Dear _____,

No, I don’t think we’ve met. You were working in the wrong part of the country when I was interviewed by a blonde newswoman who was staying in the same motel as I during a murder trial in the South. Because of the production company’s paying for life rights, I had an in with the victim’s family and, through them, the police investigators. That’s why the newswoman wanted to pick my brains in an exclusive segment for her station. She suggested…how shall I say this?… somewhat flirtatiously that my room would be fine place for the interview.

As her camera- and sound- men were clearing off, we had a private moment in which she allowed as how she was ecstatically married. So am I when it comes to that; I just don’t use it as a weapon. At any rate, she thanked me and breezed off into the night, and so I have no idea of who you are, except that you’re a black woman who wrote the book that you mentioned in your email.

Please, you don’t have to send the book to me. I’ve read the review, and the title states a powerful concept that jumps out immediately. I can see it. But I’m pretty sure my agent…actually my former agent…wouldn’t get it if you shot him between the eyes, That seems like bad news as per your request for a referral, but really it is good news.

A marketing friend of mine attended an arts group at which my former agent was the invited speaker. “I am not willing,” the agent said, “to represent anyone anymore unless the person is a woman or a minority. The prevailing thought among literary agents is that it just too hard to sell anyone else.”

As a white male, I had more or less figured that out seven years ago, which is when I started calling my agent William “I thought he was dead” Martinez. The real Gilberto Martinez is a Chicano serving time for murder here in Southern California, and the nickname “I thought he was dead”refers to the real agent’s seeming inability to keep in contact with clients regards of race, creed,sex or national origin. He has moved, I think, to a different agency from when I last had contact. But honestly, you need a Hollywood agent like Gilberto needs road kill for his last meal.

The idea is to get your beautiful book made into a hit-’em-hard movie. You can always find a lawyer who will figure out what the WGA minimum is for you to write the screenplay. (How hard can that be? It’s published on the Writers Guild website.) Plus there would be a couple of points to me as a kind of mentor-finder-consultant. Don’t worry: it won’t come out of your pocket. If a production company bites your book, I’ll get the lawyer to put the touch on the company.

I know you’re email came a month ago, but it is only this weekend that I could break away from prior commitments and telephone a fellow with whom I went to film school at UCLA. Sheldon’s professional life was spent developing children’s television, mostly animation but with some live action.

As I indicated, no one reads here, but the title of your book is enough to get the concept. “Affectionate memoir” is the key reviewer’s phrase that says “family friendly”in spite of the brief period of prostitution that did, after all, pay for your mom’s surgery. The review wasn’t clear what her condition was, but Shel suggested you should push the ethnic element with something like cycle cell anemia. That’s the one point on which we agreed. I know the book’s been published, so what ailed your mom may have been diabetes, but I’m talking about what goes on the screen. Keep an open mind. We’ll discuss it later.

On the phone with Sheldon, I kept interjecting the happy sales point that the writer is female and black. “And, Shel, what else have you got going in your life right now?”

Bad news. Nothing. It’s been that way for about five years, so he wants to do zombie movies in Canada. I ended the conversation with trying to get him to refer me to a female executive with whom he worked, but she hasn’t been able to get anything off the ground for three years. “Her company is financed like it’s 1975, so it’s going nowhere,” concluded Shel, “and your story needs an edge like Ugly Betty.”

I don’t know how your story became my story. I’ve never seen Ugly BettyI spent additional time on the Internet trying to find a second female executive who has produced something in the last year. Been to her house. Have a partner whospent a Thanksgiving with her. She is gone, leaving neither phone number nor email address.

Flash. Aliens could have abducted her, and that’s a hot topic you may want to consider adding to your screenplay.

Possible good news. Just last night at a party I had an eureka moment. I have a lovely friend who acts and writes but whose career has switched to life coaching for Landmark, meaning she hasn’t been able to make the leap from ingenue to character actress. As I was looking at her, I found myself saying, “Have you ever thought of being an executive producer?”

We talked about what that meant. It means having a property like a book. More importantly, it means being associated with a production company that can sell to the likes of _____, meaning that the company has a track record of filling in the deficit financing of a production.

Then I added the kicker: “I’m sure the lady who wrote this memoir had a white teacher who influenced her youth.” That translated into an executive producer with a co-starring role. (You can always re-write the age of the main character, but if you’re going to balk at that, make the teacher a warden or a social worker. Remember, the idea is to get the book made!)

Suddenly my friend had a new acquaintance who sells to _____ and has said at least in passing that she would be open to my friend’s pitching to her. But my friend doesn’t know if that’s just hot air. Next week or so we are going to talk again and perhaps find out.

In the meantime you need to pray. Take my word for it, in this town we could all use it.

Yours,

Jeff Andrus

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