Dear Seth, why is the first year of writing a book so crappy? Of all the appetizer-dips, which is your favorite? What is the most stressful part of your job? What is your favorite memory from seventh grade? Sincerely, Liz

Hi Liz, 

All of these questions are exactly what I think about all of the time!  Thanks for asking!  You know, I’m tempted to ask you exactly the same questions except dessert, favorite, worst/9th grade and sincerely, Seth.

1) First year of writing a book, I don’t know, maybe it’s not so crappy, maybe it is.  I think first year is rollercoaster year, where you get incredibly excited about, well, the tiniest of details.  And you get thrown off by the slightest of things.  Up and down, and you don’t know how to regulate yourself.  You can’t imagine how much editing you need to do. You are exhausted thinking about finishing.  But happy that you ended a chapter. I sold my book on a partial, which made things a bit easier, in that I knew the book was in hand, but also pressure-filled because it was due.  Of course, a 25 page detailed outline helped.  

2) Artichoke dip, by far.  So EASY to make too, to be a hit.  One can of quartered artichoke, one ball of mozzy, one cup of parm, one cup of mayo (light or otherwise), one quarter can of green not hot chilies and BOOM, 25 minutes later you have heaven.  

3) The stress of my job, hmm, as an agent: I think every day I am faced with the fact that how I do my job shapes the lives of my clients. To fail them is to put them in a situation where they might not be able to write again, or for a living.  Authors tend to think that getting the agent is the endgoal, but there are so many hurdles.  The good thing is, having an agent means you have someone jumping with you, pointing out the dips, strategizing in the ear.  I love the job, but the stress is like white noise in the background of life.

4) Seventh Grade was tough times.  Weird hair, big glasses, No Fear shirts that stuffed into Umbros. I remember playing soccer and getting the ball punted into my face; glasses cut open my forehead.  As bas as that sounds, my social standing improved dramatically in the coming months as I was finally allowed to wear contacts and sported a pretty cool scar that has, sadly, almost completely faded.