Just when I thought I was being stood up by Big Kid Agent, he called me back. Of course, Bear Cub was screaming bloody murder in the background and Disney Radio was blasting in the background, so I'm sure that set up a sweet mental picture for Agent Man. New Hampshire is an interesting return address to New Yorkers. Some days it congers up images of maple syrup and quaint country inns, and other days it's all toothless hicks with gun racks. I have a feeling I'm now some barefoot woman in a housecoat with a kid on my hip and a bottle of beer in my hand.
Replace the housecoat with flannel pjs, and the beer with a decent scotch and I guess you're pretty close.
Oh, but anyway, Big Kid Agent wants to see my first few chapters. So, I reworked them again, and as soon as I figure out how to disable the "track changes" feature, so they can't see all the inner workings of my mind, I'll send it out.
In the meantime, I'm channeling David Sedaris via Naked on audio in my car. Damn, he's good. But, if you think of him in terms of a query letter, he reeks of rejection.
Dear Agent,
My book is...well, it's about licking doorknobs, and how my mom got all the teachers drunk so they wouldn't keep talking about how I licked doorknobs, and my crazy grandmother...
Damn, I take it back, even the query sounds funny. Maybe I need to find my inner doorknob licker.
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2 comments:
you can't kill the rooster mother f-r.
fingers crossed you get another date with big shot.
Thanks. I hope so too. This is so damn stressful. I will never again mock any published author. Never, ever, ever. They've jumped through fire to get there. Or fallen into the lap (or bed perhaps) of the right person. Either way, it takes some doing.
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