Tele Aadsen

writer - fisherman - listener

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Tues­day, March 19, 2013

(Hang on, sweet­ies… We’re going to take the scenic drive.)

On Feb­ru­ary 22, after metic­u­lous­ly shep­herd­ing my pro­pos­al through revi­sion after revi­sion, my agent Pamela pro­nounced it ready to shop. “Let’s go,” she wrote. Time passed in a dizzy­ing blur. I couldn’t have dreamed the response we’d get. Mul­ti­ple pub­lish­ers court­ing Hooked? From our respec­tive sides of the coun­try, I fol­lowed Pamela’s fre­quent updates in a cloud of disbelief.

Remem­ber I men­tioned cut­ting back on cof­fee? That was because I was utter­ly out of my head before every phone call with a poten­tial edi­tor. Shaky hands, sweaty palms, knot­ted stom­ach. To calm down, I wrote myself pep talks like this:

Freak­ing the fuck out, I am. Twen­ty min­utes ‘til I’m sched­uled to call X, who wants to talk about Hooked’s struc­ture. I can do that. I can do this. This doesn’t have to be scary. Hooked is going to have a home… It may be with X, it may be with some­one else, but I have to be able to dis­cuss it – to sell it, to show my con­fi­dence in the sto­ry and myself as its writer – even when I feel this shaky. Seri­ous­ly, get it togeth­er, sweetie.

Friends beamed excite­ment. I most­ly felt like the uni­verse was hand­ing me a gold­en egg, and my hands were coat­ed in Crisco. A pre­cious, price­less shell; my book incu­bat­ing inside. Please don’t drop it. I won­dered how I could keep this frag­ile gift from slip­ping through such greasy fin­gers, shat­ter­ing, spat­ter­ing my face with the yolk of defeat.

Despite my anx­i­ety, those phone calls were gen­uine­ly enjoy­able. Each edi­tor voiced gen­er­ous enthu­si­asm and asked insight­ful ques­tions, hon­ing in on a dif­fer­ent thread. Each forced me to artic­u­late my vision ver­bal­ly – not my nat­ur­al strength – and made me con­sid­er Hooked through a new lens. They all made me laugh. Every time I hung up, I mar­veled at the respect, joy, and love that each edi­tor held for books and their task in bring­ing them to life. Hooked would be in skilled, smart hands with any one of them.

I polled writer friends, those who’d already been down this road and those soon to fol­low. How had they known that a par­tic­u­lar editor/publisher was the right one? What would they base their deci­sion on? How would I know I’d made the right decision?

As some­one who remem­bers clear­ly the child­hood lessons of being picked last – or not at all – the hard­est part of this process was say­ing “no” to peo­ple who would clear­ly devote their best work to Hooked.

Say­ing “yes,” how­ev­er, was very easy. Two things made it so.

Of the four edi­tors I spoke with, only one used the f‑word – fem­i­nist – when talk­ing about my work. That mattered.

What also mat­tered: know­ing myself. As much as I want to be a low main­te­nance, self-pos­sessed writer, in this sit­u­a­tion I am not that cool cat. This pub­lish­ing busi­ness is a shiny new world that leaves me feel­ing young and uncer­tain. Of course it does – how could it not? But my learn­ing curve will be eased by part­ner­ing with a small lit­er­ary press that will have the time and patience to raise not only Hooked, but also its author.

I’m delight­ed – over the moon! – to tell you that Hooked has a home with edi­tor Sarah Stein at River­head Books. I’m a long­time fan of River­head; their val­ues res­onate with me. I’m hon­ored to join them.

(Hon­ored? More like stunned, intim­i­dat­ed, awed, thrilled, gid­dy with disbelief.)

As soon as she heard the news, my sis­ter Sara texted, “It’s like Tele’s ver­sion of find­ing out she’s preg­nant!” I laughed out loud at her analogy’s per­fect res­o­nance. As an avowed non-breed­er, this book is indeed the life I’m com­pelled to cre­ate and share. She added, “Now comes the labor. If you ever need a doula, I’m here for you!”

Again, her words were spot-on. Hooked will have a long, inten­sive labor. I’ve got about a year (minus the fish­ing sea­son) to deliv­er a draft I’m proud of. And Hooked will need many doulas – includ­ing you. Your read­er­ship, com­ments, and unfail­ing sup­port have been an essen­tial part of our jour­ney thus far. Though there’s much work ahead, please join me in cel­e­brat­ing this week­end. I’ll be rais­ing a glass (Martinelli’s sparkling cider, ‘cause I’m tame like that) to all of us!

How It Feels to Sell Your Book