Books
Top Producer is my first novel and part of a two-book deal with St. Martin's Press. As the release date draws closer, I will post what other authors have to say. For now, the real story may be what my book survived to reach the publisher. One hard-drive crash. One kidnapping. One plague from the Old Testament. When I reflect over the last three years, it strikes me as a wonder the book made it this far.
There are few sure things in life. With complete confidence, I can report that losing two years and a 300-page draft makes for a completely rotten day. My computer crashed, catastrophically, cataclysmically. The hard drive grunted once and then went silent, swallowing my files and dying on a train while I traveled to see a client. As you might guess, I was a wreck.
My real-life hero was the world's most unlikely techie. He seemed more native to reggae and ganja than to circuits and chips. He saved every last word of Top Producer. He enabled Grove O'Rourke, my fictional hero, to survive. I will always remember that guy in midtown Manhattan, his dreadlocks, his peculiar body odor capable of generating second-hand highs. I will always be indebted.
The kidnapping, actually a booknapping, proved far less anxious. I wrote much of Top Producer before telling my wife about the project. Mary wondered why I had become such a hermit – late nights, early hours, long disappearances into our home office. One morning, she secretly raided my computer and made off with a digital copy of the book on her flash drive.
After a day reading and laughing and hiding out, interrupted by occasional gasps of "Eww" here and there, Mary finally copped to the heist. She is a voracious reader and wonderful editor. She encouraged me to finish and helped work out the kinks, before I finally submitted a draft to my agent, Scott Hoffman of Folio Literary Management.
The crash and caper pale, however, compared to the Old Testament pestilence. Killer bees almost ate Top Producer. I kid you not. That fateful day of reckoning occurred late in August of 2007.
While working at home, I heard an odd, semi-rhythmic clicking. It sounded like dripping water, and I feared our roof was leaking. There was only one problem. No rain. I tapped the wallboard just above my desk, gently at first, nothing too aggressive. To my surprise, a thin fissure ripped through the wall. Scores of insect legs poked through the crack. I thought they were flies.
I retrieved our vacuum cleaner, determined to suck them up. To my horror, a chunk of wall gave way under the suction of the vacuum cleaner. And "bald-faced hornets" swarmed into the office. I learned later that these yellow jackets can sting repeatedly, not just once. They're vicious. Their stings leave a scent, a homing device, for bald-faced brethren to savage the same spot on the victim. Sheer luck saved me from a trip to the emergency room. The hornets failed to sting me even once.
With the colony of pissed-off yellow jackets buzzing everywhere, I ran from the room and slammed the office door shut. Using a rolled-up towel, I sealed the crack at the floor so the hornets could not strafe the rest of the house. An exterminator with breathing apparatus and body armor later ventured into the office. There was a pitched battle, knight versus yellow jackets, winged carnage everywhere. And a three-by-three section of wallboard collapsed over my desk, exposing the mother of all nests.
There is no word in the English language that adequately describes the substance from the fallout. I'll go with "gak." Hornet gak – writhing wasps, wriggling slugs, and grey catacombs oozing with larvae and fat, white maggoty things – crashed onto Top Producer. The gak buried Scott Hoffman's redlined edits, his meticulous markings and thoughtful suggestions for improving the story. The gak obscured Grove's efforts to find his way amid the chaos of New York City and the confusion of capital markets.
Of course, I had to fish my be-gakked novel from the rubble. As a 49-year old rookie, a fledgling author trying to break into the big leagues, it was a task I had not anticipated. Good news: you won't suffer similar ignominies. There might be a shark or two in Top Producer. But the novel will ship in 2009 free of all trace elements from bald-faced hornets. I hope you join my adventure.
|
 |