The are two kinds of authors in the publishing world: those who marry their agents and those who have affairs with them.

Whether you’re in one camp or the other is not entirely in your own hands. Although I have no statistics to back me up, it’s a safe bet that agents fire their authors more often than authors dismiss their agents. Two factors may account for this. One is the law of supply and demand—too many writers wanting the assistance of a relatively small pool of legitimate agents. And the second is the importance of the gate-keeping function of the agent’s role—that without the help of an agent’s contacts allowing access to the publishing kingdom, it is very tough to get past the lions guarding the gate yourself.

Despite the fact that the author technically “hires” the agent and pays a commission, it’s the agent who is in the primary position of power in the relationship. You know this is true when you listen to how many authors worry about pleasing their agent. But you don’t hear about agents sitting around anxiously wringing their hands, fearful of losing their stable of authors. Yes, maybe it happens when the author becomes Ms. Big Shot and other agents want to “poach” her. But not until. From an agent’s point of view, there are always plenty more fish in the sea. But whether it’s the author or agent who initiates the split, it’s usually prompted by the same issue: lack of performance.

Let’s review the thinking of the fresh and naïve writer. She feels overjoyed to have finally won the uphill battle to snag an agent. More often than not, she’s sent out numerous queries over a period of months and experienced ego-puncturing rejection before finally getting an offer for representation. Not only does acceptance of an agent’s offer mean her book will be (hopefully) seriously shopped, it obviously means the writing was deemed good/marketable enough to have capture the agent’s attention. This is validation in itself, even if the book never ends up being published. Fiction authors who’ve gone through the emotional ups and downs of the query/partial/full submission process understand this. They are justifiably delighted and relieved when an agent comes calling, as are non-fiction writers who have slaved over a 40-100 page proposal that may have taken them months to assemble and tweak.

When her new agent gushes how wonderful the writing is, the author begins to let her mind spin off into sugar-plum fantasies of marital bliss. You could call it the honeymoon phase of the marriage. Infatuation is in the air: She “falls in love” with her agent, just as the agent “falls in love” with the author’s book. She tells herself this is the best and most wonderful agent in the whole world—an agent who finally gets her writing and wants to represent her!

The author imagines she will be shielded by her new ally, who will help her negotiate the various land mines of the publishing battlefield. She imagines not only does her agent love her work but also wants to become her dear friend and confidant. Maybe they will lunch and go shopping together when her agent invites her to visit New York? Maybe the agent will introduce her to important editors, well-known authors and fascinating book-biz people? Maybe she will take a personal interest enough to edit the book, making it the best it can be before submission to editors? And maybe they can celebrate together over Champagne when the book is sold for more than the author could ever imagine?

These fantasies and others are part of the hope that the author/agent marriage will be one made in heaven. And some of these fantasies may come true if everything goes just right with the whole process. Maybe it quickly sells for a decent advance to a publishing house and there is harmony between author, agent, and editor. Maybe everyone loves the cover design, ego-inflating blurbs flow in, and everything goes smoothly in production. Maybe the whole house gets behind the author—even the house publicist—who devotes a good deal of her time to helping launch the new book. Maybe the result is that the book sells well enough to make the publisher happy. The agent feels great that she had the good taste and intuitive sense to choose this author’s work. And the author/agent bond is reinforced as both enjoy the results of their successful product. If all this happens, then we have the makings of a happy marriage.

Ah, if it could just go this smoothly for more authors and agents! Then you’d have no problem finding more author/agent marriages that last more than one book and a year or less. But the problem is too often, it just isn’t this
ideal. The reality of performance steps in as a cruel slap in the author’s face.

Why? Because she begins to sense her agent isn’t answering her e-mails or calls as fast as she thinks she should. Or the she doesn’t like that the agent is losing interest after five or ten editors say ‘No thanks” and isn’t so keen on further submittals. Or the agent becomes disappointed that even when she sells the book, it doesn’t command the kind of money she was looking for.

