This is still kind of surreal to me. Last year I signed with a wonderful, enthusiastic, whip-smart agent, we sent my book out with all the hope in the world, etc. etc. It didn't sell. We got many complimentary passes, but NYC is just not buying debut adult fiction that doesn't have BESTSELLER written all over it, preferably in Courier New.
So I've been preparing to self-publish. It was depressing at first, to realize that all this struggle to get an agent and go through the torture of the submission process was going to end like this. But now I have more of a "screw it, my cover is awesome, this thing is polished as hell, it was almost acquired by NY, let's see what happens on Kindle" attitude.
In the meantime I wrote a new book in a kind of hot genre. But the agent who'd been so enthusiastic and responsive at the beginning...wasn't anymore. Emails unanswered, long delays, vague responses. My new book sat for months unread. The passion just wasn't there.
How do you have that discussion? It's like, you're not doing anything overtly wrong, but I just have this gut sense that you're not into me or my work anymore. I'd broached this subject once before and was assured that the agent was still keen to work with me, but actions speak louder than words.
So yesterday I sent The Breakup Letter.
And god, it sucked. Terrifying. Agentless again. Feeling like all of this meant nothing, that I've made no progress at all.
Of course, I know that's not true. And I know that Awesome Agent is still awesome, just not the right fit for me anymore.
At least now, while I'm doing the query thing again, I don't feel so...desperately hopeful? Grateful for any scrap thrown my way? The whole process gave me a confidence boost. I know my work is good enough for the gatekeepers. And if the gatekeepers aren't interested, I'll take my toys and go to Kindle and self-pub and make money.
It feels like the power dynamic is changing. NY publishing is making some bad decisions, but writers aren't completely at their mercy anymore. We don't have to be trembling little puppies eager for any kind pat on the head.
At this very moment, though, I feel very much like the proverbial puppy in the window, looking up for a new master with big, sad eyes, just wanting to be loved.
So I've been preparing to self-publish. It was depressing at first, to realize that all this struggle to get an agent and go through the torture of the submission process was going to end like this. But now I have more of a "screw it, my cover is awesome, this thing is polished as hell, it was almost acquired by NY, let's see what happens on Kindle" attitude.
In the meantime I wrote a new book in a kind of hot genre. But the agent who'd been so enthusiastic and responsive at the beginning...wasn't anymore. Emails unanswered, long delays, vague responses. My new book sat for months unread. The passion just wasn't there.
How do you have that discussion? It's like, you're not doing anything overtly wrong, but I just have this gut sense that you're not into me or my work anymore. I'd broached this subject once before and was assured that the agent was still keen to work with me, but actions speak louder than words.
So yesterday I sent The Breakup Letter.
And god, it sucked. Terrifying. Agentless again. Feeling like all of this meant nothing, that I've made no progress at all.
Of course, I know that's not true. And I know that Awesome Agent is still awesome, just not the right fit for me anymore.
At least now, while I'm doing the query thing again, I don't feel so...desperately hopeful? Grateful for any scrap thrown my way? The whole process gave me a confidence boost. I know my work is good enough for the gatekeepers. And if the gatekeepers aren't interested, I'll take my toys and go to Kindle and self-pub and make money.
It feels like the power dynamic is changing. NY publishing is making some bad decisions, but writers aren't completely at their mercy anymore. We don't have to be trembling little puppies eager for any kind pat on the head.
At this very moment, though, I feel very much like the proverbial puppy in the window, looking up for a new master with big, sad eyes, just wanting to be loved.
But that could just be the bitterness talking. 
