Still waiting for my limo

[pbray]

Watching Criminal Minds last night the part that made my jaw drop wasn't the acting, nor the plot. It wasn't the cinematography that gave a disturbing insight into what it feels like when you're having a psychotic break.

No, it was the part where the writer's agent arrived in a limousine to pick him up for a booksigning.

Later in the episode the agent feels guilty for not having seen his client for several months, and thus not having been close enough to recognize that his client was experiencing a mental breakdown.

It reminded me of Ann Crispin's post earlier this month where she talked about how unrealistic portrayals of the agent/artist relationship may shape the expectations of aspiring writers, inadvertently making them more likely to fall for scam agents with their unrealistic promises.

Real agents don't have time to personally hand-hold each of their clients. They don't drop by for casual visits on the off-chance that we might have a few new pages to share with them, nor do they act as surrogate mothers, secretaries, or lifestyle coaches. I'm sure arcaedia will be pleased to know that I don't expect her to monitor my mental health. Though should I ever make NYT bestseller status and rate a limousine to take me to my booksignings, she's welcome to join me for drinks as we ride.

And in a totally unrelated note, finished WebMage by Kelly McCullough. I'm going to fail at the 52 book challenge I set myself, but it's likely that my 2007 score will be higher than last year's, so that's progress.

Comments

[sylvia-rachel.livejournal.com]

Mmm-hmm ...

I'm sure I've read analogous justifications of the African slave trade ...