Out of the Pan

Out of the Pan

His web page promised passion. He claimed a dedication to those who are at the beginning of their writing careers. And there, on my lap-top monitor, was the long, friendly, smiling face of, well, let’s call him Andrew. He had been a success in the editing/ publishing business for 45 years. Andrew’s talents had been recommended to me, a novice writer, by a successful author during the course of a workshop in Mexico. We’ll call her Helena. She said that, for a small fee, Andrew would be willing to review my novel-in-progress and give constructive criticism I later Googled Andrew and was impressed with his credentials and that big smile. Through Helena, I scheduled a meeting with him in Acapulco several weeks later. The first thirteen chapters of my work were forwarded to Andrew as an e-mail attachment for advance reading. For the $145.00 fee requested, I figured it could be important to the future of my literary efforts and maybe even the success of my first novel. And so, off to Acapulco.

Waiting at the hotel bar while Andrew wrapped up the interview before mine, I downed a cold Coke. He and an attractive woman were seated at an ornate, round table in the courtyard, about ten yards away. He wore a blue, long-sleeved shirt with sleeves rolled up and his yellow tie was pulled down to the third shirt button. My instinct, in spite of the early hour (2:00 P.M.) was to add a double Bacardi dark to my Coke. Unfortunately, I didn’t follow through. It occurred to me, just as the woman left and Andrew waved for me to join him, that he bore a strong resemblance, when not smiling, to my least-favorite college professor, Paul Nolan. His long, white hair, combed in nearly every direction, caught the courtyard breeze as I sat down with him.

Following preliminary pleasantries, including the presentation of my $145.00 check, we got down to business. I laughingly told him that I wanted to present the check immediately because I might not be so inclined after the session. His tight-lipped smirk, as he tucked the check in his briefcase, gave me a bad vibe.

We danced the dance of experience for several minutes. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine” was the background theme. I was honest-to-a-fault about my limited writing success and wondered later whether I should have puffed things a bit. He could see the puppy dog tail, wagging out from behind my seat, yearning for approval, acceptance. But it didn’t stop him. Hell, it didn’t even slow him! His penetrating criticisms were far-ranging. “I don’t like your main character, Paul Turner, the defense lawyer. His attitude toward other people is unlikable and if I don’t like him, why should I read your book,” he scolded. Attempting to perform what Muhammad Ali once called the “rope a dope” (using the ropes around the boxing ring to his advantage), I bounced back, demanding to know why Paul shouldn’t be entitled to his opinions about people.

My critic’s immediate reaction to my assertiveness was to read to me from chapter three of my draft. It was a segment about Turner’s disdain for another lawyer because, although the lawyer was a black man from the inner city, he had affected a Harvard accent. It was the only sentence that Andrew read to me from the draft and he demonstrated genuine agitation as he read. I was at a loss to immediately explain, mumbling that my character’s personality would evolve in later chapters; that he shouldn’t be judged so quickly. Andrew then demanded to know why my central character couldn’t have been fully developed in chapter one. He went on to claim that he had been misled about Paul’s true character and that I had “lied” to him in not presenting all of Paul’s character up front. What Andrew didn’t tell me then was that he was a Harvard graduate himself. Oops! I discovered that when I re-visited his web site.

Andrew’s surprising use of the “l word” brought me right back, forty five years earlier, to my meetings with Paul Nolan at the university. The irascible, unpredictable Professor Nolan would gargle mouthwash as I spoke to him, and then spit it out the open window while I attempted to defend my term paper. Now I was twenty years old again and began silently fuming at the situation. Working hard, nevertheless, at disguising my disgust, I suggested that I had read many published books that were not as well written as my own draft. I specified Robert Parker, a mystery writer. “He’s a machine,” my evaluator countered, without addressing my comparison. It was obvious that writing “machines” might be good in the eyes of publishers. Andrew never lied to me about the importance of money in the publishing business; it is paramount.

Near the end of our discussion, he advised that my novel was not publishable, that no other publisher would work with my draft either. I leaned in toward him and questioned whether he could really speak for “all the others”. He assured me that he could. By then I didn’t have the inclination to explain myself further. I wanted to tell him that my material was just the skin and bones of my book; that I had been advised, months before, to just put it all down on paper and go back, when the skeleton’s complete, and make necessary revisions. Hell, I knew that my characters were not fully-developed and that much more meat was needed on the bones. But why explain it now? Why make excuses, given the tenor of his dissection.

Oh, there were a few positive moments. He asked me to forward him a story that I had written about my murdering O.J. Simpson..if I did. I told him it had been published in Ojo del Lago and, as I recall, that elicited a yawn. He wrote a kind reply, saying that he enjoyed the story but was sorry that O.J. had not had his comeuppance in real life. Most important to me, however, was that moment in our session when he asked whether my main character, Paul, had actually obtained the judicial appointment that he so desperately sought in my book. I resisted the temptation to reply, “Why should you care if you don’t like him?,” and gave him the answer anyway. Andrew seemed satisfied with my reply but, considering his other comments, I was pleased that he cared enough about my story to ask the question

Finally, our session ended with the publisher’s eye-to-eye query, “What do you think is the most important advice that I’ve given you today?” Like the novel, my reply didn’t please him. “Seek at least two other opinions,” I answered…smiling.

Often we’re unaware of the influence of things in our daily lives. When Alex Grattan read F.Scott Fitzgerald’s cutting critique of Hemingway’s “Old Man and the Sea” at a recent meeting of the Ajijic Writers’ Group, I had no idea what comfort it would be to me during my session with Andrew. What the hell; if Hemingway can volunteer for and survive that kind of criticism, I can too, I mused. Several of the author Toni Morrison’s comments, when she was interviewed many years ago, also comforted me. She said, “If some honest person tells me something I’ve written is crap, I can take it.” She also wisely noted, “There’s a very strong element of power play in criticism, you know.” Morrison’s experience with writing novels was that two and one half years were necessary to complete one in decent fashion. At that rate, I have another year and a half to go. I’ll go back later and develop my characters more fully, as suggested. And if I want to, I’ll continue to cliché all over myself. During that process, I will often recall my meeting with the maven, Andrew. It will spur me on.

Story ID:	2058
Written by:	jim rambo (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Acapulco Mexico
Year:	2007
Person:	A Publisher ("Andrew")