Since I am short on time and in need of assistance, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, blog about what I’m working on, and enlist any help you might offer.
Right now, I am scouring the works of the Russian poets Pushkin and Lermontov in hopes of finding a phrase that might serve as a title for novel that I sold, an epic tale set in the Imperial Court of Russia. As I try out various phrases, it’s once again clear that finding a suitable title is tricky business. The book was originally published in French, but like so many direct translations, its title (All the Honor of Men), which is taken from a quote, does not quite work in English. It also sounds a bit too masculine for a work of historical fiction that has at its heart as star-crossed set of lovers as ever existed.
I’d like something that sings, zings, and otherwise announces itself as a humdinger of a title. Since I can’t ask that you read the book (well, not at this point anyway) I’d love to hear your nominations for recent terrific titles. Maybe your suggestion will inspire a breakthrough!
I’m here in New York this week, experiencing the lovely weather. It doesn’t quite feel like fall at the moment, but it’s nice to see some trees changing, and the nights are a bit brisk.
It seems fitting that our book club meeting tonight is all about women’s fiction, which we read over the summer. Women’s fiction, during the summer, at least, seems to be all about the beach. The book I read involves four friends in their thirties renting a beach house, where they drink wine and share secrets, leading to better understandings of one another–and themselves. I think a few of the books that other people read have similar set ups. Though I didn’t like my book (for a number of reasons), I do have to say that I enjoy a good beach read during the summer, as I know many people do. Summer books seem to be lighter, more easily digestible, but perhaps a bit disposable. They’re like the summer flings: enjoyable but fleeting.
But now comes fall and the “serious” books. For our next book club, we’re all reading a heralded literary novel, one with stellar reviews and blurbs. This book is quieter and slower, and will not be read in an afternoon. Maybe it’ll feel a bit like going back to school. My own reading patterns tend to follow the seasons, though I wonder if that has to do with my mood or what publishers are releasing. Do I read the lighter books over the summer because I’m feeling light, or because that’s what’s dominating the shelves? Now that I live in the land of eternal sunshine, I’m beginning to think it’s the latter!
What about you? Do you read different types of books depending on the season? Or are you able to ignore the marketing?
As a counterpoint to Miriam’s post on folks in a hurry, I had lunch today with an old friend whose years-in the-making project—a documentary, and not a book—is both instructive and inspiring. More than ten years ago, Theresa Loong decided that she wanted to put together a film about her father’s experience as a POW in a Japanese prison camp in World War II. Despite a full time job, a subject disinclined to talk about his war years, and no formal background in film, she set out to teach herself the fundamentals of documentary making, slowly gathering material, borrowing equipment, applying for grants, shooting footage, hiring editors, and most recently, launching a successful campaign on the fundraising site Kickstarter (a resource that did not exist when she began her project). Along the way, there were stops and starts, numerous frustrations and felicitous discoveries: two years ago her father suddenly produced a secret diary he’d kept in prison and saved for fifty years. Her documentary, Every Day a Holiday is now slated to run on PBS at some point in the not too distant future.
I wonder if any of you are working on projects that are, as an editor friend of mine likes to say, “best slow-cooked?”
Being that it’s August, traditionally the quietest time in the publishing world, I’ve been dutifully catching up on queries and submissions the last two weeks. And as I sort through the emails and letters, the vast bulk of them are middle-grade novels, adult thrillers, and picture books manuscripts. Now, I’m certainly on the hunt for good books in these categories, and so I truly appreciate them coming my way (though for picture books I’m really only interested in author/illustrators). But going through the ol’ in-box, I’m realizing that there’s been a serious dearth of nonfiction.
As I was discussing with an editor over lunch today, one of the best parts of agenting for me is the ability to represent nonfiction, because I rarely did any nonfiction as a children’s book editor. But now, all the subjects I used to enjoy solely in my pleasure reading have become potentially viable book projects. And I’ve been doing well with nonfiction, too—in fact, my three most recent sales were all adult nonfiction projects.
