Fern
Short and sweet. I send it off and flop back onto my bed, grinning wide. Never in a million years would I have ever thought that a superstar agent like Rachel would reach out to me to offer representation. Not me, quiet, mousy Fern Huang. But that’s just it, isn’t it? I am nolonger quiet or mousy. I have made my voice heard, and I’m only now finding out that people like what I have to say.
I’m still deep in my thoughts when my phone beeps. When I tap on the email, I find a link to a Zoom meeting. Oh my god. She wants to talk right now. I jump up and hurry to the mirror. I check my teeth to make sure there’s nothing stuck on them, then I quickly brush my hair. Fortunately, I’m wearing a plain black shirt, so I don’t have to change out of it. Having made myself somewhat presentable, I click on the link and log on to the meeting.
“Hi, Fern!” Rachel says. To my relief, she’s dressed casually as well, wearing a sweater with her hair tied up in a messy bun and reading glasses sitting atop her head. “I was hoping I could catch you right now. Sorry, I know I didn’t give you much of a heads-up, but I am just so excited to speak to you.”
Rachel Reed is excited to speak to me? “Oh, no worries!” I squeak. “I’m really excited too!” Okay, tone it down.
“Well, like I said in my email, you have such an amazing voice. It’s so relatable, Fern, did anyone tell you that?”
“Um, a few people did, yes.” I giggle. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just giggled to Rachel Reed.
She doesn’t seem to mind. “Well, I’m glad they did, because ah, your voice!” She kisses the tips of her fingers. “Let me tell you, nonfiction is a toughie. People think fiction is tough, but nonfiction is next to impossible to get just right. Well, that’s my opinion, anyway,” she adds. “So when I came across your op-ed, I just knew. You are that one-in-a-million writer that we’re always dreaming of. Do you have any thoughts or plans to expand your piece into a book? Tell me your ideas.”
Oh no. What ideas? I want to cry. I haven’t had any time at all to prepare a pitch. And for a nonfiction book, no less. I’m a fiction writer, I wail inwardly. Then, just as I’m about to descend into a spiral, my mouth opens. “Well, to be honest with you, until you suggested it in your lovely email, I haven’t thought of the possibility of turning it into a book, no. But,” I add quickly, “as soon as I read your message, I wasfilled with so many ideas about how I could do so. I think there are so many themes to explore here, and obviously the main thrust of the book would be about mental health and my journey to learn how to accept myself.”
“I love the sound of that,” Rachel says. “Yes, mental health. That is so timely, especially with how bad it’s become for so many people right now. I mean, we’re all going crazy locked up in our homes.” She chuckles, and I laugh along with her, and wow, I am having an actual conversation with Rachel Reed. “I love that. I presume you’ve saved all of your journals from school?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Amazing. I was thinking, you know what we could do? Maybe start each chapter with a photo of one of your journal entries. I mean, my god, that journal entry about the hissing cockroaches? Fern, my heart stopped when I read that. And it was even more visceral because it was handwritten in a teen’s journal. I could almost see you writing it after that horrible thing happened, and I just wanted to reach out and give you the biggest hug. I think that was what won a lot of people over.”
I can only manage a small nod. Hearing these words is so beautiful and so empowering.
“So each chapter will start with a journal entry, and hopefully we can come up with a theme for each one. I’m thinking the cockroach one can be about public humiliation maybe, or ooh, a form of gaslighting? We can brainstorm on the themes. Sorry, I was so excited to jump right in with your book that I forgot to tell you a little bit about myself and the agency.”
For the next few minutes, I listen, enthralled, as Rachel tells me about her work experience and how their agency is run. It all sounds amazingly professional, and I can see why Rachel is always hitting her marks. She’s incredibly well spoken and confident without being arrogant, and she’s obviously knowledgeable and well connected. If I hadn’t been convinced before, I certainly am now.
“So what I think we should do is we need to come up with a submission package for the book. Usually, for nonfiction books this is the first three chapters plus a chapter outline. But since you have the op-ed, we can use that instead of chapters, so all you need to work on right now is a chapter outline. Does that sound good to you?”
I nod firmly. “Yes, I’m so excited.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! I’m so excited too. I haven’t been this excited in a long time, I can tell you that much. I’ll send along our agency agreement later today. Look it over, and if everything looks good, we’ll make this partnership official.” Rachel beams at me, and I grin back.
I actually skip around the room like a little kid when we end the call. I’m going to be represented by Rachel Reed! I’m going to have a nonfiction book! Okay, never mind, I know better by now than to count my chickens, et cetera, and I shouldn’t celebrate the book before I sell it. But still, even though logically I know that, it’s hard to keep my joy contained. What a turn of events. I have to believe that the universe is sending me a message at this point. I mean, to get not just an agent, but Haven’s ex-agent? In a way, one could say that I took Haven’s agent from her. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t decide if it’s a good shiver or a bad one, because yes, part of me feels bad when I look at it that way, but part of me also feels really good about it.
Chapter 26
Over the next few days, I bury my head in work. After the mess I’ve gone through online, even though most people are on my side, I don’t take the risk of announcing that I’m now represented by Rachel Reed. It hurts. I want so much to be able to scream about it, but people love an underdog, and I think I should stay the underdog for a while longer. Instead, I focus all my attention on coming up with a chapter outline. Just four days later, I send it off to Rachel, and she reads it and marks it up with comments that are both insightfully critical and yet supportive. I take a couple more days to make the changes she suggested and then send the revised version back to her. Again, she replies on the very same day, and this time, she only has minor tweaks to make. Her email says:Fantastic job! I think once you’ve made these minor changes, this will be good to go. I’ll send it off to publishers first thing tomorrow morning.
And just like that, I am on submission, this time with a nonfiction book based on my life. How insane, how mind blowing, is that? And because she is the Rachel Reed, unlike my submission journey with Poppy, where weeks and weeks went by without a peep from publishers, with the rejections limping in after over a month, this time, we get answers just one day after the pitch is sent out. One day. Less than twenty-four hours. Rachel forwards the emails to me, and I tremble with joy as I read them.
. . . brilliant voice, we are putting together an offer . . .
... read this on BuzzFeed when it came out and was actually going to reach out to her myself so I’m glad this landed in my inbox ...
... our next acquisitions meeting is on Thursday and I will be bringing this ...
“Oh my god,” I say to Rachel when she calls. “Are we headed into an auction?”
She laughs. “Fern! Weareat auction. The first offer just came in. It’s from Salt Books, and it’s for a hundred twenty, so obviously we’re not taking that. But since we now officially have an offer, I have called for an auction.”
I struggle to understand what she’s saying. “Sorry, um, a hundred twenty? Like, a hundred and twenty dollars?”
“No, Fern!” Rachel laughs again. “A hundred and twentythousanddollars!”
I feel my legs buckle, and I lower myself onto my bed. “Um. A hundred and twenty thousand? Wait, and we’re turning it down?”
