Author: Jodie Rhodes

Publisher:

Published: 2011-08-01

Total Pages: 350

ISBN-13: 9780983879701

When I started my literary agency in 1998, my chances of becoming successful were equal to my chances of starring in Sex and The City. I didn't know a single editor, didn't have a single writer, lived 3000 miles away from the heart of the publishing business in New York and was in such dire financial straits that becoming homeless was a real possibility. During sleepless nights I envisioned the headlines: PUBLISHING WORLD STUNNED - WRITERS DEVASTATED. It has been discovered that the Jodie Rhodes Literary Agency, believed to be a legitimate business, actually operates out of a shopping cart and its founder is a bag lady. Of course I never had the slightest intention of becoming an agent, since I hadn't lost my mind, only all my money. To keep from starving, I cleaned people's houses, scrubbing floors and toilets, baked muffins and cookies that I sold at my bridge club, took care of a 93 year old woman with Alzheimer's, became a guinea pig for pharmaceutical research studies and started a writers' workshop. Since I had the unfortunate habit of telling writers just how terrible their writing was, I had a lot of turnover. Then the inspiration struck me. I would claim to be a literary agent and my workshops would be flooded with eager writers! You need to know there is nothing illegal in claiming to be a literary agent because there are no rules or requirements for becoming one except claiming to be one. However, I'm cursed with a fairly strong streak of ethical behavior so I wrote the publishers of Guide To Literary Agents and Literary Market Place that I was a new agent based in La Jolla and gave them basic information about me. I never heard back from them, which was no surprise. But then one day, to my horror, a manuscript arrived in my mail. Guide To Literary Agents had actually listed me. Soon more came. But the writing in those submissions was so unbelievably terrible that it transcended revulsion and left me in a state of awe. I recall, in particular, the following: "Dear Jodie: Enclosed find a query, synopsis and the first three chapters of my completed novel which is at once a gay love story, a plea for handicapped liberation and a sanguine tale of greed, murder and revenge. It is necessary for me to use a pen name because the narrative's explicit depictions of incontinence management and gay sex could arouse the interest of the culture police." Keep in mind that was just the query letter. I am sparing you the chapters. One thing I learned quickly was the more modest the writer, the better the writing and vice versa. Example: "Dear Ms. Rhodes: I have just finished my first novel titled Kabuki in a G-String which, to be both honest and bold, is exceptional." I cannot begin to tell you how excruciatingly awful that novel was. After six months of these submissions, I stared into the mirror and had a long talk with myself. "This is hopeless, isn't it?" "Well, it's only been six months." "But we still haven't found one single writer we could represent." "Look on the bright side. We wouldn't know what to do with one, if we did offer representation. Think of all the embarrassment we've saved ourselves." "I am not amused." "So what do you want to do? Quit?" "I hate to be a quitter." "I know. You've made our life miserable because of that." In 2008, one of my authors forced me into creating a website and Google reported 430,000,000 hits. Btw, this memoir is the story of two very different lives and you've just read about my second life. My first life takes up much of the memoir and its opening chapter below will give you an idea of what to expect. I was a late bloomer, resigned at 15 to being an old maid. If anyone had told me I'd end up with more men in my life than Elizabeth Taylor, I would have assumed they were either so high on drugs that they couldn't see straight or wanted to borrow money from me.