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owlectomyI'm sitting in Meaghan's apartment on Friday, chatting before we get down to the serious business of getting Deathbunny into the Rock Band Hall of Fame.
"So I possibly have an agent who might be interested in my book. And I got to talk to a real live musician. It's almost like I'm turning into an actual Brooklyn hipster."
"You need a skateboard."
"Can I just convert one of my bikes into a fixie?"
Now I might just have to do it.
"So I possibly have an agent who might be interested in my book. And I got to talk to a real live musician. It's almost like I'm turning into an actual Brooklyn hipster."
"You need a skateboard."
"Can I just convert one of my bikes into a fixie?"
Now I might just have to do it.
On Wednesday night - that would be the Wednesday when I was trying not to mope about being a Real Writer - I ended up sending out a couple of queries, including one to an agent who was interested in, among other things, quest stories and stories about freaks and geeks. Given that the entire premise of my book involves sending a geek on a quest, I figured that was as good a shot as any.
On Thursday morning she asked for the manuscript. I freaked out. I did revisions. I sent it in on Sunday night.
This morning she offered me representation. She was really enthusiastic! She said it was rare to see a book that polished over the transom. And it turns out that she was exactly the right person to send my book to.
I look up at my icon and I think, that's what it felt like when I was writing this book. I felt like a duck riding a bicycle. It wasn't a thing I could do, and certainly not a thing I could do well, and I felt clumsy and inadequate to the task, and I also felt like I didn't care about that.
To feel like I have made something good - have made something that is good to someone other than my best friend from high school - it's a little astonishing. It's a good feeling. I'm supposed to have gotten over this feeling that I can't believe that, can't trust that, but I guess I'm not quite there yet.
On Thursday morning she asked for the manuscript. I freaked out. I did revisions. I sent it in on Sunday night.
This morning she offered me representation. She was really enthusiastic! She said it was rare to see a book that polished over the transom. And it turns out that she was exactly the right person to send my book to.
I look up at my icon and I think, that's what it felt like when I was writing this book. I felt like a duck riding a bicycle. It wasn't a thing I could do, and certainly not a thing I could do well, and I felt clumsy and inadequate to the task, and I also felt like I didn't care about that.
To feel like I have made something good - have made something that is good to someone other than my best friend from high school - it's a little astonishing. It's a good feeling. I'm supposed to have gotten over this feeling that I can't believe that, can't trust that, but I guess I'm not quite there yet.
(no subject)
10/7/08 19:09 (UTC)