Okay, here I am...officially looking for an agent. Day One. Manuscript has been completed for months now (dabbling with a second and even third book idea). Five cold readers, including an editor of a well-known Christian magazine all provided me with feedback. Received strong feedback...comments like, "I found it difficult to put down" or "I cried when so and so..." Yes, I made 'em cry, I think to myself when I hear that. Healthy response, right? I guess my desire is for the reader to connect and shedding tears proves connection.
So, with all this positive feedback (and some well-needed critique) why do I feel like a little girl asking agencies if they like me...um...my book...if they want to give it a shot...as if I'm hanging on for their answer? I guess because I am hanging on. It's as if they are the rope that swings me from my own world of writing to the other side, the side where the whole world can read my creation. I've had a lot of fun fantasizing on this side, whacking my fingers away at the keyboard and pouring out my stories and thoughts...and I admit for months now I've been scared to even grab onto a rope. I guess that's what I did by sending out queries today. I'm testing ropes (hoping one will hold).
I write for me. I'll write until I'm old whether I am profusely published or not. Ah, but I'd lie to say I haven't dreamed of holding a hard copy of my own book in print.
I realize I could have a long road ahead of me, but feel like the timing is right, with my story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms (in stores by the end of the month) and knowing I've plucked at the manuscript more than a tarred chicken.
It's swinging time...just hoping I grab onto a rope that holds.
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