The Seymour Agency’s Second Winter Writer’s Escape

I went to a conference, a winter escape into a writer’s paradise of classes, introductions, and learning to pitch a novel to agents and publishers. The Seymour Agency sponsored it, providing excellent speakers on topics of forensics, crafting a novel, fiction, nonfiction, science fiction and fantasy, romance and mystery. Tor Publishing and Sourcebook spent time working to focus writers so that their books might make that great award in the sky of publishing a novel.

Can you imagine the opportunity to take an ocean cruise, see Nassau and Cozumel, meet exotic people, and spend time working on completing a dream? That’s what this agency did for me. While I was learning the foundations of forensics through the eyes of a woman who was raised by two medical examiners and now consulted with Hollywood to make shows believable, my husband read books, sat in the sun, and took a lot of naps. I think I mentioned that he worked nights and slept days, so we are always at crossed schedules.

I met a lovely young woman named Leslie who is a professional editor. She wanted to show us exactly what a copy editor does. Presenting using an overhead projector, she could have taught any school in Virginia that one third of the Standards of Learning that includes grammar, spelling, cohesiveness, and proper word choice. I think she felt a bit strange, what with most of us being over thirty-five, sitting poised on the edge of our chairs to catch every bullet point. She’s a great example of a woman who knows her craft and loves it. She blushed and smiled at us. She reminds me of a sparrow, always busy, always working, always available to listen. I love sparrows. They are a workforce of correctness with a chirp of encouragement. (Please don’t take offense, Leslie, if you don’t like birds. I mean well.)

The agency was started by Mary Sue Seymour, who died last year from cancer. My friend Andy had submitted to her last summer, and the response she gave him was clear advice, helpful tips, and a push to keep working on his book. He said she was the best refusal he ever received. She was a marathoner, a motivational powerhouse, and a believer in the power of the written world. She was also approachable. I’ve added her to the list of people that we walk for cancer to raise awareness and funding for. Before hearing about her, my list was mostly family. But she deserves to be remembered for her effort, indeed her fight, to care for others to the very end. Writers can be difficult, like herding earthworms who surface and then dive for the depths of the earth to get their quiet writing done.

I met Nicole, a senior agent, via email when I was registering. I told her I was related to Murphy, and boy has this been a year for Murphy. Since September, the family has had three totaled cars, one new baby, one thief, one hospitalization, one set of messed up paperwork, several temper tantrums, sixty hour work weeks for my husband, an angry daughter-in-law, a misplaced Christmas spirit and more. Yes, Murphy and I are more than friends, we must be related. There were bumps and bruises in my registration, and Nicole elevated me to human status and solved everything in less than five minutes. She’s one of those women who see you when you speak, listen to your meaning as well as your words, and gently pushes you in the right direction without your knowing it. On top of that, she’s a mother, wife, powerhouse of knowledge and a compassionate human being. It was my honor to meet her. Because of her, I walked away from the conference confident that I’m on the right path.

I met with Diane from Tor Books over a bottle of water in the champagne bar. I pitched my second book, the one science fiction with a naive but determined group of young women, and she gave me guidance on what genre it was, a space opera, a list of authors to read, and a good push to finish the one I’m halfway through. She was a gracious listener and I was her very last pitch. Publishers don’t usually meet with you face to face. She gave Tor books a gracious personality.

Deb from Sourcebooks, who handles a lot of romances, was hosting Stitch and Pitch sessions at odd times and scheduled times throughout the week. She sat and knitted, or unwound tangled yarn with the assistance of an extra pair of hands from one of the participants, as we learned how to talk about our novels. I don’t think she realizes that her honesty is unusual into todays age. Where things were lacking, she was quick to point them out. Her questions were pointed and she listened to the first words out of your mouth, then refocused you on what you were trying to say. You need to know your genres, your sub-genres, plot, characters and put it into one to three sentences because publishers don’t have a lot of time. Neither do agents. They can receive hundreds of manuscripts in a week and you need to catch the eye quickly. She also said to follow the directions on every agent and publisher’s submission guide. For writers, apparently we aren’t always good at communicating.

First line manuscripts were subjected to panels of participants and agents and evaluated on their originality, quality, and foreshadowing. No one is harder to please that a writer evaluating other writers. There was a panel on what happens when real life occurs and you are trying to write (I qualified for this lecture by more than a handful of life experiences getting in the way.) There was a panel about what genres are selling, one about diversity in literature, another about keywords and social media platforms, and I ran from one to the next with notes on my laptop and scribbled into a green notebook they had given all of us.

