I received a few emails asking the same question recently: any news from the agent? For those just joining this humble circus, last August one of the agents–not merely an agent, as they founded an extremely successful literary agency as well–I solicited passed with a three page explanation detailing the strengths and areas needing attention. So I wrote back and asked if the issues were addressed, if they might reconsider the manuscript.

To my delight, they agreed.

It took a few months and two professional proofreaders to smooth all the wrinkles, but right before leaving for Russia I emailed the revised manuscript along with a table of the changes back to them. A rock solid draft.

And so the waiting for a response began. At this point, the shot clock is closing in on a month.

Such literal time accounting overlooks two facts: holidays and the note itself. Here’s where insider information about how many people who work in NYC approach major schedule breaks helps, because the end of the year is a great time to get out of the City. Way far away, in fact. So many people do a long vacation then, often extending their vacations well into the new year. Since the first fell on a Tuesday, taking the remainder of the week seemed not only sensible, it was an imperative. Given the agent is a principal in the company, it’s a good bet they have the pull to make such a respite a reality.

A secondary reason for the delay is probably my note. After wishing them a happy holiday and whatnot, I mentioned I would be in Moscow through early January, thereby establishing my non-expectation of reply in the immediate future.
Doing the math, assuming a long vacation through the first week of the new year and including the weekend, the earliest they would have returned to the office was the 7th of January. More than 50 emails were choking my inbox once I returned to a normal work schedule, and my job matters very little beyond the gates of a very small community. A few might argue it impacts the company very little itself, but that’s another discussion.

Imagine you are an agent with hundreds of backlogged emails and many of those messages actually matter. Somewhere in there, is a message from a possible client. Four days, tonight being the fourth, is hardly enough time to reconsider a manuscript, much less respond.

Thus my answer is: let’s see what happens between now and February 1, 2008.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that question.

With the start of the new year comes another set of resolutions. This post comes a few days later than planned, which allowed additional time to reflect on what I really wanted to accomplish in 2008. I also wanted to be as clear as possible about my intentions before documenting them. Then and only then could I commit to a new course. Hopefully this curtails backsliding, or at least lessens the chance.

A few lessons learned from past years helped shape my final choices. First, each goal must be reasonable, yet force me to reach further than before. Working towards a resolution like: “get a million dollar advance and movie rights for a novel.” is a bit ill-conceived by design. Because the reaching the end point hinges wholly on the actions of others, it’s unreasonable. Not that this outcome is impossible; it certainly can happen.

Editors and publishers determine advances and they have paid awesome sums for first novels in the past. They probably will break out the checkbooks again. But in the end, there are less than three dozen fiction writers a year who net million dollar advances. Still, the intent of the goal is sound. Everyone likes money and fame, right? The real problem is approaching a highly desirable outcome in such a way that reaching the finish line relies on so much upon the efforts of someone else.

Stating such a goal like the above example invites frustration. No doubt some bright spark will prove me wrong, but whatever. I only speak for me. What really matters is that the core intention of of an ill-conceived goal can be preserved-and even reached–with a simple re-frame.

Consider this example in place of the original goal: “Write a novel I believe deserves only the best literary representation in the business, and submit my very best effort to an agent who closes million dollar deals.”

Now the focus is on the actions of the writer, instead of anyone else’s response or movement. And by taking on responsibility for what they can influence and letting go of everything else they cannot, the writer allows for the possibility of anything to happen. Maybe after receiving the best the author has to offer, the agent picks up the manuscript and sells it. Maybe they pass the project on to someone else for consideration. Maybe they send the package back unread. Maybe nothing happens until the writer sends it to another ninja agent.

Regardless of the outcome, by pursuing the revised goal, the writer still wins.

Since the goal rests on action, the very least thing the author takes away from that journey is a far better manuscript. And that’s much further than most ever bother to venture. Far and away, in fact. I know plenty of people who fall in love with their early drafts and file them away to rot forever, unread.

The second theme for my resolutions: where possible craft complementary goals. So working towards one goal impels taking steps towards another, and a synergy forms, if you will. For instance, say one goal is exercising three times a week, and another is fitting into my first interview suit by August. Well, gee I’m going to have to lose weight to fit in that suit, and exercising might help me do it.

And last, I wanted resolutions that were specific. The less vague, the less opportunity for fudging along the course of the year. Usually this takes the form of “reinterpreting” or “revising” the original goal to something more “realistic”. I’d rather put more time on the front end and make minor adjustments in the field–and only where absolutely necessary.

My 2008 writing resolutions…

1) Write 14 hours a week, in one of two basic schedule configurations: Two hours on weekdays and four on Saturday. Alternately one hour on weekdays and the balance across the weekend. A bit more is fine if my calendar allows it, but fourteen is the absolute minimum.

2) Complete the first draft of The Confession by July 1, 2008.

