Sunday, 19 June 2011
The sound of the clock ticking while I sip my peppermint tea and stare nervously at my copy of the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook 2011. I've marked it with half a dozen pink post-it's and now I'm just...staring at it.
I really don't have any excuses not to motor on anymore. Despite the recurring mental images I keep getting of my book characters quaking in their boots at the thought of being read and then rejected, it's now or never.
I need an agent. That's one thing I know for sure and (as I've read over and over again), it ain't gonna be easy. I know that I have a few things I need to do:
Write a more detailed 300-400 word synopsis
Research agents and see which ones actually represent the genre I've written
Work on a covering letter that isn't just a page of me waffling, thanking them profusely for their time and apologising incessantly for my lack of talent
I'm still fannying around with the book abs debating another cull and a rewrite of the first chapter but the harsh reality is that I can tinker with the book forever and it'll never be perfect. I need to get out there and...well, sell it I suppose.
My Dad told me to hurry up and 'get it published' last night, so that I can become rich and famous (and buy him that Ferrari he's been talking about since I was about four). I told him I will.
And I'm sure it'll be as simple as that (love you, Dad). However, I'll never know if I don't try.
Time for another peppermint tea before I delve back into the Yearbook and find out just how the hell this works...
Ps. If the grammar is particularly bad on this post it's because I wrote it on my phone. Damn tiny screen.