Skip to main content

How to Speak with a Publisher—Phobias and All


How to Speak with a Publisher—Phobias and All

In 2006 I was urged by a friend of mine in the arts to meet her with a large group of possible investors for her movie. Mind you I hate the city. I am a country bumpkin. Going into the city for me is worse than having an old wisdom tooth pulled out without any anesthesia. Trust me I know. Been there done that.

However, for a friend who I wanted to see succeed. And her journey in being a writer and filmmaker—I saw it as a noble task. She was an incredibly hard worker. So, I forged ahead driving over the GWB and arrived near the Empire State Building, which I’d never been that close to before this day since 1966. Yeah, that’s a long ass time.

So, here I was after I’d given my valet key to the parking garage attendant—always a scary proposition for me. I arrived out of the garage walked a block, looked around. I made visual notes of exactly what everything looked like. I held the address on a piece of paper, stared at the paper then looked up at the clear star-lit night sky. I breathed and realized I didn’t die crossing over the GWB. Sorry, but it’s a big bridge with its cacophony essence.

I walked a block then looked at the piece of paper in my hand. Next thing I knew I’d arrived at the building. I called my friend on my cell phone and surprisingly she answered.  I received final instructions on my Mission Impossible. The next adventure was finding the get-together inside the building. I thought to listen for the noise of a slew of people. Unless I was in an elevator then I was screwed. Don’t get me wrong. I might be a fatalist as a brain surgeon once deemed me. However, I consider myself a realistic the glass is half-full thinker a la carte some phobias.

Finally, I heard the noise and followed it down the hall and was greeted by my filmmaking friend. There were nearly thirty people there and I wasn’t considered late. Thank God!  She introduced me to some people. Then others who I knew there chatted briefly with me. My friend made the rounds again after I’d been there for about thirty minutes drinking water. As everyone else was having a not so bland beverage.

She introduced me to a man whose family was deeply embedded in the publishing industry. I’d just finished my first guidebook and gotten back into my writing regularly. The man’s family publishing business was about 100 years old and now this man was the great-grandson who’d taken over part of the reins. The company had been incredibly successful with children’s books, that to this day are still considered great reading material—to the point where nearly every adult alive today in the U.S. shares the joy of the characters of one author’s books with their children.

So, here we stood near a corner by a window. He began his fourth glass of wine. As he was terribly honest with me. And I on my second bottle of water. I asked about his business and authors he knew before he started to sip his fourth glass of wine. Then somehow I got him talking about his one daughter who he’d just taken in the car for one of her first drives with him. Now I understood the fourth glass of wine he delicately sipped.

I heard the woes of a middle-aged man now in the throes of having a teenaged daughter learning to drive. I was more than ten years behind his parental dilemma. He had been teaching her with a stick-shift vehicle. Then he paused, “I can’t believe I’m sharing this with you.” I nodded and said, “My husband I do that. It’s valuable information. I have two daughters.”---Jody-Lynn Reicher


Popular posts from this blog

2023 Holiday Letter from the Reicher's

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

Sledging the Hammer

  "You could have a steam trainIf you'd just lay down your tracks..."---Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' lyrics. This is not the tune that lay in my mind this morning as I reminisced about yesterday's volunteers to help on trail crew.    However, as I looked up the proper definition of sledging that song popped up. I say sledging, which is my own take on swinging a hammer that we call a "Double Jack". The Single Jack is six pounds. I know that because our regular crew of five including me and one staff supervisor are handling Harriman State Park Trails, and have to carry about four of those, two shaping hammers, along with a hoist, belay bag with heavy equipment, first aid kit, double Jack, three 18lb rock bars, a lopper, three buckets, three eye to eyes, two burlap straps, two green wrapping straps, two pick Mattox, a roe hoe or two, a bar for either the two ton or one ton hoist, the feathers with pegs for splitting rocks that we drill... s

Maybe It's About Love

Maybe I just don't get it... "...My father sits at night with no lights on..."---Carly Simon  In my male-dominant mind. Dr. Suess-ish sing-songy "...go go go go on an adventure..." (George Santos' escapades gave me permission to use "ish".) I'd been accused of not being detailed enough in my writing. as my writer friend, Caytha put it to me now near twenty years ago. I knew she was correct. It's gotten a lot better, a whole bunch better. But the writing of sex scenes... Well... I'll need Caytha for that.  "...his cigarette glows in the dark..."---Carly Simon  Even my husband Norman could have written the simple sex scenes better than I, that I currently need in my script. And he was not a writer, but a math oriented thinker. Ala carte he was a nurturing romantic. And a sort of romantic Humphrey Bogart to his Ingrid. Otherwise, I won't go into details there. I'll let the mature audiences use their imagination. I am so