So, as the title says, SEND ME NONFICTION! Narrative nonfiction on music, sports, other performing arts, pop culture, health, popular science, business, military history, humor, and memoir—if you’ve got it, I want to see it!
Further to Jane’s post discussing the selling process, I thought it might be interesting to take a closer look at pitch letters: first, a writer’s successful query letter, one that prompted to me to request the material and sign journalist Jason Ryan as a client; next, my pitch letter to the editors to whom I submitted his proposal; and finally, the jacket copy that the publishing house drafted to pitch the book (ultimately titled Jackpot: High Times, High Seas, and the Sting That Launched the War on Drugs) to readers. All three are a bit different, and each is calibrated to its recipient.
1) Query Letter:
Ms. Papin,
This is Jason Ryan, a journalist in South Carolina and former reporter for The State newspaper- the state’s largest daily and capital city paper. I’m seeking representation for my first book, ‘Jackpot,’ and was impressed by your representation of Arab authors and your ‘hands-on’ work ethic. I think your eclectic tastes might facilitate an interest in my unique journalistic endeavor, a narrative concerning smugglers whose sole connection to the Arab world was their fondness for Turkish hash. My nonfiction narrative, ‘Jackpot,’ details the rise and fall of fraternity brothers who, in a decade, smuggled more than $1 billion of marijuana and hashish into the United States aboard sailboats. ‘Jackpot’ also spotlights an age of innocence in drug trafficking, when violence was not ubiquitous.
‘Jackpot’ is the country’s greatest untold marijuana tale, and its twists and turns rival the slickest Hollywood screenplay. Two disaffected men from South Carolina rose to the top of the East Coast drug smuggling underworld with the help of their band of “gentlemen smugglers”- a now extinct breed of drug running rogues defined by their college educations, nonviolent business methods and love for the sea. The smugglers’ adventures involved jailbreaks, transatlantic smuggling flotillas, and dangerous overlaps with international armed conflicts. It all came to an end when the government unleashed a task force known as Operation Jackpot.
While the smugglers themselves have an amazing tale, so do the government agents involved in Operation Jackpot. Their task force fought a pioneering battle in President Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs, using new civil seizure laws and financial evidence to help take down South Carolina’s elusive gentlemen smugglers, men whose nicknames included “Rolex,” “Flash” and “Bob the Boss.”
“Jackpot” is the tale of two groups of men, both cunning and fearless, yet diametrically opposed. On one side was a set of seafaring smugglers with a slipping grip on America’s fast-fading hippie culture. On the other side was a band of investigators empowered by Reagan conservatism that sidestepped bureaucratic hurdles, expanded prosecutorial power and chased drug kingpins to the corners of the earth, sometimes going undercover. Their clash commenced as America underwent a sea change in its attitude toward recreational drug use, severely criminalizing substances long tolerated.
I’ve spent the last year researching Operation Jackpot and interviewing those involved on both sides of the law. I am currently contacting a select group of literary agencies regarding my book. I’m happy to provide a more detailed proposal if you’re interested.
Sincerely,
Jason Ryan
In Jason’s letter above, what leapt out at me was the original research he’d done—a year’s worth of legwork. True crime, as this book might be loosely categorized, is not a genre in which I often work, nor do I count the debate surrounding the legalization of marijuana as one near to my heart, but his query seemed to contain the elements of a great story, one that had a colorful regional focus but national implications, and an author who, as it turned out, had both the access and the ability to capture it
2) My pitch letter:
Dear Editor,
I am pleased to send you Jackpot; the true story of the rise and fall of a ring of “gentlemen smugglers,” a colorful and incorrigible cadre of good ol’ boys, bon vivants, and drug traffickers who made a fortune, lived a fantasy and became the targets of one of the most extensive and ambitious anti-drug operations ever launched in the United States. Operation Jackpot was the opening volley in newly-elected President Reagan’s War on Drugs; its fascinating story captures a watershed moment in American political and popular culture, when hippies gave way to preppies, kids learned to “just say no,” and a group of seafaring sybarites became Public Enemy Number One.
