Looking for an agent is only for the warrior hearted. A pencil nib cracks and splinters across a page, someone overturns coffee onto the keys of a laptop, there issues forth a stream of profanity (you are a creative bunch!), one writer chokes on his half price burrito and the YA writer sharing his table performs the Heimlich manoeuvre, then flops down and orders a bourbon, muttering “Jesus, it’s 5pm somewhere.”
I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said the ‘A’ word so abruptly, without warning or preamble. It was thoughtless of me.
Anyone who is at that point in their writing where they know the ordeal of finding ‘representation’ is up ahead quakes momentarily in their boots and then retreats back into the warm fuzzy cocoon of their writing, grateful they haven’t finished yet. The prospect would make a procrastinator out of the most motivated writer!
Maybe one afternoon, we can all get together over a pint in our local blogosphere watering hole and exchange stories of the trenches, when the PTSD subsides. In the meantime, I wrote this piece for an Irish writing website which describes my experience with one particularly memorable New York agent…You know who you are, missy…
Against all odds, my novel got published! You can buy Silk for the Feed Dogs here.