The following can also be found in the book Chicago Stories 1996. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy.

Richard Monaco
c/o Edward Acton
Acton, Leone, Hanson & Jaffe
Box 1106, Madison Square Station
New York, NY 10159-1106

Dear Mr. Monaco/Acton:

Well, well -- your offer of a "qualified reading" of my manuscript, Dreaming of Laura Ingalls, seems like an intriguing one. Before I send my $125 check, however, I feel obliged to ask the following questions --

1) You mention that your company has "discovered and developed many writers, most of whom went on to extensive and lucrative careers," then proceed to list twenty three of them. Why is it that I've never heard of a single one of them?

2) Your bio lists you as a "former screenwriter." Why is it that you chose to leave that profession, which undoubtedly would pay you much more than a literary agent?

3) In the mandatory contract that you sent, binding me to a "reading fee" if I wish to have my book considered by your agency, it is mentioned that "there is no profit to the Holy Grail Co., Inc." on these reading fees. But in the same contract, you mention that the minimum fee for a full novel is $125, and could very easily reach $175, depending on the size. If it's true that there is no profit, Mr. Monaco/Acton, then where do I send a resume of consideration for a job of reader with your company?

4) My most important question -- Why is it that when I sent my query letter to "Edward Acton" at "Acton, Leone, Hanson & Jaffe" in New York City, my letter somehow got forwarded (with no additional postmark, mind you) to "Richard Monaco" at "The Holy Grail Company, Inc." in Scarsdale, New York?

I was a little nervous about sending out my first novel, so I asked the advice of a number of people in the industry. To a fault, they all said, "Never, ever send your book to a place that charges a reading fee."

As a result, I did very careful work choosing the agents I sent query letters to. I spent entire weekends in the library, pouring over The Literary Marketplace, painstakingly compiling and writing my list of agents. I'm not sure if you know this, Mr. Monaco/Acton, but I have already spent $500 just in stamps, envelopes and xeroxes alone in pursuit of an agent -- not a small amount of money to someone like me.

To have all of my time, effort and money go to someone who is expressly shady in their business workings -- well, not only does it disappoint me, Mr. Monaco/Acton, not only does it confuse me, but it actually makes me angry. I feel betrayed -- as if even my most meticulous research cannot be entirely devoid of scam artists. As if an agency is so willing to lie to me from my very first encounter with them, then how could I ever trust them to fairly represent my book? In short, it made me angry enough to necessitate this letter back to you.

When I was in high school, Mr. Monaco/Acton, I worked a series of retail jobs. In each training session of each job, Personnel was very careful to point out and teach a common corporate con game, called the "bait and switch." You obviously are not that familiar with the topic, so I'll elaborate:

The basic idea is that a company will offer a sale on something that they never really intended to sell, in an attempt to "lure" the customer in for the purpose of convincing them to buy something much more expensive. You see, you "bait" with the sale, then "switch" to the expensive item. You're following me so far, Mr. Monaco/Acton?

When I see what looks like a legitimate literary agency, one that lists "no reading fees" in The Literary Marketplace, and I see them taking sincere query letters and automatically forwarding them to a "book reading factory" which, in most likelihood, has no plans to accept my manuscript but will gladly take my fee -- well, forgive me for saying so, Mr. Monaco/Acton, but this sounds suspiciously like that con game that I was always taught to avoid. By the way, I was taught to avoid it because it is highly illegal, and even the president of a company can go to jail if the company is found guilty.

Since I found myself at the computer already, I took the opportunity to make extra copies of this letter and forward them to the Association of Authors' Representatives, the Better Business Bureau, the publication The Literary Marketplace, and the magazine Publishers Weekly. I am confident that they will be very interested in what I have to say, and might start wondering the same questions that I have.

I am very curious to what you might have to say about all this. In that regard, I have sent a SASE for quick response. Considering the fact, however, that it took you sixty-one days to get a query response back to me, and simply the nature of my questions, I really doubt that you will have the courage to write back. That's okay -- I have other priorities in my life right now that are a little more pressing. Perhaps, though, that AAR, an organization devoted to reinforcing the good reputation of their profession...or The Literary Marketplace, whose sales and reputation rests solely on the validity of the information contained in their book... or perhaps Publishers Weekly, a magazine which prides itself on solid, insightful pieces of investigative journalism...might have a little more persistence than me. It is my hope that one or more of these groups might not be satisfied with a simple, pat answer, and that eventually you will be forced to take a good, long hard look at yourselves.

In a way, Mr. Monaco/Acton, it's actually quite sad, because you have brought this on yourself. If you had had the decency to honestly advertise yourself, I could have simply skipped you and none of us would be the wiser. As it is, however, with your refusal to call a spade a spade, you have wasted my time. You have wasted my money. You have wasted my effort, my creative process, as well as a large chunk of my optimism. Because of this, I am angry. I mean, I am really irate, Mr. Monaco/Acton. And when I am angry, I do everything in my power to make sure that the rest of the world knows what has happened to me, and hopefully make them angry, too.

My final question, Mr. Monaco/Acton: If and when I do get to the point that I have a bit of a reputation from my writing, and when they are ready to start doing interviews with me, and when they ask me what trials and tribulations I have endured over the years with my writing, can you take a guess, even if it's twenty years from now, what my first topic of conversation will always be?

Looking forward to your response,
Jason Pettus