Writing is NOT for Wimps...or the Great Agent Search Begins

Okay. This is probably risky. Maybe career-killing. But what the heck. As Helen Keller said, 'Life is either a daring adventure or...nothing.' Let's hope my coin toss comes up 'daring adventure' rather than the sobering alternative.

I'm finally ready to officially begin my agent search. I tweaked the heck out of the three finished projects I've been working on. I've updated my Young Adult Middle Reader series. I've cut down my rom suspense series to fit category guidelines. And I've added over 15,000 words to my women's crime fiction series. So I'm good to go. And I may regret this, but in the next several weeks I'm going to be blogging about my search. The good, the not-so-good, and the downright ugly. Which brings me to my first foray into the hunt for new representation. The 'ugly' was all me--and it wasn't a pretty sight.

Now normally I don't get rattled or nervous when I talk to an industry professional. I was a state trooper. I read people their Miranda Rights, cuffed them and stuffed them into the back of my patrol car.

Chatting with a prospective agent?

Piece of cake.

Unfortunately, in the case of my initial agent contact, I might have been better off if I'd stuck said cake in my mouth so as to avoid the attack of diarrhea mouth I experienced during our phone conversation.

Permit me to set the stage. I'd done my homework. I'd researched agents, obtained recommendations, etc. So late last week I made contact with an agent high on my list of agents 'to-die-for'. I knew it was a long-shot. The agent typically doesn't represent Young Adult work, especially Middle Level projects. But, optimist that I am, I figured you can't hit the stars if you don't shoot for the moon. (I know. Lame.) So, I typed out a 'cheat sheet' with a short intro, proposal overviews, and questions and made contact with this Super Agent.

I'm sitting at my computer desk gnawing on a white chocolate bunny left over from Easter when my home phone rang. I stared at the caller ID, saw it was the Super Agent, and completely panicked.

I wasn't ready! I was in my grubby sweatpants. My breakfast consisted of Mr. Leftover Easter Bunny. And I'd misplaced my 'cheat sheet' notes.

Breathless--and nervous as he!!--I picked up the phone, struck almost immediately with the worst case of 'Diarrhea Mouth' ever documented.

I babbled. I repeated myself. I think my voice even cracked a time or two.

In short, I was a blithering idiot.

Here's a short sample of my 'performance':

Super Agent: What genre does your big book fit in?

Me: Well, you see, that's kind of hard to say because it's s really a melding of several genres. You know. A hybrid--

Super Agent: But where would it be shelved? In stores? What genre?

Me: That's hard to say. It's like, you know, um, crime fiction but with a strong women's fiction component.

Super Agent: I don't think I'm interested.

I must tell you Super Agent was a class act, the epitome of patience and understanding, thanking me for thinking of her before declining representation. (Imagine that!)

I thanked Super Agent for her time and ended the call---and proceeded to bite the damned head off that ridiculous white chocolate bunny.

Okay. So even ex Super Crimefighters can be intimidated by Super Agents sometimes.

Never one to give up in the face of adversity, it's time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and continue the search for the perfect agent.

Still, a little 'tea and sympathy' couldn't hurt. Sniff. Sniffle. Sniff.

Until next week, this is 'Diarrhea Mouth' signing off.

~Bullet Hole~