The Story of Harold Morton Continues

Part Two of Three:

Harold went about the task of seeking a Literary Agent the only way he knew how: He bought a “How To Find A Literary Agent” book.  Among other things, this book told him that he needed to properly brand himself to attract the best Literary Agents.  His first step would be to create a self-identity as an author.  

He thought on his image.  His straggly dishwater blonde hair inched past collar length; his lace pimpled face well beyond puberty; his eyes scanned downward, his shirt faded, jeans torn; fraying at the bottoms, the skin on his heals rough; his toes peeking through his cracked leather birkenstocks.  How could the image of a disheveled, pot smoking, jobless recent college grad be positively received by the average Literary Agent and potential book buyers?  It seemed to him that such an image would narrow his audience.  Even if he omitted his pot use, the truth seemed trite, represented too typical of an image and his youth might undermine his credibility.

 

Insecure in his inward and outward appearance, he realized the truth would need significant enhancement to generate energy around him; to evoke the interest of others. 

He was confident in only one truth about himself: He was a damn good author of fiction on paper and in his own version of life; a version he devised to continuously survive the monotony of a less than glamorous reality.

 

If what underlied Harold’s one life truth was essentially fiction, then he reasoned that he should and could create his own biography to match this reality.  In truth, he mostly marched under Lucifer’s influence in a band of saints and sinners.  Yet, he did attend church as a youth including faithfully attending PSR¹ classes and serving as an Altar Boy for many years.  He graduated from college, married his high school sweetheart, believed in God and the setting of his story was in the Catholic Church.  On paper, he had the throw-back values of a 1950’s era male.  These facts, when combined, painted an “awe shucks” image of a faithful husband and Christian; the perfect image Harold thought to brand Harold Morton, Author, established year 2014.

       

His societal image of manliness succumbed now to trading in his trusty barber for a master hair stylist as he dialed to schedule an appointment at a full service salon.  His assigned stylist, Yvonne, appeared wearing a form fitting short black dress, leggings and combat boots.  Her toughness softened by her almond shaped blue eyes and pale, delicate face.  She escorted Harold to the back of the salon, sat him down and straddled over him to reach the sink.  Harold closed his eyes, feeling her breast pressing into his shoulder, warm water bathing him, her fingers massaging shampoo into his hair.  Yvonne’s touch made it easy to release his loyalty to Jimmy Hanes, his barber since childhood.  When she asked him how he would like his hair cut, Harold told her to do whatever she wanted to him.  He trusted Yvonne to reinvent his image.

 

Yvonne parted Harold’s hair to the right side, cutting the sides of his hair close, leaving significant length on top, and wrapping his hair in foils to achieve highlights of blond intermixed with an auburn color.  This process seemed to take forever compared to his usual quickie haircut.  Harold had never had a true hair style before and now she slicked his hair back creating a slightly high “Pompadour” on his crown.  This was not his father’s haircut.  He could hear his father calling him a “Nancy,” a “Pansy” or some other emasculating name.

 

Yvonne told him the highlights accentuated his blue eyes; the style playing on his naturally wavy hair, conveying the innocent retro feel of the 1950’s with a hint of rebellion.  To Harold, his hair was a shiny, waxy distraction.

As Harold questioned whether this was indeed the right look, Yvonne responded by rubbing his shoulders to the rhythm of “Doo, do, doo, do, doo, do, do, doo” singing in a whispery voice “hey babe, take a walk on the wild side;” playfully calling him her little James Dean. Her voice emanated Sex[iness] to Harold.  At this point, he would buy anything Yvonne sold him; [she] the haircut was perfect.  He made full payment and tipped Yvonne generously.

 

Newly purchased pomade hair wax in hand, Harold exited to his car still feeling slightly uncomfortable as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror.  The next stop for Harold would be a trip to the dermatologist to start anti-acne treatments. He would then hire a photographer to take a head shot once his acne cleared.  About one week, he optimistically estimated.

A natural procrastinator, all this primping and pampering was a surface coat to detract Harold from the most basis task; writing a query letter to sell himself and his book to Literary Agents.  He researched Literary Agents online; paying for a qualified list of agents from a major publisher.  Once he narrowed down a list, he submitted query letters to select agents.  Harold grew impatient as two weeks passed with no responses.  He tried to look at the bright side: no response meant no rejection, but he did not have time to wait.  

