- Despite the fact that my client, Child McStar, blew off several meetings and then, when I finally got her on the phone, rambled in what she called "a stream of consciousness" manner for a mere hour, I managed to finish her book proposal.
- Said book proposal -- which is loaded with allegations that would make any publisher's legal department cringe and/or weep -- was submitted to a small handful of editors by Literary McAgent, Jr.
- I have no way to get directly in touch with Child McStar other than email, because the only phone number she gave me belonged to a dude who, depending on who you ask, is either her husband, her boyfriend, or her de facto manager.
Not your normal ghostwriting gig. Then again, there is no such thing as a normal ghostwriting gig.
I didn't hear anything about the project from Ms. McAgent for a couple of weeks, but that's par for the course, as the vast majority of literary agents don't keep their clients in the loop about the submission process. (My guess is that they don't want their authors to get too high if there's positive interest, and too low if there isn't. Me, I want all the info I can get: The yesses, the nos, the maybes, and the piss-offs. I can take the hits, which is part of the reason I'm still in this business. If you can't handle rejection, ghostwriting probably isn't for you.) Finally, I got the call:
L. Mc: We have a phoner with Editor McPublisher from Big House Books and her boss on Tuesday.
Me: Will Child McStar make the meeting on time?
L. Mc: Absolutely. She promises.
Me: If she can fucking pick up the fucking phone on a timely basis for an editor, why the fuck can't she fucking pick up the fucking phone on a timely basis for her ghostwriter? (I don't actually say that, because I'm polite, and professional, and altogether swell. What I do say is, "Good. Talk then.")
Sure enough, Child McStar was on the call, right on time, and was charming, and lucid, and utterly unlike she was during our interview session. (That's annoying, certainly -- if you can force yourself to be normal and polite on one particular day, you can do so on any particular day -- but tried to put it in a positive light, figuring it boded well for the writing process.) She described the arc of the book and her willingness to promote it, and she was completely cool and down to earth, and the powers-that-be at Big House Books were smitten. One week later, we got the offer.
One week after that, Child McStar accepted the offer.
One week after that, Child McStar and I -- utilizing her husband/boyfriend/whatever as an in-between -- make plans to begin work on the book. (As is the case with most ghostwriters, I prefer to wait until the contract is executed and I get paid the first chunk of my advance before I dive into a project, but this is a crash book, so we have to start ASAP.)
One week after that, Child McStar -- again utilizing her husband/boyfriend/whatever as her conduit to the real world -- blows off a scheduled phone meeting. Then another. Then another. Then another. (Best excuse: "She had bad Chinese food last night, and can't talk.") Manager McBlabbermouth says he'll take care of it. He doesn't take care of it.
Five weeks after that, Child McStar unaccepts the offer...and doesn't tell anybody. Except me. Not Literary McAgent. Not Manager McBlabbermouth. Me.
And she tells me loudly.
Yikes.
Next: In which Child McStar rants at me for a really, really long time about of the publishing industry, fires Literary McAgent, then tries to hire me.
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