Another Day

As I suspected it would, the sun rose again today.

When it set last night, I had a "no" from the agent. I knew it when I saw the email pop up. A lovely "no." The very best kind of "no," all of my writing buddies hasten to reassure me.

She says:

Thanks so much for sending the full manuscript of OBSIDIAN and for giving me time to read it!

I love the world you've created here and I definitely recognize your talent. Unfortunately, I am going to pass on the offer of representation. For me, I just didn't fall in love with the characters enough, or their adventures in your wonderful world. I'm sorry - I wish I had better news for you. I know you have lots of excitement going on right now with your work and I know you'll be in good hands!

Wishing you the very best in your publishing career!

So, here I am, once again with the walk of shame. I gave her everything I had and it wasn't enough. I know no one knows what makes someone fall in love. And yet, we've all been in those relationships where the guy says "it's not you, it's me" -- and you know, of course it's you. There's some reason they can't see spending their life with you, popping out little baby novels.

But it means nothing in the end. It doesn't really matter if it's your annoying mother or the fact that you have a cowlick that can't be controlled or a tendency to ramble on about how much it annoys you when people speed up when they see you trying to change lanes. They don't want to buy the cow and that's all you need to know. Tasty milk, but no thank you.

So, I got back on the horse. Nudged a couple of agents with fulls and partials. Got on Match.com (Publishers Marketplace) and picked out a couple of sexy-looking possibilities. Gave 'em a wink.

The birds and Isabel say it's Springtime. Mysterious plants are coming up -- mysterious because we only moved here in August and someone else planted these spring bulbs. I'm putting my bets on Daffodils and Hyacinths, by their nubby tops.

And meanwhile a project I've been seeding for a while at work may be coming to fruition at a time we really need it. My boss is happy and loves me forever.

Also, Allison, who has the lucrative multi-book contract I covet, just received a 26-page revision letter. Single-spaced. It's like she's got the wedding all set, and just found out she's got to have radical cosmetic surgery first. She's getting over it now, though we were both shocked to read the comments at first. In the end, she'll have a much stronger book. But, oh, the pain and suffering.

I'm working on the next novel, which is winding into a dark forest of odd characters and a mixed-race little girl witch. Who knows how I'll sell this one.

The lovely thing for me is, I don't have to worry about that.