The cycle of obsession

Tod Goldberg’s latest manuscript is out to editors and he’s finding new ways to drive himself crazy over the process:

Today, my agent sent me a list of editors who currently have my new

novel on their desks. I’ve not been obsessing too much over my new

novel because I’ve been busy obsessing over my short story collection,

which, at this point in time, means approving artwork and copy edits

and the use of this and the misuse of that and wondering if the people

blurbing my book actually mean what they’re saying, or if they’re just

saying stuff to be nice and, really, maybe I am just a sham and perhaps

I should just pack it all in and get a job back in outside sales,

peddling human flesh under the guise of temporary employment.

But then this letter came. At first I kinda ignored it, figuring,

like other things my agent sends me, that I could read it once, get the

gist of it (“They thought your work sucked,” or “They liked your work

and would like to pay you for it.“) and move on with my day in either

mortal anger or waves of alluvial joy. The problem, however, is that

once you know who is reading your book with an eye towards offering you

cash for it, it’s difficult to disassociate from it. Enter Google.

I punched the first editor’s name into the god-forsaken white space.

Here’s a quote from her saying that the problem with crime fiction —

which I guess my book loosely falls under the rubric of, because, well,

that’s where they keep shelving me — is that the market is just way to

glutted with, uh, crime fiction. Here’s another quote from her saying

she loves literary crime — books where people die or do some crime,

but it means something. That’s me! I think. I’m up in that shit like

Neil Diamond in a glass-beaded shirt. I click over to the publishers

website and find some authors said editor edits. I notice a few books

where cats solve crimes. I notice a few books where cats don’t solve

crimes, but apparently a chef or a socialite or a cafe owner does. This

is looking dire. I find more books that seem like something I might

write — somber men in their 30s on the wrong side of the law, just

trying to make it in the world today. You get the idea. But I’m feeling

like this woman has already read my book and is now using it to wipe up

cat piss from her duvet cover. But then I think, you know, maybe she’s

dog tired of these fucking cats in her life. Maybe what she wants is a

novel where men do men things. Where women are strong and tough. Maybe

she wants some darkness in her life. Maybe right now she’s sitting in

bed and thinking, I need me some Goldberg.

It is amazing how we torture ourselves in new and exciting ways, each and every time. But that said, I get the impression that when submissions go out, the agent has more say than the author as to who it gets sent to. Is that really the case (and if it is, that’s obviously not necessarily a bad thing), and if so, why wouldn’t writers have more input into who they believe is the right editor for their work, especially if they are market-savvy and pay too much attention to industry gossip?