I was asked today how it was going with my agent. I had to really think about my answer. My agent is cool. My agent is friendly. My agent has been extremely forthcoming with advice and encouragement. I have no problems with her and the effort she’s (and her entire company) has put in on my behalf. I have nothing but compliments for my agent even though our relationship has not produced a deal.
I was one of those guys who thought getting the agent was the hard part. I honestly thought that having an agent would break down all the barriers for me. Boy was I way off. Getting a book deal is much, much harder. Granted, I’m not making the inquiries, or fielding the rejections. She’s doing all that, and I’m grateful for that. We’ve literally been together for years now. That’s right years. So when the deal does come, you won’t be able to call me an overnight success. I’m just delusional enough to hang in there despite the odds. My wife is wonderful enough to support my delusion despite the occasional hardships, and my agent is awesome enough to keep fighting for me despite all the no’s. She’s gotten really, really close a few times. I’ve had the car keys in my hand on my way to buy the celebratory champagne on at least one occasion, but alas the Krug, Clos Du Mesnil 1995 remained unpurchased and behind glass.
This is the reality of publishing. I’m not bitter. I’m not daunted. It is what it is. The person I feel really bad for is my agent. She’s never received a dime for all the time she’s invested in me and my books.
So, how’s it going? We’re right on schedule, and I have no complaints.