I've been submitting to agents and trying to figure out why it feels so different from submitting to publishers.I think it's because it feels like you're trying to get someone to be your friend.
Dear Agent,
I'm a great person and fairly brilliant. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. My mom thinks so, too! Should you become my agent, I'll send you the best chocolates daily. I've been specializing in chocolate for the past forty years, so I know which ones are the most delicious. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about.
Your new best friend,
Me!
Maybe that's the letter I should be sending out (along with this endearing painting)
The process has me thinking of a silly poem I wrote awhile ago, of which I believe I shall print an excerpt here now (cue the schmaltzy background music)
Please consider my book,
(in your slush pile, unread.)
I’d like to get it published
some time before I’m dead.
Ever feel like that, too?
Love your blog. Thanks for following mine so I could find yours. I particularly loved your comment in another post about viewing an Impressionist painting from across the room at a museum and how it glowed. Was in Paris a couple months ago, and I stood so long in front of a glowing Renoir that my husband gave up and left the d'Orsay without me.
ReplyDeleteAlso, as one who's lingering in the slush pile with you, I think your "dear agent" rhyme is perfect! I'm sure they're doing their best, but there are a lot more of us than there are of them!
great post,
ReplyDeleteKit Grady