So I’ve sent all my queries out, plus a few to other interesting agents I’ve stumbled across during this process and one to a small press.
So far, I have five no’s, none of them personal.
But there is nothing personal about this process; it’s nothing personal. I repeat this as my mantra.
It took a great wave of manic energy to make me approach these strangers, introduce myself, insist that they look at me, and make myself so visible when I’m usually happy to hide. I put on a suit and panty hose. I shook hands with a firm grip, I bragged brazenly, and I acted like I knew what I was doing. Then I was the the girl at the party with the sparkly low cut dress, the one who laughed with her head thrown back, the one that looked like she was up for grabs. Now, I’m wearing a nightgown and a skull cap pulled low, sitting on the sofa beside my cat, weighing pros and cons. My head aches and there’s a funny metallic taste on my tongue.
They say, “be careful what you ask for,” and I know what they mean. I have no idea if these hoops I’m jumping through are going to get me where I want to go. Is it only me, or do you ever wonder if you really want what you think you want? And then, if you don’t get it, do you convince yourself you never really wanted it at all?