Voices in the Wardrobe by Marlys Millhiser Page A

circumvent the security at agencies and studios to get material inside to be considered. The sharks proudly announced the lack of security at their offices. They worked solo with an office assistant for scheduling, did their own reading, and were not tied down by agency-like procedures. They agreed on most everything, but treated each other with loathing and disdain.
    Sarah explained she had an assistant and accepted only agented material. Charlie explained hers was a small agency where she was the lone literary agent and others handled actors, speakers, minor athletes, commercial artists, even some ministers and circus performers. She had an assistant and two outside readers and they were all months behind. The readers culled most of the material, sent the rest to Charlie’s assistant who culled most of the rest, and she saw maybe two percent of the original submissions. Out of that she might take none or perhaps find a home for one.
    â€œYou must understand the supply far outweighs the demand, and that most of the writing in Hollywood is assigned. I spend much of my time handling the latter, like Keegan here. The chances against my selling your screenplay are astronomical. But every now and then I can sell you on the basis of what you send me. I can rarely, but sometimes help you become one of those assigned to write or help to write a screenplay. And sometimes I’ll send the writer’s work on to a small independent film maker who might not make anybody any money but who might gain the writer some credits upon which to build a career.”
    â€œThat’s why you want an independent agent. With me your dreams are safer,” said one of the sharks.
    â€œWith me, your checkbook is safer. Remember the showbiz cliché, don’t give up your day job. Writing is showbiz, not art. A very few manage to make showbiz art as Keegan did with Open and Shut . It took many years of hard work and a lot of luck, even for him.”
    â€œYou sure know how to put a damper on enthusiasm,” Kenny Cowper, a.k.a. Kenneth Cooper, said as he caught up with her in the hallway after she’d finally escaped the auditorium and handed out the business cards of the outside readers—only their PO boxes printed on them, hoping they didn’t up and quit on her. “I mean, why did you come if you weren’t looking for writers?”
    â€œOnly for Keegan. Most of my writers are freelance advertising types, if truth be known.”
    â€œThey work for ad agencies.”
    â€œThe good ones have their own agent to see they don’t get screwed.”
    â€œYou are such a negative person. How can you represent anybody?”
    â€œIt’s called survival, Cowper.” She may have been depressing but she’d turned down too many lunch invitations to count, requests for home and office phone numbers, or for her assistant’s at second best. During the question and answer sessions she and Sarah had been barraged with the issue of why weren’t they worried that they’d miss the script of a lifetime—worded in many different ways.
    Sarah had summed it up nicely. “I’m more worried I’ll be crushed under the weight of all the submissions I get from agents. Most of my successes come from acquiring film rights to books and letting others hire the screenwriters.”
    The moderator and the sharks snuffled, rolled their eyes. But it was Sarah and Charlie who took the longest to make it to the back of the room to the hallway and they met again in the ladies. “I had to come because of Keegan, but who talked you into this?”
    â€œMy sister married Grant Howard, the leader of this show,” the story editor answered from the stall next door. “I’ve wormed my way out of it for five years, but got caught this time. Did you notice not a word was mentioned that my office is in NYC? Not on the West Coast? I thought you’d blow the whistle on me.”
    â€œWhat