with a new client, one of the first things I do is explain to Child how she can get me the information she'd like in the book proposal. "We can do a series of phone interviews, you can write up notes in an email, you can send me a sloppy Word document, you can mail me handwritten stuff on legal pad, whatever's easiest for you."
Child says, "I'm all about stream-of-consciousness. I've written down hundreds and hundreds of pages of thoughts."
I say, "Great!" I love it when clients write stuff down. "Can I see some of it?"
"On, no," Child says. "Nobody sees any of it."
I hate it when clients write stuff down and won't show it to me. Why say anything in the first place? Gets my hopes up. "Bummer. So how'd you like to do this?"
"I'll talk. Let's go."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's start. I'm ready."
"Wait," I say, "don't you want to ask me some questions about, y'know, me?" Ghostwriting is an intimate endeavor, and there needs to be a certain level of trust established right off the bat between the ghost and the subject. It's impossible to establish anything without some semblance of a job interview.
Child says, "Nah," then she tells Literary, Manager, and Spouse, "Get off the phone, guys. Me and Ghosty here are gonna get to work." (Note: This was the first and only time that Child used the word "work" as relating to her book.)
I say, "Wait, you want to start now? I haven't done any research."
"Doesn't matter." And then after the business team -- such as it is -- hangs up, off she goes.
If I may digress for a minute, the first thing I like to do with a client when we begin work on their book proposal -- after we start establishing that aforementioned level of trust, that is -- is to get The Story. The Story is a long anecdote that we'll use as a writing sample, a bit that'll knock an editor on their ass, the tale that'll compel them to bring the project to the publisher's editorial board, where hopefully the powers-that-be will agree to make us an offer.
The Story that Child delivers is full of sex, and jealousy, and steroids, and suicide, and the kind of sordid stuff that would indeed knock an editor on their tushie.
Unfortunately, only about 12% of it was true.
Next: In which, despite her utter inability to make a meeting on time, Ghosty and Child craft a book proposal of sorts.
No comments:
Post a Comment