Or, when published, the book just doesn’t sell as many copies as the agent was counting on. She quickly assesses she isn’t going to be getting any residual income on the “back end”—that the book doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of earning out its advance. Now the author doesn’t look quite as promising as she initially hoped. Or the agent feels slighted because the gift the author sends her when the book sells isn’t quite as expensive as it ought to be for all the hard work the agent put in. Or the agent doesn’t think the author’s next book idea, synopsis or proposal measures up to her first one. Or_________________ (fill in the blank with one of your own).

So with little or no warning, one day the author receives a polite e-mail from her agent telling her she doesn’t think she can help her anymore and that “it’s best for her to seek representation elsewhere.” It is one of the publishing world’s dirty little secrets that dumping the author by e-mail happens more often than anyone admits to. Welcome to the easy-peasy cyber world, where a quick e-mail means not having to suffer the discomfort of even a polite phone call. The author, of course, can’t help but take it as a cold and personal rejection. She feels stunned and bruised. She thinks, “I thought we had a relationship, a marriage through thick and thin—everything you told me about my career and loving my writing. How could you do this to me?” She may lick her wounds and be so devastated by the dumping that she needs time to recover before moving on.

The last thing she wants to do is begin the agent search all over again. She stops submitting anything new to an agent. Or, at worst, she stops writing for awhile altogether. And when she does begin again, she’s learned that the marriage vow is not what she thought it was. She thinks, “Maybe this time I’ll just have an affair with my agent—not get so attached. Then it won’t hurt so much if I get dumped again.” And she is less likely to believe the next agent who tells her, “I’m thinking of your career, not just this one book.” She now knows that everything related to her future with her agent and her publisher is dependent on her performance.

To be fair to agents, authors clearly are capable of the same insensitive dumping treatment that they receive from agents. They think the agent isn’t pushing hard enough to get them in-house publicity. Or is nice to talk to but is not a shrewd enough negotiator. Or is shrewd as hell, but doesn’t know how to be more friendly. Or the book doesn’t sell at all and the author loses confidence in her agent and begins thinking about finding a new agent who will work harder for her. Or she doesn’t have the same cachet as another hot agent in the news.

In a business where so much is done by phone and e-mail, if you live across the country from your agent, you may never even meet in person. To reiterate: This makes it a lot easier for either agent or author to dump the other without making it too personal or uncomfortable, as it would be if you had to sit across from the other at a table, look them in the eyes, and tell them how you want to end the marriage.

While there certainly are some very successful and satisfied authors who manage to form strong, lasting bonds with their agent, the more typical career path includes having more than one agent, just as it does more than one publisher. Some of us have had enough serial affairs with agents you’d think we’re real philanderers and sluts. But you know what they say: “It's not personal, it’s just business.” When you really understand and accept the meaning of that cliché, it’s easier to not only accept being dumped but also to view agents on a per book basis, with no bets for the future. An affair begins to look like the safer choice.

So, to all those authors who want to hold tightly to the lovely, romantic and oh-so-last-millennium notion of marrying your agent for a career, I suggest this: Make sure you’ve got a prenuptial agreement in mind that prepares you to suffer without undue stress, disappointment, or ego obliteration when the match made in heaven fails to go the distance.

© 2006 Steven Hendlin, Ph.D.

Steven Hendlin, Ph.D. is a clinical psychologist in Newport Beach, California
who has been in private practice for 30 years. Formerly a columnist for TheStreet.com for 74 consecutive weeks, he currently writes the “Shrink Rap” column for COAST Magazine. Dr. Hendlin is the author of four books and hundreds of professional and popular articles, reviews, and columns.

Visit him at www.hendlin.net. He is pleased to receive your comments and questions for publication in his Backspace column at baney@yahoo. com, but please remember that he is unable to provide personal counseling or psychotherapy through the mail.