John Scalzi - Agent to the Stars

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Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel
Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel
By John Scalzi
December 08, 2004
Table of Contents and Other Stuff
(Pre-order your own limited edition hardback copy of Agent to the Stars! Details follow the Table 
of Contents)
 
Artwork by Mike Krahulik (visit Penny Arcade!)
The entire novel is available on this page. You can scroll and read the whole thing. Or click on the 
links below for specific chapters.
Introduction
Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22
Guestbook -- leave comments or questions here. 
Legal Notes: This work is copyrighted by John Scalzi. The novel is freely given and may be freely 
distributed on a non-commercial basis, in whatever electronic format you please, as long as the work 
remains intact and unaltered and is attributed to me, John Scalzi. All other rights are reserved by me, 
specifically commercial and derivative rights. If you are interested in commercial and/or derivative 
rights, contact me.
If you enjoy this novel, a limited edition hardback is available from Subterranean Press. Read the 
details here. Pre-order from Subterranean Press. 10% of every purchase benefits the Child's Play charity. 
Now on sale: Check out my critically-acclaimed novel Old Man's War. You can read more about it and 
see a sample chapter here.
Posted by john at 09:15 PM 
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Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel

Introduction

Hi there.

In the summer of 1997, I was 28 years old, and I decided that after years of thinking about

writing a novel, I was simply going to go ahead and write one. There were two motivations for

doing so. First, I was simply curious if I could; I'd had up to that time a reasonably successful

life as a writer, but I'd never written anything longer than ten pages in my life outside of a

classroom setting. Two, my ten-year high school reunion was coming up, and I wanted to be

able to say I'd finished a novel just in case anyone asked (they didn't, the bastards).

In sitting down to write the novel, I decided to make it easy on myself. I decided first that I

wasn't going to try to write something near and dear to my heart, just a fun story. That way, if I

screwed it up (which was a real possibility), it wasn't like I was screwing up the One Story That

Mattered To Me. I decided also that the goal of writing the novel was the actual writing of it --

not the selling of it, which is usually the goal of a novelist. I didn't want to worry about whether

it was good enough to sell; I just wanted to have the experience of writing a story over the

length of a novel, and see what I thought about it. Not every writer is a novelist; I wanted to see

if I was.

Making these two decisions freed me from a lot of the usual angst and pain that comes from

writing a first novel. This was in all respects a "practice" novel -- a setting for me to play with

the form to see what worked, and what didn't, and what I'd need to do to make the next novel

worth selling.

It worked. I picked a fun, humorous story -- aliens from another world decide to get an agent --

and I just let it take me where it wanted to go. I banged out the chapters on the weekends,

using the weekdays to let my mind figure out what to do next. The writing was fun, and for the

most part it was easy, and in three months, the whole thing was done (and just in time for my

high-school reunion).

Once the novel was finished, I decided, what the heck, I might as well try to sell it. This was not

particularly successful. The agents I shopped it to liked the writing, but said humorous SF was

hard place; the publishers liked the writing but said humorous SF was hard to sell. I wasn't

terribly put out about this; this was a practice novel, after all. But on the other hand I thought it

was good enough to let other people see it.

So in early 1999, I decided to put it online as a "shareware novel." The premise was simple:

People could read it, and if they liked it, they could send me a dollar, or whatever sum they

liked (even if that sum was zero). If they didn't like it, well, clearly, they wouldn't have to send

me anything. It was a no-risk proposition for the reader. I didn't expect to see a dime from it,

but as it turns out, over five years I made about $4,000 (well, I think it was about that much. I

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Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel

stopped counting after a while. I know I made enough to buy a laptop and lots of pizzas. More

than enough).

Fast forward to today. My second novel, Old Man's War, did indeed sell to a publisher, thanks

in no small part to the experience earned writing this novel. And between the writing of this

novel and the publication of that one, five other books slipped out of my brain, due in some

measure to my confidence that I could write book-length works, be they fiction or non-fiction.

In a sense, this novel is the midwife to every book since. For this reason alone, it holds a special

place in my heart. It doesn't hurt that it's a fun story, too.

And now here it is for you to read. I'm no longer soliciting a dollar if you enjoy the novel; the

story has long since proved its worth in that respect. I offer it freely to give new readers a

sample of my writing (perchance to tempt them to pick up one of the other books), and to say

"thanks" to those who picked up another of my books and were curious enough about the

author to find their way here. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and

have enjoyed all the writing since.

John Scalzi

December 8, 2004

Posted by john at 09:16 PM

Chapter One

"Fourteen million and 15% of the gross? For Michelle Beck? You're out of your fucking mind, Tom."

