Blast From the Past

by Barbara Poelle

Husband read this entry before I posted it and advised me to begin this entry with:

Warning. The following content may not be suitable for some. Reader discretion is advised.

At BEA I was on a panel and I also heard roughly 45-50 pitches in 2 hours. (Do the math. Then have a shot of tequila. ) I know it is so nerve wracking to pitch and the agent is this great unknown- I get the impression that most assume I will run the gambit of requesting your work to slapping you.  This story is for anyone and everyone who has ever felt nervous to pitch to me.

So usually, I know, I am pretty much the model of decorum. I should write a book: Etiquette with Effing Ease by Barbara Poelle. Well, this weekend at BEA, I had an adventure that, should your child ever make a diorama out of it, it may get them either a national award or expelled.

So I BEA’d my brains out from pretty much Wednesday on. I hit the show and did my schmooze. You know, 10 hours a day of tossing my hair and laughing and handing out cards and doing the double barreled finger air gun shooting. I know, if Two Wild and Crazy Guys had needed an agent, I would be a shoo-in. (Is that right? “Shoo”? Because it would make more sense to be a “shoe” in, meaning your foot in the door. Sigh.  If only there was some sort of interconnected electronic international data base where one could look things up.)

Anyway, after tearing up the town and a pair of Holly Root’s shoes on Friday night, I set out to make Saturday a more leisurely experience. Maybe just a single finger air gun and a slight chin nod.  

After my appointments and rounds, I had a casual dinner with some colleagues and then a scheduled drink with an editor.  I have this favorite restaurant near the Javits Center that I love, so we had a long and lovely dining experience, and then I headed up with the editor to have a glass of wine and talk about how awesome this new thriller I will have ready this summer is going to be.

Have you ever had to drag something heavy, like, I dunno, an armoire over hardwood floors? Well, about 20 minutes into my time with this editor, that is the sound my bowels made. Hmm. Not the most pleasant of sensations, but I am able to hold a conversation and still maintain a hair toss if I need it. This was followed, roughly 3 minutes later, by a sound much like a tugboat slowly attempting to dislodge itself from between two battleships. And then, I will spare you the details of what happened next, but suffice to say it was as if someone in my lower intestine had shouted “Fire.” and everybody panicked. I leapt up mid sentence and launched toward the bathroom as if the paper towel dispenser had started dispensing hundred dollar bills.

(Right now my mom has smelling salts in one hand and the phone with my number speed dialed into it in the other because she thinks I am going to go into greater detail, but don’t worry, I think we all get where we are at with this story.)

So, let’s just say, this editor and I pretty much had to walk away from this as best friends or never speak to one another again, because I spent a portion of our meeting either in the bathroom or sitting there sweating and crying a little. We were literally trapped in the restaurant. We were at the mercy of my Shrimp Tom Yum Soup.

At one point I said, “I know in a few weeks this is going to make a really funny story, but I can’t laugh right now.”

And then we laughed.

The point is, we are all just mammals tumbling around on this big muddy marble called Earth, and although agents may sometimes seem scary, just remember I was brought to my knees by a cup of soup.  So please, if you come to Thrillerfest or RWA or Moonlight and Magnolias or any other conference I am taking pitches at, have a seat across from me and let’s talk about your book.

Ooh! You could title it Tom Yum Part Deux: The Reckoning.

Scaaaaaary.

 

Comments

[Jersey Jack]

Thanks for sharing, Ms. B. Words escape me.

[Lartonmedia]

Eek! *Twitches in sympathy*.

And I shall be the first to buy a copy of Etiquette with Effing Ease. Reminds me of a piss-take exam paper someone did some years ago based on the potty-mouthed Irish pop star Bob Geldof. The bit that cracked me up totally was the last line:

Time allowed: Two fockin' hours

[Lauren]

Don't be scared, says the only agent on the blog with a shark for a userpic.

[bookwitch]

Wow!

[Janet Reid]

My evil plan for world domination is called Three Cups of Soup. Hell with that tea thing

[Janet Reid]

My evil plan for world domination is called Three Cups of Soup; heck with that tea thing.

[bookwitch]

I posted my comment here, and then I went away and laughed till I cried. Sorry. As I re-read your blog today, I laughed almost as much. Thank you very much. I rarely laugh madly these days, but reckon it's a healthy thing to do, if only there were funny things to laugh at out there.

In fact, it was almost exactly two weeks since my last laugh, which is pretty frequent for me.
http://bookwitch.wordpress.com/2009/05/20/page-64/

[www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1569101341]

You realize I'm putting this in a book, which I'm then going to ask you to sell, right?

[dfmil09.wordpress.com]

I've heard of calming your nerves by picturing the person (agent) naked. But your story beats all. I'm sure you've just made many potential clients at ease with meeting you now.

[sherrystanfa-stanley.blogspot.com]

NO SOUP FOR YOU!

Signed,
The Soup Nazi