When you've been in the publishing biz for a while, you meet a whole flock of literary agents. Some are exceptional, and want you to not just survive as a writer, but to thrive, to live a good life. Most are solid individuals who, at the very least, want to land you gigs, because the more gigs you get, the more money everybody gets. But there are a small handful who are all about themselves, who have egos the size of a David Foster Wallace book (is that the best metaphor ever, or what?), who are in the game because they think repping books -- especially celebrity books -- is a road to fame (or infamy), fortune, and earning daddy's respect.
Literary McAgent Jr. was such an animal.
I never actually met Literary face-to-face -- she was in New York and I wasn't -- but I was told that she was a short, short woman, and some have theorized that her pseudo-bigger-than-life demeanor stems from a Napoleon complex. She fashions herself as a combination of contemporary cool and old school brash, although when it comes to the literary world, I'm not convinced that she has any concept of old school. For that matter, I'm not convinced that she even reads any of her client's books...but she does, however, read the proposals, because proposals are short, and they could lead to both immediate gratification, and, y'know, money.
Naturally, what with its questionable allegations and sordid tales of debauchery, she loved Child McStar's proposal.
"Babe, this is awesome!" She called everybody "Babe."
I pointed out, "No way this crap gets in the finished book. No legal department in their right mind would let this through."
"Who gives a poop, Babe? This'll totally get us an auction." (For you non-publishing-industry-types, an auction comes about when multiple publishers want to buy a project. Sometimes the literary agent will ask for a final bid by a certain date, at which point, she and the client will make their decision, while other times, the agent will conduct a round robin auction. Less scrupulous agents will fake an auction, telling editors that there have already been several bids on a project, when in reality, it's languishing in submission purgatory.) Literary continued: "That legal poop isn't our problem."
It totally was our problem, but I didn't want to get into it with her, because, well, who had the time? I then asked the more pertinent question: "Did you work out my fee with Manager McBlabbermouth?"
There is no set template as to how a ghostwriter gets paid. For a ghost, the most common payment structure is a small fee for the book proposal and a split of the advance, with the client getting the higher portion of the split. (The split is generally in the 60/40 area, but you might also see 70/30, or 75/25.) In a perfect world, the ghostwriter will receive a fair fee for the proposal, then they and the client will split the advance 50/50. Sometimes the proposal fee will be recoupable -- an advance against the advance, if you will -- which means if the ghostwriter gets paid $5.00 for the proposal, then the project is sold for $50.00, and there's an agreed upon 50/50 split, the ghost gets $20.00, with $5.00 recoupable fee having been deducted from their portion of the advance. In other instances, the ghostwriter will do the proposal on spec, which sucks, but sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do; on the other hand, if you don't get a proposal fee, the client is more likely to agree to the 50/50 split. Sometimes there's a flat fee for both the proposal and the book, which is a gamble on both sides, because if the book gets a crap advance, the client might feel screwed, and if the book gets a zillion dollar advance, the ghost might feel screwed. We should unionize.
Anyhow, if you're a penurious celeb, Literary McAgent Jr. was the rep for you, because she didn't fight for her ghosts' salaries. If the celeb said, "I'm only going to pay my collaborator a dollar, and they can take it or leave it," Literary would say, "No problem, Babe." Thing is, ghostwriting work isn't always plentiful, and there's always the chance that a lousy job could lead to a good one, so most ghosts -- unless they're at the level of a David Ritz or a Jeffrey Zaslow -- will grab what they can, ignoring that A) they're getting paid shit, and B) the client is a nutbag.
This was the case here.
Literary said, "Yeah. We worked out the sheckles."
"And?"
"And they're paying you [insert lowball offer here]."
"That's it?"
"Babe, I had to fight to get you that. But this is gonna totally be a best-seller."
Yes, Child McStar was all but a non-entity, but if her allegations were true, this book would indeed sell a helluva lot of copies. Plus I needed the work. So I said yes.
Bad idea.
Next: In which we find a publisher, and the real fun begins.
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