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Much Ado About Publishing: Holiday Edition

SITTING ON SANTA'S LAP & 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS IN NEWSLAND

by Nina L. Diamond

Picture this: a beautiful holiday display with everything you'd expect to see amidst the hordes of shoppers -- Santa Claus sitting in his huge, glittering red chair surrounded by Christmas trees all decked out with twinkling lights and quaint ornaments, giant candy canes, tiny elves, reindeer, cottages with snow-covered thatched roofs -- and something that takes you by surprise.

Among the children standing in line to see Santa Claus are some curiously tall children. Some of the "big boys" are wearing suits and carrying briefcases. And some of the "big girls" are all dressed in black -- black sweaters, black skirts, black tights, and black shoes.

Unlike the small children in line, none of the big ones look very happy. And all of them are chattering away on cell phones. Well, except for the ones who aren't all dressed up.

Wait a minute, these big ones aren't children at all -- they're grown-ups! Look closer. There's a publisher! And over there, there's an agent! And, look, there's an editor! And another publisher, and another agent, and another editor!

Oh, here's an author! And another one, and another one... you can tell which ones are the authors: none of the men wear suits, and none of the women dress in New York chic black garb from head to toe.

Sure, it's not polite to eavesdrop, but I can't help it. As each of the publishers, agents, editors, and authors take their turn sitting on Santa's lap, I listen to their Christmas wishes.

"I wish I really knew what readers want to buy," one publisher says to Santa. "But, as much as I claim I know, let's face it, I haven't got a clue."

"I wish I knew how to market all the good manuscripts that authors send me, so I wouldn't have to turn them down," an agent says to Santa. "But let's face it, I haven't got a clue."

"I wish that bestseller lists had enough slots so that every one of the hundreds of titles we publish every year could make it to the list," an editor says to Santa. "That way, I can stop acting like the really terrific books that don't make the list are crap."

"I wish that just as all shrinks have to see a shrink themselves before they're allowed to practice," says one author to Santa, "all agents must write a book and hunt for an agent before they're allowed to be agents!"

"I wish the cover of every ghostwritten celebrity book carried a disclaimer," another author says to Santa. "And it should say: ‘Warning: I didn't really write this, and in fact, I may not have even read it yet!’"

Santa's looking pretty weary himself by the time he hears the wishes of all these distraught publishing folk. Finally, the last one sits on the jolly old fellow's lap.

"I wish the bestseller lists weren't based on books ordered by stores," says the lone book critic who'd been standing in line, "but on books sold to actual human readers!"

Will Santa grant their wishes? Or will some of the publishers, agents, and editors just have to settle for a bigger place in the Hamptons (or the dreaded lump of coal)... and the authors and critic settle for a couple of reams of paper and a carton of cigarettes?

Come back to this column in every issue and find out.

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Next page: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas in Newsland Where would the publishing industry be without television? And where would TV be without authors? Who would Katie, Matt, Diane, Larry and Oprah talk to every day without authors to fill their guest seats?

I offer this holiday greeting to all our friends in the broadcast media:

'Twas the Night Before Christmas in Newsland

'Twas the night before Christmas
And in Channel 3's house
Not a creature was stirring
But my computer and mouse.

Reporters hung out
In the field with their crews
In hopes they'd have plenty
Live, late-breaking news.

The viewers were nestled
All snug in their beds
The upcoming newscast
Would soon fill their heads.

My co-anchor in her pearls
And I in my tie
Were writing news stories
About people who die.

When out in the studio
There arose such a clatter
That I ran out of the newsroom
To see what was the matter.

Away to the studio
I flew 'cross the floor
The red light was off
So I opened the door.

The lights on the set
Made the studio glow
But why were they on
Before the news show?

Then what did my objective
Eyes see from afar?
But a big shiny news sleigh
And eight media stars.

With a familiar old driver
So trusted and bright
I knew in a moment
It was Walter Cronkite.

More rapid than news vans
His anchors they came
And he miked them and shouted
And called them by name:

"Now Rather, now Jennings,
Now Huntley and Brinkley,
On Brokaw, on Gumbel,
On Walters and Winfrey!

To the top of the ratings
To the top for you all!
Now dash away, dash away
Back down the hall!"

So, back to the newsroom
The anchors, they flew
Pulling the sleigh
And Cronkite, too.

A bundle of news tips
He pulled out of his bag
And he passed them around
Then his finger did wag.

As we all read his notes
We knew why he looked sad:
"Stop the sleaze on the news,"
He had written, "It's bad!

Then I heard him broadcast
As he drove out of sight:
"Merry Christmas to all,
Next time, get it right!"

* * * * *

Nina L. Diamond is a journalist, essayist, and the author of Voices of Truth: Conversations with Scientists, Thinkers & Healers. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including Omni, The Los Angeles Times Magazine, The Chicago Tribune, and The Miami Herald.

Ms. Diamond was a writer and performer on Pandemonium, the National Public Radio (NPR) satirical humor program, for its entire run in Miami and select markets nationwide from 1984-1998. As an editor, she works frequently with other authors and journalists on both fiction and non-fiction.

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Logo image courtesy of George Glazer Gallery, NYC georgeglazer.com

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