Part of Your World
Sunday is for writers around these parts!
Wow. Yesterday was a bit of a trip, to channel 1975.
I discovered that my iPod has been stolen, along with seven years of painstakingly organised music and some favourites I suppose I can buy again someday when disposable income isn’t just for Mitt Romney. Until then, I have literally nothing. This right here is the major bummer of the digital age — you lose an iPod or a Kindle, and FIZZLE-FIZZLE-POOF.
Backtrack to yesterday morning, and sometime around 8:30 I had a dream that I got a rejection on my full manuscript from an agent I really like. Are you right now thinking to yourself that I was a bit precognitive? Well, upgrade it to psychic, because I got home last night after a very long work shift to find said rejection in my inbox. As far as rejections go, it was about as nice as humanly possible. She took the time to write me a personal letter instead of sending a form (which is her norm). She said some very, very nice things about my writing and my concept, but said she didn’t click with the voice.
This is the part where all writers learn The Big Subjectivity Lesson. And it gives me hope for a number of reasons.
You can have a killer concept, great writing, and a snazzy personality and still get many, many rejections. Look how many Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone garnered — I believe it was upwards of 40. This isn’t to say Shrike is the next one of those, because saying that would be like saying my little apple is the next pomegranate, but it’s true that many successful books (most) slice through hordes of agents and editors before finding publication.
The second hopeful bit was that this particular agent said she would love to consider my next project if Shrike doesn’t land me an agent. This is twofold hopeful. One, she thought my writing was strong enough that she would actively welcome reading my work again — and agents don’t throw that around willy-nilly. Two, she’s certainly not rejecting me. She’s passing on a particular project.
And the third hopeful bit — yes, I managed to scrape a bunch of hope out of a rather short, two paragraph email — is that this is just one opinion. I had this weird thought last week that I was out of agents to query. I don’t know where that delusion came from, but it’s silly-wrong. I still have a few killer agents considering my full manuscript. One asked for revisions last month, which is not only a very good sign, but her suggestions were helpful and spot on.
I guess it’s easy-ish to be hopeful when it’s the first pass on a full manuscript. It will probably get a lot less easy when that number gets bigger and time just starts slipping away. But for now, I’ll hold onto Mama Hope’s apron strings. Both agents to finish reading my full manuscript have seen the potential in it. Both loved the concept and the writing. That is something to celebrate.
Look out, New York. I’m coming for you. In a loving, fangirly sort of way.
No Sunday would be complete without ending with a sappy song.
So here it is, my love song to New York publishing:
Posted on November 11, 2012, in query trenches, Sunday My Prints Will Come, writing business and tagged emmie mears, fantasy, literary agents, Manuscript, New York, New York City, publishing, query letters, query trenches, rejection, urban fantasy. Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.