I read a post and a link from Nathan Bransford about what it’s like to be a literary agent. http://www.themillions.com/2012/08/a-right-fit-navigating-the-world-of-literary-agents.html
In my mind I pared down what the author, Michael Bourne said, to one thing. That the odds of getting one of my two completed novels to be picked up by the agent he was interviewing, at 1 in 11,111.
I cried myself to sleep after reading that.
Have I queried that agent, not sure but one of the agents in that office is in my top 5, he was very gracious and helpful when I queried him. I’ve been rejected by many of the best and most of the unknown. I’ve been told my fiction isn’t ready, I’ve been told it’s phenomenal but not the right fit. So what is it?
It got me to thinking, I mean really thinking, because I am in the process of writing my third book; is it worth the effort? When I think back to what it has taken to complete my books, query, and wait and dream, get pissed off and cry, it just breaks my heart.
I don’t normally compare writing a book with having a baby but many writers do. I now understand why. To have such high hopes for your child only to see it go nowhere, to languish and die, even though it had so much potential, is awful. To think that the potential I dreamed about was faulty just rips my heart out.
It’s not like I’m unpublished, I’m out there, past and present, it’s not as if I’ve never experienced the highs of writing success relative to my market and ability; I’m a minnow in a mud puddle dreaming of being a big-ass fish in Lake ‘fucking’ Superior. It’s that the monetary success in writing what I write, and exposure of what I write, is even harder to achieve than the fiction I’ve been peddling for seven years.
So what do I do?
I’m a Maxwell House girl but as I write this I’m thinking of a kind of British tea and term.
“Stay Calm and Carry On.” I shall with a tear in my eye.