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How I Became a Literary Agent

Sandra Martin, Paraview TV founder

I became a literary agent by accident. I was an account executive at the local Norfolk, Virginia PBS station at the time. I’d spent my life interested in the world of the paranormal; in fact I’d had psychic dreams when I was a child and at 15 a teacher had taken me to the Rhine Center at Duke University to hear a lecture on ESP. I don’t know why I thought I could trust her to believe me because I’d never told anyone else. It must’ve been an intuitive moment for me, knowing I could trust this one teacher. She listened carefully and said very little but on a class trip to Durham, North Carolina she dropped me off at the Rhine Center, (then called The Foundation for the Study of the Nature of Man — or something like that) while the rest of the class attended a concert of the Duke Choir. I listened intently, never said a word, and went on a tour of the lab to see all the gadgets and games that measured ESP. I was fascinated. My teacher picked me up at the appointed time and on the appointed corner. She never mentioned it again and neither did I.

I know, from personal experience, that understanding our deepest abilities and who we really are is an abounding, empowering, and exciting
journey but not, of course, with out bumps, bruises and hard knocks.

In the mid-80s I was living in Virginia Beach with my accountant sister Brenda. It was summer and I was taking care of her 9 year old son, Colin.
I’d recently gotten a divorce. The Sandra Martin Show, a half hour weekly program I hosted on local television station where I interviewed new age speakers (Native Americans, Dream interpreters, Edgar Cayce experts, etc.) was on hiatus. As well I had been working for the local PBS station. I had tried to make a major move to national PBS producing a series and it’d fallen through. I was nursing my wounds, taking it easy and wondering what my next (ad)venture would be.  I’d already crashed in a small plane in the Grand Canyon and been lost sailing in the Bermuda Triangle. My life was never boring.

One hot humid Virginia Beach August Tuesday morning the doorbell rang. I opened the door. A young woman was standing there just barely holding back tears. I knew her face but not her name.

She said, “Carol told me you could help me.”

“Do what?” I asked.

She came in, sat down, I put a box of tissues by her side and she told me her lament. She had a manuscript of cat stories for which she had gotten
a big New York publishing contract and a $7,000 advance. She needed that money for the IRS. An hour ago, her editor had called her, crying, and said that the publisher had come in and fired everyone in that department, closed the imprint and her contract was null and void. And to top it all she wailed, her editor was eight months pregnant. How could he? She said that all New York publishers were evil. She really started crying then.

“Why did Carol think I could help you? I know nothing about publishing.” Plus Carol was psychologist, a therapist.

She said you were the only person she could think of that knew how to deal with big companies. I’d been an award winning account executive with the PBS station.

“Yes, I do work with big companies but that doesn’t translate, it doesn’t mean I’d know what to do about your problem.”

Yikes. She was crying again, so I went into the kitchen to make us some jasmine tea and think things through. I sat at the kitchen table, and on a
yellow legal pad, of which Brenda should have stock in the manufacturer she used so many of them, I wrote down the only things I thought would be helpful. I wrote what I’d do if I was in the same situation. That is, of course, a situation where I knew nothing about nothing, but that’d never
stopped me before so I wrote: 1) if you’ve sold it once I’m sure you could sell it again; 2) if big companies think you want something back, sometimes it makes them want it just in case you know something they don’t; 3) and if they aren’t interested they can take forever to make a move so 4) I’d write them asking them to return my rights immediately so I could move on.

Norma, her name was, took the yellow pad, the tissues and left. She didn’t say much, and sniffling walked out. While I drank my jasmine tea I
made a mental note to tell Carol to stop sending people my way. But I also hoped that what I’d written helped Norma.

Norma returned that afternoon all bubbly and sweet.

“I’d like you to read my letter.”

“OK.”

She requested her rights back in a very professional, lawyerly way. It sounded great until the last paragraph which said, if you have any problems, please call Sandra Martin at (804) 555 4921.

“Wait a minute, Norma, you can’t do that because I don’t know anything about the publishing business.”

“Oh dear. Carol said you’d help me.”

She starts to cry again. I just say soothing things, quietly walking her back to the door. “Just leave it in I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

Closing the door, I think damn, I really do have to call Carol.

I go about my life as normal. I forget to call Carol and Norma’s predicament fades from memory.

One morning, about two weeks later my phone rings; I pick it up, and say hello.

“Is this Sandra Martin?”

“Yes.”

And with that, a high squeaky voice rants (if that is possible with a high squeaky voice): “I don’t know who you think you are. I’ve never heard
of you. You have no right to do this. We have a contract.”

And he went on and on. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise to ask what this was about. I’m trying to think who I could’ve upset so much. Meanwhile,
I’m getting upset with the way he is speaking to me. I haven’t been doing anything plus I’m generally an easy going, mild mannered Southern lady. Finally he says the name, Norma, and I realize that this is the publishing company. No wonder she was so upset. He was awful and seemed truly mean. I’d gotten upset for both of us by then. I turn into my steely Southern magnolia personality and say, “In all my years of doing business I’ve never had anyone speak to me in this tone of voice.” And holding the rage out of my own voice, I say, “Because of your attitude; your abominable behavior you are going to have to renegotiate this entire deal.”

In my mind, I’m thinking, “What the heck are you saying?”

But anger had taken over. He says he’ll see about that. And I say fine.

We hang up.

I walk around cooling off and thinking, damn, he wants her book, why didn’t I just give him Norma’s number, after I found it of course. While I
was looking for it, he called back, calm and quiet and said, “I talked with my publisher and she said we will renegotiate with you.”  He gives me his
name and number — just in case, I guess.

I called Norma to give her his name and number and she says, “Oh, Sandra, please can’t you help me? Couldn’t you just talk with him? These New
York Publishers are so evil.”

In truth I had nothing better to do and he had presented a big challenge. He had really pissed me off. I hung up the phone, went out and
purchased a paperback book, something along the lines of: How to be Your Own Literary Agent. I read it that night and called Matt (the angry editor) the next morning to say he’d be dealing with me. I told him exactly what had happened.

After a few weeks of intense negotiations we’d settled for a $45,000 advance. This was a far cry from her original $7,000 advance. Matt sent me
two dozen roses and said, “Sandra, you should really make this your profession. You are really good at it.” And I did love it. I was an avid
reader from childhood, I always loved books, and I am a nurturer by nature and what better way to be of service. Norma spread the word and soon I was in New York City meeting editors and making deals.

That is how I became a literary agent.

Posted by Admin on 8/21/09 in the Sandra Martin category