Day 29, and this author is standing on shaky ground. Talking about the 30-day exclusivity agreement now; the one I made with a certain agency across the pond for EFFIN’ ALBERT. They have a day yet to get back to me, still within that window or, as I like to call it, ‘My Pocket of Hope’.
But hope is fading. For the last couple of days I’ve found my resolve slipping a bit. Actually, ‘slipping’ is a misnomer. That baby’s been rolling downhill like a damn avalanche and there I stand, looking up at the fuckfest hurling toward me and gaining speed, feeling that helpless feeling one gets when she suddenly, unequivocally realizes that she is royally, totally fucked.
But maybe not. See, I’m vacillating here. Back and forth, back and forth I go, between Maybe this is it and I am so screwed. Maybe I’ll hear back today. Or tomorrow. Even the day after that, I’ve already told myself that I’ll give it two extra days before contacting the agency which means, this week, come hell or high water, I should know something.
Ahhh, but be careful what you ask for, lady. You may be sorely disappointed. Already, doubt is pouring into my marrow like rivers of lead, the utter and complete heaviness pulling at me, dragging me down, threatening to. . .
But I ain’t dead yet, dang it. Getting proactive is key (or so I told myself), so I went back and reviewed this particular literary agency. I’d done my due diligence before granting that exclusive but what the hay, why not do it again?
I’m very excited about this agency. Very grateful for this opportunity. The agency is legit, for sure, representing some fine writers and artists. I really like the attitude of the main agent, love how she expresses her joy at finding and sharing fine works by fine writers. I love her enthusiasm.
So far, so good.
I rechecked Preditors & Editors, which still rates the agency ‘Recommended’ with a $, which is great. But tacked to the end was something like, No further information known. Yeah, I remember reading that, so I did what I’d done the last time I read it: hopped over to Query Tracker. There was chatter on the site, the agent/owner had recently hired an assistant; folks who’d been waiting a while post-query were finally hearing back. Fulls had been requested; hopes were running high.
Then I checked Absolute Write, my go-to site for just about everything relative to writing. There’s a forum dedicated to recommendations/cautions relative to agents/agencies/publishers. Yep, I found a thread specific to ‘my agency’ that went way back. A little concerning: a couple of people had sent fulls and then . . . nothing. Didn’t happen to everybody, but still. . . was that going to happen to me?
I don’t know. Heck, I’m probably worrying in advance. Who knows what circumstances precipitated the radio silence? Anyway, it would behoove me not to fret in advance and anyway, if something like that did happen, sure, I’d be disappointed, but then I’d console myself, thinking it’s just as well. It just wasn’t meant to be, right?
See what I’m doing here? I’m already psyching myself for no news/bad news; already thinking, Okay, if that happens I’ll buck up and keep working to find a home for my baby. Which, btw, I’m reading right now, for the umpteenth time but who’s counting? I want to assure myself that my novel really is decent. Good, in fact.
So far, I think it is. I’m falling in love with Mike and Albert all over again. Damn those boys, poor little kids but they’re doing it, dammit. Even though they don’t know what’s going to happen, even though the odds against them are stacked incredibly high, they’re pressing forward, no matter what. Because the alternative is, for all intents
and purposes, pretty damned sucky and ergo, it would behoove me, I mean them to, ahhh. . .
Yeah, kk. We know.