Remembering Sarah Wernick

by Lisa Collier Cool, Sally Wendkos Olds, Anita Bartholomew, and Betty Rothbart

Sarah Wernick 1942 - 2007

Due to an overwhelming response to last month's tribute to Sarah Wernick and the subsequent news of her death, you'll find several remembrances of Sarah included below.

With more than a million copies of her highly-acclaimed books in print, Sarah Wernick was often approached by people who wanted to hire her for writing projects. In her customary frank, direct manner, she would tell them, "I'm expensive, but I'm worth it."

But while some authors as successful as Sarah would have brushed off those who couldn't afford their fees or didn't have a book concept that interested them, she never sent anyone away empty-handed. Instead, she devoted lavish amounts of time to turning her Web site, sarahwernick.com, into a rich resource for both novice and experienced writers. And no matter how busy she was with a book deadline, she always found the time to provide insightful advice to anyone who asked for her help. Indeed, her remarkable generosity was legendary in the publishing world.

Within ASJA, which she joined in 1994, she was a constant presence on the online forums. No matter what members wanted to know, from how to find cheaper cell phone service to tactics for correcting errors on Amazon.com listings or the best cures for hiccups, Sarah always had the answer. In response to one of her more than 3,000 helpful forum posts, one member wrote, "Sarah, is there anything you don't know?"

Yet for all her accomplishments, which included a Ph.D. in sociology from Columbia University and a dazzling array of credits from the most prestigious magazines and book publishers, she was also profoundly modest. Like Pat McNees, whose eloquent tribute to Sarah ran in the December newsletter, I nominated Sarah for the ASJA Extraordinary Service Award in 2005. But even though the judges unanimously declared her the winner, Sarah declined the award, insisting that what she did wasn't all that extraordinary. Instead, she urged us to give the award to "someone more deserving."

Even in her last days, she thought of others and offered them comfort, her husband, Willie Lockeretz, said in an e-mail sent to ASJA members after her death on November 6:

"Although this is a terrible loss to all of us who loved her, it is ameliorated somewhat by her making it very clear to me that she was not afraid of dying and was very well aware that her situation was not nearly as sad as that of the all-too-common cancer victim who leaves young, dependent children."

That was so typical of Sarah, the mother of two grown sons. During her during her bout with endometrial cancer, diagnosed in 2005, she made it clear that she refused to accept any sympathy. In one message, she wrote, "My current chemo is too easy to give me any 'can't complain' points!"

In another e-mail, her earthy humor made me laugh out loud, as she detailed the care she'd received after a rather grueling surgery.

"The hospital has a VIP section with extra-posh rooms and its own chef," she wrote. "They would roll in a table, like room service at a fancy hotel. The main difference was that a nurse would show up in the middle to inquire if I'd passed gas yet."

In keeping with Sarah's wishes, her husband specified that at the remembrance ceremony on December 1, "We do not want the atmosphere to be stuffy and funereal; the purpose is for all of us to remember and share the joy that Sarah brought into our lives." One joyful memory, regulars of ASJA's "Water Cooler" will recall, was her witty solution when her daughter-in-law demanded that she wear a mother-of-the-groom dress in a color Sarah considered unflattering: celadon.

"If baseball players who can't hit can have a designated hitter, then a non-essential wedding party member (i.e. anyone other than The Bride) should be able to have a designated dress wearer," she wrote in 2003, then added, "You can all applaud now."

Dozens of ASJA members were captivated by the saga of Sarah's quest to find such a gown in her size, culminating with the triumphant moment when she snagged one, for a remarkably low price, on eBay, in what she dubbed "an electronic miracle," then signed her message, "Sarah, a vision in celadon."

On the forums she loved so much, Sarah is remembered as both tender and fierce. She was a generous donor to ASJA's Writers Emergency Assistance Fund, saying, "Like many other members, I'm happy to be part of a safety net for writers," and also gave copiously of herself as a frequent speaker at the annual conference, serving on many committees, and weighing in on virtually every topic of concern to members.

"Sarah, you are so wise," people would often say when she came up with an impeccably logical solution to some thorny problem.