Headsets are a godsend; they allow you to speak on the phone while leaving your hands free for the truly

important things. My hands were currently occupied with a blue rubber racquetball, which I was lightly

bouncing off the pane of my office window. Each quiet thock left a tiny imprint on the glass. It looked

like a litter of poodles had levitated six feet off the ground and schmooged their noses against the

window. Someone would eventually have to wipe them all off.

"I've had my medication for today, Brad," I said. "Believe me, 14 million and 15 points is a perfectly

sane figure, from my client's point of view."

"She's not worth anywhere near that much," Brad said. "A year ago she was paid $375,000, flat. I know.

I wrote the check."

"A year ago, Summertime Blues hadn't hit the theaters, Brad. It's now $220 million dollars later. Not to

mention your own Murdered Earth -- $85 million for perhaps the worst film in recent history. And that's

before foreign, where no one will notice that there's no plot. I'd say you got your one cheap taste. Now

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Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel

you've gotta pay."

"Murdered Earth wasn't that bad. And she wasn't the star."

"I quote Variety," I said, catching the ball left-handed for the briefest of seconds before hurling it back

against the glass, "'Murdered Earth is the sort of film you hope never makes it to broadcast television,

because nearby aliens might pick up its broadcast signal and use it as an excuse to annihilate us all.' That

was one of the nicer comments. And if she wasn't the star, why did you plaster her all over the posters

and give her second billing?"

"What are you all about?" Brad said. "I remember you practically doing me for that artwork and billing."

"So you're saying you'll do anything I say? Great! Fourteen million and 15% of the gross. Gee, that was

easy."

The door opened. I turned away from the window to face my desk. Miranda Escalon, my administrative

assistant, entered my office and slipped me a note. Michelle just called, it read. Remember that you have

to get them to pay for her hairdresser and makeup artist.

"Look, Tom," Brad said. "You know we want Michelle. But you're asking too much. Allen is getting

$20 million and 20% of the gross. If we give Michelle what she wants, that's $35 million and a third of

the gross right there. Where do you suggest we might make a profit?"

$14 million, she can pay for her own damn hair, I wrote on the pad. Miranda read it and raised her

eyebrows. She left the room. The odds of her actually giving that message to Michelle were

unimaginably remote. She's not paid to do everything I say -- she's paid to do everything I should say.

There's a difference.

"I have two points to make here," I said, turning my attention back to Brad. "First: Allen Green isn't my

client. If he were, I'd be endlessly fascinated by the amount of money you're throwing to him. But he is

not. Therefore, I could not possibly give two shits about what you're handing him. My responsibility is

to my client and getting a fair deal for her. Second: $20 million for Allen Green? You're an idiot."

"Allen Green is a major star."

"Allen Green was a major star," I said, "When I was in high school. I'm about to go back for my 10th

year reunion. He's been out in the wilderness for a long time, Brad. Michelle, on the other hand, is a

major star. Right now. $300 million in her last two films. Fourteen million is a bargain."

The door opened. Miranda popped her head in. She's back, she mouthed.

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Agent to the Stars -- An Online Novel

"Tom," Brad began.

"Hold on a second, Brad. The woman herself is on the other line." I cut him off before he could say

anything. "What?" I said to Miranda.

"Miss Thing says she has to talk to you right now about something very important that can't wait."

"Tell her I'm already working on the hairdresser."

"No, it's even more important than that," Miranda said. "From the sound of it, it may be the most

important thing ever in the history of mankind. Even more important than the invention of liposuction."

"Don't be mocking liposuction, Miranda. It has extended the career of many an actress, thus benefiting

their agents, allowing them to pay your salary. Liposuction is your friend."

"Line two," Miranda said. "Let me know if fat-sucking is toppled."

I punched the button for line two. Ambient street noise filled my earphones. Michelle was undoubtedly

careening along Santa Monica Boulevard.

"Michelle," I said. "I'm trying to make you very rich. Whatever it is, make it quick."

"Ellen Merlow got Hard Memories." Michelle said. "I thought I was in the running for that. I thought I

had it."

"Don't feel too bad about it, Michelle," I said. "Everyone was up for that one. If you didn't get it, that

puts you in there with Jessica Lange and Meryl Streep. You're in good company. Besides, the pay wasn't

that good."

I heard a short brake squeal, followed by a horn and some muffled yelling. Michelle had cut someone

off. "Tom, I need roles like that, you know? I don't want to be doing Summertime Blues for the next ten

years. This role would have helped me stretch. I want to work on my craft."

At the word craft, I mimed stabbing myself in the eye. "Michelle, right now you're the biggest female

star in Hollywood. Let's work with that for a couple of movies, okay? Get a nice nest egg. Your craft

will still be there later."

"I'm right for this role, Tom."

"The role is a 40ish Jewish woman victimized in the Warsaw ghetto and Treblinka, who then fights

racism in the United States," I said. "You're 25. And you're blonde." And you think Treblinka is a shop

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