You know that commercial, the one with James Earl Jones and Malcolm McDowell? Well, I thought that commercial’s premise was simple, until yesterday.
You see, I got my first no, but maybe, but probably not, and it did not relate to my senseless texting, oh no. It correlated exactly to my efforts of traditional publication, getting and agent…that whole merry-go-round.
I queried, as many of us do, and waited, as we all must do, and received more than a handful of rejections (you feel my pain right about now don’t you?). But yesterday evening, an agent told me that they liked my swag, that I was only slightly less cool than Pam from True Blood (they didn’t really compare me to her, but I knew where they were going with it). But even though my personality gleamed like a brand new pair of Jimmy Choo heels, my books sales were less than impressive which gave this agent great pause, like the kind of pause you have when you’re in the ocean and see that giant fin only a few feet away. Instead of flapping in the waters like a baby seal though, this agent gave me some advice on how to continue on with my indie books, encouraging me to expand my social media presence. Also, they asked for a partial of the manuscript. Errm, huh? But heck yeah, I’ll send it! And holy crap, thanks for asking!
And here I am, left thinking only of that commercial, hearing those words of indecision, and hoping that this is the universe’s way of opening the door to all the yeses.