And I thought it couldn’t get any weirder.
Today, I received a cold email from a guy claiming to be a literary agent interested in my novella. He vaguely expressed interest in my work, saying that my book had come to his attention. He went on to say that his agency’s method was to earn a commission on books that were placed with a publisher. Okay, I thought. Here is a guy who has said nothing specific about my work, but who is otherwise saying the right things. This is how literary agents operate. They should never charge writers up front for anything. And he seemed like a real human being. I even went to the agency’s website and found his picture and a brief bio sketch. He was a good looking, professional young person. I noticed, though, in his sketch, that he was a guy who did not have any kind of background in literature or in creative writing, and that was puzzling. So I sent him the following email back:
Hey there __________,
I read your bio on the agency website, and your background does not seem to be in literature. So I’m curious about how I came to your attention and why you thought I might be an appropriate fit for you. Yes, I am interested in finding agent representation, but I am super wary of cold contacts from folks, most of whom are fishing for writers who are willing to pay up front for services. You write that this is not what you do, but I still need more information before I agree to further conversation.
He responded almost immediately with three items: the first was an assurance that they would never ask a writer for money up front and that they earned their income in the conventional way, through commission. Secondly, to satisfy my curiosity about how he became aware of my work, he said that he learned of me “through a review of titles and authors currently aligning with what we are actively presenting to publishing houses and development partners.” Okay, still, not especially helpful. The third item was an attachment of an Exclusive Representation Agreement “for your review and acceptance.”
So, now I am incredulous. He still has not said anything specific about why he likes my fiction but has already sent me a SIGNED exclusive agreement! I clap back. I tell him that my understanding is that agents choose to represent writers whose work they KNOW. They choose to represent specific works the writer has produced. Therefore, I was surprised to see an agreement document attached to his last message. Really? It just does not seem to square, I wrote, with my understanding of how agencies operate.
And then, to demonstrate to me that he was familiar with my work, he pasted into his next email the “review” of my novella.
It was accurate as fuck. It was 720 words long. It was well written. It gave precise details outlining the subject, style, and thematic issues surrounding the work. It specifically and accurately described the point of view character and the other main characters, and went into some detail about their trajectory in the novella. It described the appropriate audience for the work and posited that the novel showed potential for the literary imprints of a few large publishing houses, noting that the “quiet introspection” of the novel might limit its commercial accessibility, and that it might be suitable for adaptation for an independent or arthouse film. It was, in short, a better review and analysis of market potential than I could potentially have written myself. And it was, hold on to your shorts, 100% AI generated. Is it too far fetched to conclude that whatever AI Engine that was employed in this agency’s service had actually read my novella?! If it was not READ, certainly, somehow, it was CONSUMED–enough to be able to spit out this convincing and mostly spot-on analysis.
I wrote the guy back one more time, called out the agency’s use of AI, and told him that I was not feeling especially confident that his interest in my work was authentic. And then, in one more response, he admitted to using AI tools for “efficiency,” ensured me that the interest in my work (even though he had obviously not read it), was based on his own judgement and was sincere, and then he dropped me like a hot potato. “You clearly have a strong sense of your work and how you want to move forward. For that reason, I’m going to step back and withdraw my offer at this point. No hard feelings—I wish you the best with the book and wherever you take it next.”
Somehow, I am confident that I dodged a bullet, or at least, confident that I did not toss away an opportunity with an agent who would help me to publish with a mainstream publishing house. I can’t believe that, if he were TRULY and authentically interested in representing my fiction, he wouldn’t have worked a little bit harder to keep me on the wire.
Recent AI developments have been mind-boggling to watch and to think about. Today, though, for the first time with regard to writing and publishing, I see how the future might be unfolding for the world of literature. The slush pile, as we call it, that stack of hundreds upon hundreds of query letters and manuscripts that come through the doors (or the inboxes) of any number of agencies and publishing houses on the daily, can now be sifted through, not by some lowly intern getting an English degree, but by machines, by sophisticated artificial intelligence engines that can read EVERYTHING, whether it’s been submitted or not, and find things that suit the needs of an agency or a publishing house or press. Writers publishing through alternative methods or self publishing are likely most vulnerable to this, as their works have often been distributed digitally. As far as I know, AI has not yet been able to reach for the files on the hard drives of every writer’s home computer! If that idea strikes fear into your heart, maybe it’s time to start writing everything by hand in notebooks, or with a quill pen on parchment paper.
I have more to say about this stuff. I’m interested in an exploration of the potential of AI to replace the musician and the writer, about whether we should be freaked out about this idea. But the sun is coming through my study window right now early evening straight into my eyes and I can barely see the computer. Also, on this eighth day of National Poetry Month, I have a poem to finish. Cheers.
To support a flesh and blood writer, me, you can order Submarine Stories: A Novella from these outlets. If you’d like a signed copy, go to http://www.herecomeseverybody.com to order a book from me directly.
michael jarmer 