Thursday, September 24, 2009

It's kind of hard sometimes to be writer when you hold down a day job. About three weeks ago my revised query letter drew a request from an agent to see the entire manuscript. This popped into my email in the middle of the morning, just after I got out of a meeting. I kind of sat there, and then I thought, I can't just sit here, and so I got up and walked out to the front of the building and stood in the Vegas sunshine. On the way out, someone asked if I were OK and I said I was fine. I took the long route around and came back to my desk. There are a lot of people I can tell when something like that happens, but for various reasons the people I work with (though perfectly nice) aren't in that category.
I sent the manuscript off and since that day I don't think I've had any peace of mind while checking my email. Today, mid-afternoon, the reply came back. It was very nicely worded but it said they had decided to pass, at this point, on representing How to See the Elephant. I've spent the past two weeks magically steeling myself ("magically" meaning for every time I've imagined a positive response I have to imagine a negative one as well) so I wasn't surprised. In fact, I didn't really mind. I mind being treated as a tiresome wanna-be who should just give up. I don't mind being treated as a genuine writer who perhaps just isn't the right fit for this particular agency. My dealings with this agency were very professional and I don't have the usual hurt feelings I've gotten in the past from being rejected. (Perhaps this is naive -- if so, please don't disillusion me!) I have some other queries out there and will be sending out more next week. So I'm OK. Really, I am. I'm just sitting at work, staring at my desk calendar, listening to my co-worker's radio play "Band on the Run," wondering how I'm going to get through the next two hours. I'm probably not going to get any work done today, or any writing either. But I'm OK. Really, I am. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow I'll go back to Tara. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Whatever.

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