After careful consideration (consisting mainly of me sitting in a darkened room with a glass or seven of cheap wine, talking to myself), I’ve decided it’s about time that I stop daydreaming and try chasing after that elusive literary agent once more. It’s been five years since I last ventured into their territory, and – as you would expect – I’m still terrified. But hey, I can’t hide from them forever, or I could, but not if I want to chase traditional publication. And you learn by doing, so I’m going to learn about the crushing defeat of repeated rejection (or, rather, revising that feeling – have I shown you the rejection wall I used to have from back in 2003? Well, there it is, just in case I haven’t.) from literary agents.
It’s not going to destroy me that badly, even if it doesn’t go well. I still have the option of self-publication, if it all else crashes down around me in a horrible, bloody mess.
I will be sending them out on an exclusive basis, because I just feel it’s fairer. I’ve waited long enough to actually pull my finger out and contact these people; another month or so between waiting for a response isn’t going to kill me.
I am going to be sending the first one out next week.
Fingers, toes, and any other extremities will most definitely be crossed.