If you thought my experience at the San Francisco Writers Conference was a freak occurence, you should read the encounters my brother Tod had at a writers conference in Palm Springs…
"Oh, well, yes, I’m working on a novel," she said, "but I was hoping you
could tell me how to get an agent."
"Have you finished your book?"
"No."
"How far along are you?"
She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of single-spaced pages.
"I’ve done a detailed treatment of my novel," she said, "but I thought maybe I
could find an agent who would complete it for me."
She thought the agent would finish it for her?!? Even “I” know that’s not gonna happen.
Jeepers.
Send her to PublishAmerica. I’ll bet Larry Clopper would finish it for her.
She *does* have a house she can mortgage, right?
I’ll finish it for her, but I won’t be her agent.