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I thought this
relationship would last. I had finally committed. Things had been going
so well for so long that I thought we'd be together for life. I'd found
the person who could help me become the best version of myself; the
one who would always have my back, who could tell me when to fight and
when to give in; someone who would celebrate my achievements and console
me when I needed it.
It's true, I had become a little dependent. Maybe a little needy. OK,
maybe more than a little.
Then I heard those hideous words: "There's some news. It's about me."
No, no, I thought. Don't let this be happening. I tried to remain calm.
"What's up?"
That's when my literary agent told me she was leaving the agent biz
to head up a publishing house. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry,
"Don't leave me!" But I didn't.
I didn't because I know what it's like to have to break that kind of
news to an author. I've done it myself a couple of times. It's never
easy for either party.
My closest publishing relationship has been with my agent. That is true
for many authors who publish with trade presses, since more and more,
it is agents who do the bulk of the editorial work. However, most scholars
do not have agents and get attached to their editors instead. Agent
or editor, it doesn't matter — the feelings of desertion, desperation,
and despair are the same when they leave you.
So I said to my agent that I was happy for her — truly. It seemed
like a great opportunity, and one at which she would excel. I said I
was still processing what it meant for me, and when she told me that
she would help me through the transition — "You know I'll help
you, we'll get it figured out" — I told her that I believed her.
People in publishing shift around a lot. Authors don't like to think
about that. We like to think of our editors and agents as being only
and ever at one company; only and ever committed to our books; only
and ever supporting us and our careers. But the fact is, editors and
agents often have to move around to move up.
Sometimes that means that authors get stranded, or "orphaned," at a
house. Our contract is, after all, with the publisher, not with the
editor. A project will get passed along to someone else, who may not
like it. Sometimes it turns out to be a good fit; other times there
are irreconcilable differences. I once took over a series of books where
the co-authors could barely stand to be in the same room. I inherited
a legacy of years of enmity, jealousy, and familial squabbles. It was
hard to muster enthusiasm for the project, particularly when each of
the co-authors called repeatedly to warn me about the other.
Sometimes editors at trade presses will bring authors with them to the
new publishing house. That can involve legal wrangling, the canceling
of old contracts and reissuing of new ones. Some editors informally
canvass their authors before jumping ship, trying to find out who will
go with them if they move. But that can be an uncertain leap; the editor
will need some time to get the lay of the new land, to figure out how
much support she'll be able to get from the marketing, publicity, and
sales departments.
Both times when I left publishing houses, I was surprised and, frankly,
offended by the reactions of many of my authors. The truth is, I shouldn't
have been surprised, and being offended was kind of dumb. I should have
known that most people react to news by thinking first of their own
interests. There were the angry ("How can you do this to me?"), the
panicked ("Who's going to take care of me?"), those who wanted to talk
to someone "in charge," and a few who wanted to know what I was going
to do (those are the people with whom I am still in touch).
I had authors who, when I signed up their projects, asked me to promise
not to leave before the book was published. Now look here. I wouldn't
have given out contracts if I hadn't been intending to stay, but the
idea that authors would ask me to put off my own career, or family life,
or yearlong trek through the Himalayas, or whatever is one of the things
that makes authors unappealing as friends. It's a natural sentiment,
but it shouldn't be given voice. Nothing, in fact, points out more clearly
the fact that authors and editors aren't truly friends as when an editor
leaves.
So we authors should commit to our editors (and agents) and work as
if the relationship is going to last forever. And then, if it doesn't,
we need to be grown-up about the breakup and not throw a hissy fit.
With agents, unless they leave the business (as mine did), it doesn't
really matter which company they work for. Editors are a different story.
So if your editor leaves, what should you do?
Well, before that even happens you should always try to be a good author.
Don't annoy your editor or fly into a rage if something doesn't go your
way. Make sure that you have cordial relations with the other people
at the press. Even if your editor leaves, her assistant is likely to
stay and may even get promoted. That can be a real boon to an author,
as the assistant is likely to have done a lot of the work on the project,
anyway. So be nice to everyone at the press.
Keep good records. If your editor says that the press will advertise
your book in the important journals in your field, keep a copy of that
message. If she says that it will use the photo of your grandma for
the cover of your book, mark that down. Many important publishing decisions
are not outlined in the contract, so whenever your editor "promises"
you something, just take note. A press will not be obligated to honor
those promises, but it may be compelled by moral suasion.
Remember: No one is out to screw you. That's not the way it works. No
one likes to make authors unhappy. But the author-editor relationship
can be an intimate one, and often other people are not privy to what
goes on between the two of you.
To my mind, as a recovering editor, the most essential thing you should
do when your editor leaves is be gracious. You never know where your
ex-editor is going to end up. It may look like she is deserting you,
but in fact, in a few years, your former editor could be at a place
you really want to break into. She may become the editor of The New
York Times Book Review. Or of The New Yorker.
So wish her well. Sincerely. Understand that this is not about you ("But
I'm the author! It's always about me!"). Don't say stupid or mean things.
She is likely, if she can, to help get you situated with a new editor.
Finally, once someone leaves a job, don't ask her to keep working on
your book. Keep in mind that these are professional positions, and people
are paid by the houses for which they work. If your editor leaves, but
your book stays with the house, you're asking her to work for you free.
That's not very nice, is it?
When I was an editor I worked with an author for a number of years on
a variety of projects. When I moved to a different press, he sent me
a proposal. I labored hard on it, telling him how to make it better,
how to develop it. I assumed that I would be publishing the book. When
we finally talked about a contract, he said he needed to publish it
with my former employer. He knew they wouldn't give him editorial help
so he came to me.
Please don't do that.
Editors are generally helpful people and, like good dogs, enjoy being
useful. But that doesn't mean you should take advantage of them.
Now excuse me while I go have a private meltdown about the fact that
I've been deserted by my beloved literary agent.
Rachel Toor is an assistant professor of creative writing at Eastern
Washington University, in Spokane. Her newest book is Personal Record:
A Love Affair With Running, and her web site is http://www.racheltoor.com.
She welcomes comments and questions directed to careers@chronicle.com.
For an archive of her previous columns, see http://chronicle.com/jobs/news/archives/columns/page_proof.
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