Being a writer of no mean talent, it outraged me, as I'm sure it 
had other real writers, that Juror B37, as she's been dubbed, got signed
 by a literary agent within hours of last Saturday's verdict. The 
turnaround time between the jury's verdict being read and the 
announcement of this deal was breathless and audacious even for a nation
 of money-grubbing, sociopathic opportunists like the United States. 
Sharlene Martin's catapulting of her body from Seattle to Florida 
would've made an ambulance-chasing shyster green with envy.
     
It seemed to be yet another case of yet another literary agent signing 
yet another moron to a book deal and risibly trying to get us to believe
 they'd actually write their own book and not have it written for them 
through an appointed ghost writing hack, like W's, Sarah Palin's, 
Christine O'Donnell's and so many others while real writers of real 
talent who really write their own books continue getting form rejections
 from flunkies.
     Then, just 14 hours after this "coup", we saw this on Twitter:
    
 Yeah, sometimes the clouds do part, the demons retreat back into their 
smoking, glowing fissures and sometimes common sense prevails or at 
least seems to. Because, just before Sharlene Martin, literary agent 
provocateur, made her heavily retweeted communique on Twitter, this 
emerged from her client, Juror B37:
    
 Hm. Sounds to me as if the client rescinded the agent and not vice 
versa. Perhaps it had something to do with the enormous online backlash 
after Juror B37's Sarah Palin-class 
Hindenburg of an 
interview
 with Anderson Cooper on AC360. Either way I guess America's most 
infamous anonymous juror realized the 15 minutes of bright lights 
weren't for her. Or maybe Sharlene Martin honestly realized what a 
disaster in the making such a professional association would involve. Or
 maybe Martin realized she'd leaped before she looked and remembered 
Paula Deen and how difficult it is to sell a book these days by a racist
 whose name isn't Rush Limbaugh.
     Because Juror B37 and her 
unbelievably stupid comments about "boy of color" Trayvon Martin and 
that she honestly believed the police dispatcher wanted Zimmerman to 
pursue Martin pretty much branded her as a racist, an inattentive moron 
and possibly guilty of compromising the jury. Note the part where she 
says, "The potential book was always intended to be a respectful 
observation of the trial from my and my husband's perspectives 
solely..."
     Was she in touch with her husband while the jury was sequestered?
    
 We'll never know the full reasons for the pulling of the plug even 
before the ventilators began any more than we'll know how a jury of six 
women could be so divided (Two wanted manslaughter charges and one 
wanted a murder two conviction) yet turn into a unanimous acquittal. But
 literary agents such as Charlene Martin are chiefly responsible for not
 only the tawdry state of affairs in publishing but are symptomatic of 
the moral rot that's hollowing out this once-great nation.
    
 I would've gotten physically ill if I'd heard that George Zimmerman got
 signed by a literary agent. But at some point one must accept some 
moral rot and opportunism is to be expected in this free 
market-dominated nation of ours and, in a twisted way, it would've made 
sense. Zimmerman, after all, was the defendant in one of the most 
sensational murder trials of the year. It would've made greater sense to
 approach the Martins (Trayvon's parents) with a book deal and offer of 
representation so they could offer their thoughts on the trial and son's
 murder.
     But no. Sharlene Martin essentially hurtled her 
body, pen and contract in hand, all the way to Florida to sign one of 
six jurors who, I think we can be reasonably assured, is the stupidest 
and most racist one on the whole jury. It shows that even when following
 those brutally insensitive instincts for opportunity, some agents don't
 even aim high and are content to pursue the tawdriest, sleaziest book 
deal imaginable.
     She could've approached the grieving parents, had a ghost writer with some integrity turn their thoughts and feelings into a lasting work that virtually any publisher outside of Regnery 
or Threshold would've been proud to put out. Instead, Sharlene Martin, 
the most loathed literary agent on the planet today (which is quite a 
feat, considering) chose to aim for the cheapest, most sensational 
flash-in-the-pan imaginable, so her client could get a huge advance that
 wouldn't have a prayer of earning itself out, so she could get 15% of 
that and, in the process, becoming yet another scum to capitalize on 
Trayvon Martin's murder.
						 
					
Sure honey-bunny B-37, it's only skin deep, right?