In the late seventies and early eighties, the gentleman smugglers sailed a veritable flotilla of drug-laden luxury sailboats across the Caribbean, through the Mediterranean, and across the Atlantic, ultimately unloading almost a billion dollars worth of marijuana and hashish along the South Carolina coast, relying on the same sleepy islands and labyrinthine waterways favored by the rum runners and privateers who preceded them.
The ringleaders were native sons of the Palmetto State, and depending on who was asked, Les Riley, Barry Foy and their comrades were local boys made good—or promising young men gone irretrievably bad. The college-educated scions of middle-class and well-to-do families, they traded in conventional careers for a lifestyle flush with adventure, high times, and cash. Lots and lots of cash. Yet lucrative as it was, they steered clear of the burgeoning cocaine trade and the culture of brutality that surrounded it; these men eschewed violence as much as they loved pleasure, and in an instance of life imitating art (or perhaps art imitating life), endeavored to live the lyrics to a Jimmy Buffet song. Their idyll would not, however, last forever: greed, lust, hurricanes, and the occasional disaster at sea caught up with them—and eventually, so did the law. Led by an exceptionally ambitious US Attorney named Henry Dargan McMaster, what ensued was a cat-and-mouse game played out against a backdrop of tropical islands and quiet bayous, crumbling plantations, as well as a vicious civil war (Lebanon) and a US invasion (Grenada).
Author Jason Ryan is a journalist who lives in South Carolina; long fascinated by the Jackpot case, he has gained unprecedented access to both the smugglers and the law enforcement agents who brought them to justice. I hope you find the story as compelling as I did, and will want to add it to your list.
With all good wishes,
Jessica Papin
In my letter, I tried to stress the “bigger” story, and tie the specific misdeeds and exploits of the drug smugglers to the cultural and political moment in American history. As a kid during the both the Carter and Reagan administrations, I noted the vast political shift, as Carter’s “malaise” gave way to Reagan’s sunnier (and arguably less accurate) vision of the USA. Nancy Reagan’s ubiquitous Just Say No Campaign was, at least for me, an essential part of the zeitgeist. I also try to layout the bones of the basic conflict: smugglers versus US attorney McMaster, who brought a whole new raft of tools to bear on the “kingpins.” Speaking as a former editor who pitched projects to my colleagues, I remember the utility of a pitch letter that helped to position a project, and could sometimes even be cribbed down the line for catalog or jacket copy, so I always try and write the sort of letter I liked to get.
3) Jacket Copy:
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, a cadre of freewheeling, Southern pot smugglers lived at the crossroads of Miami Vice and a Jimmy Buffett song. In less than a decade, these irrepressible adventurers unloaded nearly a billion dollars worth of marijuana and hashish through the eastern seaboard’s marshes. Then came their undoing: Operation Jackpot, one of the largest drug investigations ever launched and an opening volley in Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs.
In Jackpot, author Jason Ryan takes us back to the heady days before drug smuggling was synonymous with deadly gunplay. During this golden age of marijuana trafficking, the country’s most prominent kingpins were a group of wayward and fun-loving Southern gentlemen who forsook college educations to sail drug-laden luxury sailboats across the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the Caribbean. Les Riley, Barry Foy, and their comrades eschewed violence as much as they loved pleasure, and it was greed, lust, and disaster at sea that ultimately caught up with them, along with the law.
In a cat-and-mouse game played out in exotic locations across the globe, the smugglers sailed through hurricanes, broke out of jail and survived encounters with armed militants in Colombia, Grenada and Lebanon. Based on years of research and interviews with imprisoned and recently released smugglers and the law enforcement agents who tracked them down, Jackpot does for marijuana smuggling what Blow and Snowblind did for the cocaine trade.
