Had my final feedback review phone call for The Last Track Thursday night, and wrapped the edits up ten minutes ago, ticking off one more item in preparation for a Monday tactical strike. At this point, all that remains is to comb through the first fifty pages–the standard partial manuscript request. Beyond this Saturday, I have no plans to touch the story again unless it’s a condition for representation or a check.

Besides a scene that just might serve the story better a few chapters earlier, I’m comfortable with the content. A concern of such minor consequence at this point is tolerable, when I like what’s on the page enough to let go of the little things. In whole, the Final Three readers made great contributions to the manuscript and I can not imagine rowing through the revision process solo. Collective styled reviews add too much value to forsake them.

One reader’s suggestions resuscitated a very brief–yet critical–scene near the end, elevating it from almost, but a little too much cheese in that omelet. Another developed such an uncanny feel for the characters, they etched an alternate dialog tract in the margin, which was not only pretty damn good, worked better than what I had.

Definitely will tap on these three shoulders again. Oh yes, I shall.

So for everyone sick of hearing about the novel, a respite is coming. Tuesday marks a new era: more movie reviews, an occasional bit about The Confession, and a periodic check-in with my New Years resolutions. And some humor. I feel like laughing lately. Might take Oedipus out of his carrier.

As the launch of Project GetRep–the search for an agent–approaches, an analogy my grandfather shared ten years ago on a fishing trip never seemed more appropriate.

My grandfather grew up in a working class, largely German and Irish neighborhood in the Midwest. One day in high school, a good friend of his seated in the next desk voiced an epiphany. “I figured out how to marry a rich girl!”

“How’s that?” My grandfather asked.

“Never date a poor one.”

True story. Years later, his pal wed a wealthy girl–a direct heir to the largest construction firm in the state. The parallel struck me this weekend while combing the hit list of agents. In so far as a marriage is not the same thing as a business relationship, from a distance the precept is similar. If I want a great agent, the logical place to look is at the quality agencies with track records for closing deals. People who rep the sort of novels that land world rights and movie options.
By my accounting, approximately fifty US based literary agents consider thrillers and meet the above criteria. Rain makers. The sort of people who Get Things Done. For the balance of the 2007, they are the market for The Last Track.

In other words, there are no plans to solicit a poor one.

The third reader dropped their copy of The Last Track in the mail Thursday night, so we can review their feedback early next week via phone. I don’t know exactly what they thought–how marked up the manuscript might be–though here’s a extract from an email they sent informing me they finished:

“I’m glad that you picked a ( #redacted by Sam# ) because I thought it was a mistake to leave it open ended. And I’m glad you went with ( #redacted by Sam# ) we knew pretty well and didn’t suspect, because that made the surprise better. All in all I think it’s really good.”

In a few brief sentences, they not only affirmed the new ending works, which for a thriller is the entire point, but that the ending is credible, and an improvement over a previous iteration. For those keeping score, The Last Track had seven different endings since 2004, including three no one read. Or will read, for that matter.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, endings are everything to me. I enjoy nothing more than leading an audience down a road, engaging them with a rapid fire plot, all the while dropping subtle breadcrumbs that precipitate an unexpected conclusion–forging a crescendo that is feasible and shocking at once. That’s my goal, anyway.

Which is why M. Night Shyamalan’s Sixth Sense and Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris are my gold standard for suspense and twist endings. Their work marks the caliber and height of rungs I’m reaching for. To surprise above all else, to surprise I must…