Apropos of nothing, Silly Sibling phoned me this morning to inform me that she had blackmail photos of me being dragged onto the dance floor by a very strange woman at the reception. This does not cheer me. Four other people have told me the same thing…
OY!
It’s all so much harder than it seemed it was going to be!
I write a book, I achieve fame and fortune, I roll in banknotes, right?
Well, okay. I got over that particular delusion in college, but I thought that this would be a bit easier. It is, and it’s not.
First, the easy bits: I’ve learned that after a verbal contract, a written one can take 5-8 weeks to be produced. So, though I know I’ve sold my book… nada on the papier front, and that may be the case for a little while longer. Which is too bad, because I’m not feeling celebratory yet — I’m waiting on the paper. And then the book itself… okay, I’m just not feeling celebratory. Still don’t know why. Anyway. Second, I’ve learned that the money takes even longer than contracts to be dispersed. So much for my idea of getting new flooring put in before Thanksgiving! I can hope, but my agent said, “Hopefully before Christmas!” Oh.
We then move on to discuss Book Club Rights (like Scholastic) and that sort of thing, the gross percentage of his fee, etc. etc. And then we move into the hard stuff: My agent haggles with my editor, and he comes to a conclusion. And then the haggling between the two of us begins. Me: Shouldn’t electronic rights be mentioned as rights I keep? Him: They’re basically useless. Don’t worry about them. Me: Uh, but they’re, um, mine. And I want to keep them. Him: Well, nice thought, but kids novel’s don’t have those. Me: But tablet PC’s… Him: No agent I know has had an ebook deal. Me: Oh.
And then he tells me, reluctantly, crankily, that he’s already done at the bargaining table, that it’s bad form to go back with more details, and I should have mentioned all of my issues with e-rights before. Um… did I know I had issues, before I saw the list of rights I was keeping in the email he sent? Do I apologize now? I feel so stupid, so criminally, wormlike-ly, cravenly stupid, but as much as my stomach curdles, and my head drops low, I cannot back down. It’s MY story. It’s MY manuscript. It’s MY contract, and if I’m going to sign it…
We are all so culturally conditioned about money. Nice girls – especially nice girls – don’t talk about it. People who want to make sure they get every last cent are shrewish, long-nosed, querulous-voiced poverty-hagridden fishwives, haggling… unless they have a bad combover and a penchant for marrying twiggy big-eyed juvenile blondes. THEN they’re just Doofus Trump, and that’s okay. But for the rest of us, WHY is it so hard to bring oneself to insist on one’s rights, and initiate discussion about money?
I just want S.A.M. to take care of everything, he wants me to just trust him to “take care of everything” (even going so far as to tell me that I don’t have to be 100% savvy on contracts because that’s why I have an agent) but the truth is, anything I do here still comes full circle to bite ME in the bum if I don’t speak up. And it’s really, really, really hard for me to do, yet it’s equally important to do so.
Live and learn, I guess. And then learn some more.
Now that I think about it, I realize why I’m not celebratory. When I was the editor of my high school newspapers, I would get gloomy and weepy when we put the paper to bed. EVERY single time. Not the weekly rag that went out to the students, but the big one that went out to the parents and the alumni and the board and constituents quarterly. All that work, and then — nothing but ink smears — and starting all over again somehow was difficult for me. Fortunately I have umptehundred other writing projects on my plate, and thank GOD for the weekly torture affairs with Flickr — even though it’s a wild ride every time to finish something in time, it’s a little project that’s a stepping stone, keeping me moving forward with my writing every week, even when nothing else will gel. So, this is normal… Repeat: NORMAL.
I’d just forgotten what it was like to finish a major piece… it’s just post-production depression. Like postpartum, only fortunately without leaving me with something puling and writhing for the next eighteen years. (I’m kidding, of course. You know how I love babies. No, really. Really!)
My love affair with this CD is cross-posted elsewhere (I’ve been playing the hauntingly beautiful Sleep, My Child all morning), but in case you’re not a YA aficionado and missed me going on about it before, I’m going to talk about it again. I always talk about books and young adult literature as something that can bridge cultures and traditions and backgrounds experiences, and bring together teens in a commonality of experience. Literature that transcends political rhetoric and polarizing speeches, the good multicultural stuff, is also key. Music as well can be as fluid and versatile as literature, so today’s “check it out because it is heart-touching and energizing and hopeful and positive” site of the day is NPR, whose lovely pieces from Lullabies from the Axis of Evil will make you want to add this CD of Iranian, Iraqi and North Korean lullabies to your repertoire so you can do some peaceful meditative yoga stretches and deep thinking while it plays (if you have no babies to sing to sleep), high-mindedly choosing peace and goodness and commonality of experience in favor of sneeringly hysterical political statements from the Dubster and others of his Cabinet. The short stories and poetry found in the book by the same title are also deeply thoughtful and beautiful, and pull at me in a way that encourages me to forget the things I don’t have in common with others in the world, and concentrate on those things that I do. Oh – and the CD isn’t what’s new, it’s book… but the CD is new to me, too!
enlightening and enlightened thoughts.