The actual jacket copy is shorter, punchier, and more profligate in its pop culture references. Odd as it sounds, the combination of Jimmy Buffet and Miami Vice positions the book pretty accurately. Here, the emphasis is on the big story, but also the colorful adventures of the smugglers themselves, and the text is juicier, studded with interesting details. In addition, the flap copy draws an oblique contrast between the content of most contemporary drug trafficking stories—the bloody, brutal, and horrific reports from warring cartels in Mexico—and the nonviolent approach that these smugglers took. In all three letters, however, the first task of the writer is to be interesting—all three of us are hoping to attract a reader. You can judge for yourselves whether you think we succeed.
As I mentioned to someone on Twitter today, I’m nearly sick with anticipation for the new Muppet movie. As a kid, and to be honest, an adult, I was pretty obsessed with the Muppets. Other than Star Wars, I think I’ve seen The Great Muppet Caper more than any other. (And that movie comes up at the strangest times. Talking about bars we like in LA, someone I was out with for drinks the other night mentioned that one of my favorite spots, The Tar Pit, looks an awful lot like the Dubonnet Club, something I’d remarked on before, too!) When I heard that Jason Segel was going to be helping to reinvigorate the franchise, I was thrilled. He’s a good writer, I really liked Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and he has the right sense of humor for the Muppets.
But I have to say, I was even more excited when I saw the first two trailers, here and here. The first is an excellent parody of romantic comedies, the second an even better parody of a superhero movie. So smart, so clever, so well done, so Muppets!
All of that is to say, that when I was writing up what I was looking for, I forgot to mention that I’m definitely looking for zany middle grade! I’d love to work on something with a similar sense of humor and fun. I work with a great author, Dale Basye, on his “Heck” series, which immediately reminded me of the Muppets the first time I read it. There’s plenty of humor for both adults and kids, and it’s impossible not to laugh while you’re reading it. I’d love more of that.
Enjoy the videos, and send me some great middle grade!
This past Sunday, in a futile effort to wear out our toddler so that he just might take an afternoon nap, we got moving early and checked out the new extension of the High Line. For those who haven’t been, the High Line is the park that’s been developed on the abandoned elevated train tracks that run from Greenwich Village up to 30th Street along the West Side. Conceptually, it’s an amazing space—narrow and industrial, yet full of greenery and neat architectural features, plus the views are spectacular. For anyone visiting New York these days, I’d put it on the must-see list.
Anyway, as we paraded uptown from 18th Street, I noticed more than a few people sitting on the benches reading newspapers and books. In the moment, it seemed a little odd to me—while there’s ample seating on the High Line, the walkway is so tight in places that it’s hard to believe one could concentrate with passers-by literally walking on top of you. But then I started thinking about the open spaces or parks around town where I go to read, and it’s actually a total mix of quiet and bucolic, noisy and public.
For instance, when I was at Penguin and worked from home on Fridays, I’d often hit one of the relatively uninhabited stretches of Riverside Park, especially a certain walkway that becomes a truly mind-blowing explosion of color when the trees start to bloom in late April. (sorry, I’m not telling where!) Or, later in the season, I’d go down to the Hudson River to catch the breeze off the water—likewise, a very quiet spot to read during the day.
Yet at the same time, I’d sometimes plant myself on a bench in Washington Square park, which is one of the busiest in the city, no matter what time of day. Another favorite bench spot is at the boat pond in Central Park, which is lovely but always full of tourists and kids running around. And then there’s the Sheep’s Meadow, where I’ve actually done a lot of quality reading despite the ever-present threat of getting beaned by a Frisbee.
I’d like to think there’s some correlation between what I’m reading and where I want to read it, or what kind of atmosphere, but I can’t really come up with any pattern or system at the moment. So I guess I’ll just chalk it up (as Lauren and others have written before) to the myriad pleasures of reading in nature. But what about you? Any special green spots here in the City or elsewhere that readers should know? Do you find you gravitate toward different parks or types of parks depending on your reading material?
Now that I’ve got this all down on the blog, I’ll certainly have these questions in mind—and maybe, if you get up on the High Line in the near future, you just might see me head down in a book!
November 03, 2011 
Jessica 