But she was anything but warm and fuzzy: As one member put it, "I found her incredibly brilliant and somewhat intimidating. She had the original mind like a steel trap and could have a razor sharp tongue."

Truly, Sarah was an extraordinarily gifted woman, and we shall not look upon her like again.

-- Lisa Collier Cool

I met Sarah some years ago at an ASJA conference where she was staffing a booth showing members how to use Compuserve for e-mail, which was typical of her. The generosity she showed her fellow writers was extraordinary -- on the ASJA forum, at conferences, serving on committees, in innumerable other ways.

Sarah was one of the smartest people I have ever met, the funniest, the most compassionate, the warmest, the most giving, the least condescending -- and, at the same time, the least likely to put up with any hint of foolishness or mean-spiritedness. I had great admiration for her writing, with her keen ability to make clear the most difficult material so that non-medical, non-scientific people could understand complex concepts. And I was lucky to reap the benefits of her incomparable editing, with her ability to pinpoint problems in a piece of writing, and to acknowledge strengths, and to do it all so kindly, with the least amount of damage to a writer's tender ego.

I was privileged to share a few intimate writing retreats with Sarah, with their special opportunities to see her mind in action and to get to know her better. Whatever work I showed to her in draft stage became better for her comments. I also appreciated the trust and confidence she had in me, and in other colleagues, by showing us her own works in progress, and her unfailing generosity in acknowledging any help that she felt we gave her.

All of us in ASJA have lost a great treasure. How lucky we were to have had her with us for as long as we did.

-- Sally Wendkos Olds

Sarah and I had, for many years, corresponded almost daily, sometimes several times per day, so I knew in the summer of 2005 that she had a fever and some sort of flu-like illness that she couldn't shake. When she learned that it was much more serious than flu, that it was, in fact, cancer, she told me. Like everyone else she confided in, she insisted that I keep that information confidential.

We had a running joke about the AH Fan Club. She was the president and I was the veep. Sometime around June 2007, when she didn't immediately return a "fan club" e-mail, I knew that she'd taken a turn for the worse and, indeed, when I called, Willie, her husband, said she was in the hospital for more surgery and from there, was going to a rehab facility. She never fully recovered after that.

But she also never stopped trying to help other writers. The last e-mail I received from Sarah, rather than from Willie (who eventually began taking over replying to many of Sarah's e-mails), came on October 15, 2007. She was already checked into a hospice, something I knew from Willie.

Sarah didn't mention that. Instead, she asked if I would pick up where she'd left off on her correspondence with Michael Cader of Publishers Marketplace. She had been trying to negotiate a discounted monthly rate on Publishers Marketplace subscriptions for ASJA members and wanted to be sure that this effort continued. Left unspoken by us both was the reason why she couldn't continue the correspondence herself.

Five days later, Willie wrote several of us that Sarah had come home from the hospice the night before, but was now "almost in a coma." She never regained consciousness. But she left only after ensuring she'd left nothing unfinished.

-- Anita Bartholomew

Sarah was the essence of all that is great about ASJA: a pro, generous, funny, savvy, wise. She was my dear friend and, missing her, I am comforted by the posts about her on the forum.

Sarah and I always had dinner when she came to New York for the ASJA conference or to visit her son, Ben, who is a teacher here. I felt blessed to be her friend. We talked about books and writing, getting paid what we deserved, dealing with co-authors. We talked about family, her wonderful husband, Willie, her sons and brother. During one very funny conversation, we mused about what we had done right in raising our kids. One of Sarah's triumphs was that she always got her boys to go to the bathroom before setting out on trips by coining the phrase, "Start on empty." (I wish I'd known that tip when my kids were small.)

Sarah organized retreats from time to time for friends who were working on book proposals. We shared our drafts, then settled in for meaty, challenging discussions. Her critiques, as others have also attested, definitely had an edge. But she was never unkind. In fact, her kindness was in her honesty. She wanted us all to do our best work. And she sought brutal, loving honesty in return.

During her cancer ordeal, Sarah asked for e-mails instead of phone calls, and I was amazed that she mustered the energy to write back. She stayed connected as much as she could, as long as she could. And with all the posts on the forum, she is still connecting, bringing us together, inspiring this sorrowful, celebratory networking.

-- Betty Rothbart