By Rebecca J. Carlson
July 16, 2007
Went out to get the mail a few minutes ago. Horrors! There was a big white envelope! My SASE! Oh, I hate this part! Will I ever get used to it?
I couldn't open it.
"It's okay. It's okay. She gets hundreds of queries. She doesn't care. That's her job, to read queries and reject almost all of them! She probably didn't even think about it! She's forgotten it already!" I tried to reassure myself as I slammed dishes into the dishwasher.
I looked at the envelope. I didn't see anything pink inside. Do agents send back pink slips for rejections, or is that just publishers? I could read the response letter through the side of the envelope. Dear something starting with A? My name doesn't start with A. OH, it's Dear Author, a form rejection letter. I don't even want to read it! It will give me no clue as to what I did wrong. Did the agent bother to sign it? Did the agent read it, or did the agent's secretary read it? Maybe the janitor read it and told the secretary to put it in the reject box. I'm hungry. Maybe I should eat a snack before I read my form rejection letter? Some victuals to brace myself against the disappointment.
I wrote in red ink on the outside of the envelope: "Somewhere out there is someone who will be my agent. I will find this person."
I still haven't opened it yet. The suspense is all gone, so why can't I open the thing?
Oh dread, now I have to do it again! Now I have to hunt up another agent to query!
Maybe I should take up the ukulele instead. That way I can irritate people en masse instead of just one literary agent at a time.
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