My heart was caught off guard by the news that Esmond Harmsworth died last week.
This one hurts. Esmond was my literary agent, and like many authors fortunate enough to work with him, he changed my life.
We first met in 2018. I was working on a book proposal that had some promise. We agreed to meet for lunch, and I tried to fly from Raleigh to Boston the night before, but American Airlines has a perfect customer satisfaction score of letting you down when you need them most.
Of course, my plane had mechanical problems! Of course, they booked me in the last row of a tiny jet on the first flight out the following day!
I landed in Boston at sunrise. Then, I took an Uber to a mall adjacent to the restaurant and waited hours for our lunch to start. On top of that, I had terrible gallbladder pain with surgery scheduled the following week. I don’t remember much, but I was convinced I’d blown my chance—tired, sweaty from the searing pain in my ribs, poking at a wilted side salad with no dressing. Why would he represent me?
Instead, within days, he invited me to work with him. And nothing was the same.
Everyone who knows Esmond has a story that captures his sly, plucky essence. Here’s mine: In 2019, we traveled to New York to meet with the big publishers. It was a huge honor. He asked if I wanted to see a show that evening.
I said, “I don’t like plays or musicals.”
He didn’t judge me (except only slightly) and said, “Well, you haven’t seen the right ones. I’m taking you out.”
We had a terrific time in Times Square, where I learned Esmond couldn’t walk twenty feet without bumping into someone who knew him. I even have a photo from that ridiculous night: me, a total rube, and Esmond, a gracious host, enjoying the moment.
During a meeting with a prospective editor on that same trip, I sneezed and apologized to the room for having a cold. Afterward, Esmond gently pulled me aside and said, “You never tell people you’re unwell. That’s all they’ll think about. And if they get sick, they’ll blame you.”
Ever the big brother. Ever the kind coach and advisor. I’ve given that advice ever since.
Esmond was a great storyteller and always efficient with our meetings, which left us extra time to chat. He never failed to share (anonymous) anecdotes about authors or offer business lessons on the state of publishing. He was open about his family, childhood, and even the joys and surprises of being a new father to Alfred and Lilly.
I feel his loss deeply, and I’m just some random woman in North Carolina.
I’m sending love and support to his husband, children, family, friends, and those like me who were lucky enough to know such a great man. I’m so sorry for his loss, but I am selfishly grateful that his big, bright, beautiful life briefly intersected with mine.