That’s what the literary agent who phoned me this afternoon said. He’d thoroughly enjoyed reading my opening chapters, and could he see the rest, please?
Hmm, let me think about that for a moment…
I carry a USB memory stick with my ms on it. All the time. Yes, I am that sad. Naturally I emailed the whole kaboodle off to the agent so fast I think his head’s still spinning.
He’s going on holiday on Friday, and said he’d try to read it all by then and get back to me, or failing that when he returns mid-September.
Colour me chuffed.
The first of my SAEs plopped through the letterbox yesterday. I had a bit of an ohshit moment, and had to put it to one side until I’d remonstrated with myself and got my wibbles under control.
Rejection, obviously, but what sort? Would there be an encouraging note, or just a form letter? Gingerly, I opened the envelope.
Compliments slip, with two boxes to tick. One saying “You twerp, we don’t handle this kind of fiction” or words to that effect, and the other saying “Thanks but not at this time”.
Neither was ticked. Instead, the agent had written “Well written, but my list is full.”
I was quite obscenely chuffed with that. Even if it meant “Well written, but not well written enough to blow my socks off and make me jam you into my list pronto even if it is already bursting at the seams”, I took that hand-written comment as a sign that I’m on the right track, and spent the rest of the day with a daft grin pasted on my face. Little things, etc.
Ah-one, ah-two, sing along if you know the words, ah-one, two, three, four:
#You’ve got to
#Ac-cent-uate the positive
#E-lim-inate the negative…