I had a good time and learned a lot of new information. It helped heal the pain of losing my mentor ten days before the trip. My husband was impressed that I had so much energy. We were both ready for my collapse when we got off the ship and started the second part of our trip. It took me four days to recover, but when I did I was still really excited. In fact, I hope they are going to sponsor a trip next February. I’m going to go again.


Murphy’s Law

I’m a good friend of Murphy’s, indeed, I know him quite well. I’m always ready to receive him when he visits, but I dread those visits. He causes me a vexation of spirit and planning every time he drops into my life. First, it was a nudge and sleeping through a class. Then it was being late for a music lesson and running face first into a door. That door was never locked, it was the main lobby door, for heaven’s sake. But someone thought it was a security problem, they hadn’t had any incidents in the past, but it was 1979, and it was the end of an era. I broke my glasses, and I’m so far sighted that I couldn’t see a thing for the next month, while I tried to get new glasses. I finally put them back together with masking tape. It didn’t help my image, self or otherwise.

I normally don’t think about the million and one things that have gone wrong at the last minute, but I should. One was waiting on a bus corner when my parents were out of town. I missed the bus, and instead, met up with some friends who went dancing and then out to breakfast, the whole time insisting that because I was 18, I could hang out with them before they finally gave me a ride home. Guess who came home when they couldn’t reach me on the phone. But Murphy was good to me that night, on my bus corner someone was murdered. My dad was furious, but when he heard the story, he wasn’t so mad at Murphy after all. Me? Well, he was my dad. He was entitled. I tried really hard not to turn his hair white, I did try, but he turned white anyway, and his forehead was extended to the back of his head. The four children in our family never looked into who caused him all that stress, for we each had some level of guilt.

I’m well past just being a grownup now, and I’ve had lots of Murphy time. I’m almost done with Ruckus, 63,000 words of sarcastic humor about transitions and running off to Fairy. I want to make sure that nothing goes wrong along the way to meeting with an agent or a publisher. So, looking on the internet, I saw the most incredible opportunity. “A Winter Escape” was listed on Twitter and I saw it. Eagerly looking up the site, I found The Seymour Agency was going on a winter cruise with writers, agents, movie producers and more. There would be classes from the Writer’s Digest about all sorts of topics, from writing a proposal for a book to writing the book itself. It said to book with Vacations to Go, a prominent vacation broker, and sign up for Royal Caribbean Navigator of the Sea’s trip in February. So, I asked my husband, and he practically bounced off his chair and into the air with joy. “I think you have a winner,” he said, “I believe in you.” So, we agreed to go on a five day cruise. (If it had been a three day cruise, I would have passed. I watched Gilligan’s Island as a child, so I was forewarned about that option.)

I signed up with Vacations to Go and paid the deposit. Right after that, Murphy arrived. My air conditioner died. That was a thousand dollars, then my father-in-laws a.c. died. That was the same weekend. We help my father-in-law when he needs it, after all, he’s a great guy, and it’s the right thing to do. So we slid toward the second deadline for the convention and classes with very little room to spare. I sent an e-mail to the Agency, and bless her heart, Nicole said it would not be a problem if the check got there before our payroll check did. I sent the check in the mail. I gave it four days to arrive. Then it was quiet. A little to quiet, Murphy quiet. The deadlines passed ,and so did October. I thought it might be a good thing to check up on life in the fast lane.

It was a good thing I had. Murphy had not signed me into the proper dinner shift, in fact, he seems to have signed me out. I wasn’t listed anywhere on the manifest list and was almost in tears, as the man in charge told me that I could probably go to the classes, but…

It all came to right with Nicole’s help. She reassured me that I was going to have a great time on the cruise. I felt much better after her e-mail. So I decided to write about the experience of the oopses that life gives us, the ones that auto-correct spellings and aids by changing those spellings that had nothing to do with content I was typing. The phone rang, and my mother told me that I had written a check on the wrong account. Murphy!!! She followed that by saying that it was better that I had used the account I did, the other was needed for other things. So, Murphy, it’s okay this time, but stop sitting over there on the couch making the lights blink on and off. You’re starting to wear away my patience. Where is that save button? And give me back my commas!