So, I got my first highly positive reply from an agent early this week. I say “highly positive” because I’ve had one agent say he really liked my writing but didn’t like the book and another ask for the full manuscript before dashing into the bushes never to be heard from again, but THIS ONE seems slightly more stationary and cooperative.
One can but hope.
And spazz, of c.
The 2 stipulations to taking me on were 1) eliminate 30,000 words, and 2) have the hero show up sooner.
Well, I did a rough chop yesterday and got rid of 15,000 words by taking out a side plot and a couple of chapters that were exposition-heavy (my bane). The encouraging thing is that I know good and well she’s right. The book is suffering from bloat. The second 15,000 will be trickier, because it needs to come out of the whole thing, paragraph by paragraph.
Apparently, that’s what the month of July is for.
Not a done deal, by any stretch of the i., but certainly an encouraging end to the last 12 months of agent fishing.
And in the mean time, I’ve been fighting off some sort of vile virus. Something sleepy and headachy and sore throatish.
Spent the past weekend in GR with my fam. Excellent times, including a couple key moments of brilliance—one involving one of the M’s friends who gustily confided to me her bewilderment at the vagaries of fate that resulted in my being married while her daughter is not. Truly, there is NO accounting for taste among men these days.
Absolutely amazing. I could practically feel my cloven little feet twitch for joy. I recounted the story to Fig and W later with much chortling. Mr. Bennet would be SO pleased.
I really should go home more often.
And honestly, who could help wanting to write with people in the world like this? I feel like encounters of this variety should count as divine anointing, a sign that one’s feet are firmly planted on the correct path.