Write Good or Die

about the book and went out to the top 15 publishers with an expiration date on the manuscript.
    It was very exciting and a thrill to be a part of.
    The rejections were the hardest of my life.
    On the plus side, many editors said wonderful things about me and my book. I got many compliments, and finally vindication from the publishing world that I indeed had talent.
    But Origin was ultimately rejected because it slipped through the genre cracks. Editors didn’t know how to market it. Was it horror? Sci-fi? Techno-thriller? Comedy? Where did this book fit on the shelves?
    To compound the injury, Todd then left the agency to pursue a law practice in Maryland.
    I was devastated.
    Luckily, his boss saw potential in me. Before Todd bid his final adieu, I received a phone call from Jane Dystel who succinctly asked, "What else have you got?"
    I did have something else, another high-concept idea that came to me while writing Origin . I pitched it over the phone to Jane.
    "Write it," she advised.
    I did.
    Another year passed, research and writing. When I finished, I gave Jane the same kind of ad campaign I’d designed for Origin .
    Jane loved it. She generated a buzz and went out to 17 publishing houses.
    The rejections mirrored those received by Origin . What kind of book was this? Was it a thriller, or a comedy?
    But one publisher liked it. There was a problem, however. The book was a hundred and thirty thousand words.
    "Can you cut thirty thousand?"
    I said I could. The effort was one of the most frustrating, and at the same time rewarding, episodes in my writing career. Because I didn’t want to affect the story, I delegated myself to trimming the fat.
    And there was fat. A lot of it.
    When I finished, the editor read the revision and said, "Cut another ten thousand words."
    Now there was no choice; I had to cut story. It was very difficult to do. I was forced to confront my novel and determine what was essential to the plot and what could be left out without disturbing the narrative flow.
    But I did it. And it improved the book, a lot.
    The editor read this version and said, "You know, I think I like your concept more than your execution of the concept. Can you start over from the beginning?"
    Jane stepped in before I popped a blood vessel.
    “We’ll move on to the next book, Joe.”
    For my third book with the agency, I decided to make sure I wrote in a specific, distinct, defined genre, the medical thriller. Also, because editors seemed puzzled by the amount of humor I was putting in my books, I completely cut out the jokes.
    After another year of writing and research, I gave the results to Jane.
    She HATED it, and refused to represent it. Jane liked my sense of humor, and a novel without jokes had no spark.
    Back to square one.
    Again, I took time away from writing to brainstorm. I liked Jane a lot, as a person and as an agent, but I didn’t think she’d keep me on as a client if I kept giving her books she couldn’t sell.
    My last three books were failures, but they were important failures. They taught me how to rewrite. They taught me that I needed to use humor. They taught me that techno thrillers and medical thrillers weren’t working for me.
    So what genre was left? What would be the best vehicle for my sense of humor?
    I went downstairs and began perusing my library. A pattern emerged. Janet Evanovich. Robert B. Parker. Lawrence Block. Robert Crais. Donald Westlake.
    All my life I loved mysteries. My favorites were series characters, especially ones that were funny.
    Why hadn’t I thought of that before? This was a genre I knew and loved, and something that would allow me to zing the one-liners and have fun.
    I created Violent Crimes Lieutenant Jack Daniels of the Chicago PD. I used every convention popular in successful mysteries—a flawed but funny hero, a recurring cast of oddball characters, a catchy title that instantly identified the series, a spring-loaded plot.
    A few months later, I gave Whiskey Sour to Jane, along with proposals for the second and third books in the series, Bloody Mary and Rusty Nail.
    Jane loved it.
    She helped me tweak the concept, and after two requisite rewrites, she went out with the book.
    In the meantime, I started work on another high concept novel, so when Whiskey Sour got rejected, I’d have something else to pitch to Jane.
    But the damnedest thing happened. A few days after Jane submitted the book, she gave me a call.
    "We have an offer. It’s for six