3) Finish the screenplay started last summer by September 1, 2008.

4) If necessary, resume whole scale querying for The Last Track. Right I have no idea if this is needed. In 2007 I hit 41 agents. Most of them have new interns now, and there are still 35 A-list agents I never tried, so the potential pool is about roughly 75 again.

5) Follow the Abs Diet for 6 weeks–the initial length of the program. If the results are good, continue. If not, find another eating and exercise plan. Lose the ten pounds of fat gained since Thanksgiving. Eek.

6) Review my progress with these above goals every eight weeks.

That’ll keep me busy for awhile.

With the close of the year, comes the annual review. At the start of 2007 I decided on the following writing resolutions:

1) Enter twenty(20) fiction writing contests that pay cash prizes in excess of $300 and publication in a respected periodical, annual or magazine.

What actually happened: In February, I decided this was a bit ambitious revised this downward to two very high quality contests that paid big bucks: Nicholl’s Screenwriting Fellowship and an Exeter Fellowship. I entered both.

2) Pitch the novel ( The Last Track ) to 40 agents/editors. Roughly 1.5 individuals in the business per week. Er, Roughly 1 individuals in the business every 6 working days. Or 1 agent per week, excluding summer break.

What actually happened: Contacted 41 A-list agents. Four asked for partials. Two requested the full manuscript. From one who passed, I received a very long letter encouraging me to take the novel to the next level. Another identified four issues that needed attention. As a result of this feedback, I worked hard at revisions the agent suggested and resubmitted the project for their consideration. They are reading the novel right now.

3) Launch guerrilla marketing campaign for the novel. The details of this plan must remain under wraps because it’s the only truly original idea I’ve ever had about hawking fiction. If it works, I’ll gladly disclose the details.

What actually happened: When the feedback came back from two separate sources that the novel was close but needed a little more attention, I tabled the project, focusing on revisions instead.

4) Finish a draft of The Confession before beginning another large writing project.

What actually happened: Realized this goal in part. I did not begin a large writing project before finishing The Confession and I did work on the manuscript itself. Though I did not state this in the goal, subconsciously I had hoped I would finish a draft of The Confession in 2007. Well, that was the mistake of a vague, unstated intention.

Reviewing over these resolutions and their actual outcome suggests a few ways I can improve in 2008. First, I do better working from goals that are specific and include time lines. Where the goal is general in scope or vague in regards to delivery dates, the task is more easily deferred. Which seems to be what happened. I had substantial traction with resolution one and two, no traction at all with number three, and only partial traction with number four–a goal probably ill-defined in the first place.

The sheer number of resolutions may have been problematic as well. Three goals–hopefully very specific ones–might be more manageable than four that required a lot of new material or working with new technologies.

And there could be some benefit to goals that are complementary by design. For instance, a marketing campaign has very little to do with revising a novel that an agent might reconsider, and if I am asked for revisions, it seems my time is better spent writing versus marketing. Essentially one goal led me away from another. Perhaps re-framing the goals so working towards one naturally forces focusing on the others might reduce straying. Two goals like writing twenty hours a week and finishing a draft of The Confession are complementary.

So while in Moscow, I’ll devise goals for 2008 in common to the above three concepts: Be specific, stay manageable in number, and frame the goals so working on one resolution involves the others.

One thing the agent requested along with the revisions was a document listing the changes made to the manuscript; it’s a firm condition for further consideration. Although I had the fortitude to record the edits in the moment, a series of cuts and insertions sprinkled throughout altered the page numbering slightly. Which made the document less helpful as a reference point for the agent.

And so today I spent five hours vetting the change matrix and making sure each revision traced back to the indicated page and chapter. Right up there with watching enamel paint dry in terms of excitement. More interesting was seeing the contributions of Kerry and Oriana in the book. Ever since the last major revision, I suspected minor glitches were lurking about, but damned if I could spot them. Like cracks in a ceiling. after a certain point, the mind fools the eyes into looking around–and not at–the creases. In the end I had a table spanning eleven pages, with clean and consistent designations.

The Last Track is now two pages longer and just under 90,000 words. Getting there meant modifying about five percent of the manuscript.

Which brings me back to the entry title, which is somewhat dubious because the fear is truly a beast with a two-pronged pitchfork. So maybe “The Fears” fits better.Like for starters, did I change the right five percent? After all, that’s a lot of ink left untouched. Maybe one more scene needed a face-lift.

And of what I revised, did I, as Tim Gunn says, “Make it work.” I suppose that kind of failure is worse changing something that did not need correction. That in fact, is worse than missing the problem in the first place. But the new content might have weakened the finished product, and I’m no longer in a position to be certain about that. Too many months and years staring at the same ceiling.

Ultimately, both possibilities are largely irrelevant.

What matters is following the project through to the end. And on Sunday night when I e-mail the manuscript and table this phase is over.