As a matter of normal course, he knew many Agents were backlogged by high submissions and would only guarantee responses within six months of submission.  This was of no use to Harold.  He was desperate to repay his parents’ loan before they started asking why his wife was not driving a new car.

     

He networked through his father’s friend to land a decent agent.  With only a few submissions, this Literary Agent connected him with a publisher.  Harold was so taken by surprise that he immediately signed the publisher’s contract.  He was enamored with what he thought was a generous offer on the publisher’s behalf.  The publisher would pay him an advance of $8,000 plus cover the cost of all publication and distribution expenses.  The publisher would receive the royalties, but would still give him 25% of the net profits.  Harold was an English major with very little understanding of business.  He thought this was a great deal.   

The publisher gained full rights to his work including any revisions made to the story before publication.  And revisions there were.   So many, the book became a national bestseller in the Christian book category and, overnight, Harold Morton went from daily smoking a bong to touring the nation as a Christian author.

 

Harold Morton’s new life was as pretentious as his publisher given penname, Logan Harrington.

             

To reinforce Logan Harrington’s Christian good guy image, the publicist suggested that his public persona should be anchored to his wife, Evelyn.  The publicist stipulated that Evelyn should appear with Harold whenever possible at book signings to show the public the strength of their marriage and commitment to one another.  While the signing bonus finally interested Evelyn in Harold’s writing occupation, she was not flattered with doing publicity.  Evelyn did not want to risk losing her nursing job by taking time away to help Harold.  His signing advance was not enough to support them.  Evelyn’s job still paid the bills.  She would do what she could to help out, but she would not sacrifice herself and her position. 

Evelyn’s resistance left Harold to travel alone most of the time.  At the publisher’s expense, the bookstore tour allowed him to travel to places he had never seen before; some exciting; some not.  Far from first class accommodations, he flew commercial coach and stayed in second rate hotels.  Still Harold was caught up in the newness of it all; a refreshing change from staying in his apartment all day.  Of course, frequent travel complicated his daily bong habit and he sought out unique and creative ways to fulfill his needs while on the road. 

Harold had been on tour for over one month now.  He missed Evelyn who remained at home to work.  Evelyn refused to use Skype because she was afraid someone would hack into their video and see her in pajamas or something.  Their only contact these days was over the phone or through emails and Evelyn seemed so distant.  He could not look her directly in the eyes, he could not touch her hand among other parts of her body.  Their newfound long distance relationship was not satisfying his physical or emotional needs.  There was no time or budget in the publisher’s tour schedule to fly home.  Harold was lonely.

Harold was also beginning to be noticed while on tour.  At first he shied away from all the attention.  Then Harold’s publicist, Lonnie Ray, joked about all the women raving about Harold’s geekish, boyish charm when he hardly spoke a word to them.  Before this, Harold thought of himself as simply a machine, giving a speech, sitting at a table afterward, answering a few questions, smiling and signing books.  Now, he started to take notice of the women, making eye contact, smiling a little bigger and intentionally running his right hand through his hair while signing autographs with his left.  

Women took note of his sex appeal, this unnerved him a bit at first, but Harold knew one thing about publishing: Sex Sells.  He could overcome his nerves for the monetary gain this one truth could yield.

 

Catching a taxi back to the hotel after yet another book signing, Lonnie Ray complimented Harold on his business savvy, teasingly asking if Harold was getting any action from his “groupies.”  Harold blushed at this suggestion and tried to deflect Lonnie’s comment by saying he had a perfectly hot wife at home, “what would I want with a groupie?”  Lonnie slid closer to Harold, placing her hand between his thighs, moving upward to his zipper, suddenly stopping.  “I think you know what you would want, don’t you Mr. Logan Harrington?”  With these words, she gave Harold a quick kiss on the cheek, exited the cab and rushed into the hotel.  

Harold followed to no avail as the elevator doors closed without him.  Lonnie, as she had planned, went to her room alone.

To Be Continued…