Some day, I told myself, you’ll see, some day

In Local projects, New story, Querying, Synopsis on August 15, 2014 at 7:17 am

The email account: screwed-up as part of an ongoing process. With the added delight of the phone account registering incoming calls, but not allowing outgoing ones in response.

This is the wonderful context in which, having concluded revisions to the story, I face the dreadful exercise which consists of sounding the great universe out there, on the off chance a beep or a squeak will not only respond by saying yes, let me have a go at reading this story of yours, but – BUT ALSO – come back with oh yes, how about you and I working together to make this story available to a wider and paying readership.

I look at what I just typed out, and shake my head. All these wonderful, fabulous agencies and their fabulous, wonderful agents tweet, text, phone one another at the speed of light. Bombarded they are with tweets, emails, texts, and phone messages from other wonderful, fabulous people – clients, publishers, editors, hurray, hurray. (Plus, of course, those bothersome idiots who consider their wares worth anyone’s attention – ah me, those bothersome wannabes.)

And here I am fool from a long line of fools, imagining I will get through with my deficient email and phone? Get through to someone who will not treat my wares as substandard aluminum imitations of The Real Thing?

I write and I write and I write. I revise. I start over. I write some more. And I’ll keep on doing it. But when I type in the words THE END and realize no one, not a single living and breathing soul out there will lift the tip of a finger to signal interest in my tossing the story their way, it takes more than the love of writing and the need for it to make me want to attempt yet another pitch out into the resounding silence and indifference.

Self-pity? One hundred percent, unadulterated. Brave and plucky nobodies don’t have to deal with all the angst of celebrities great and small. Brave and plucky nobodies can take the time to watch the sun rise and the cloud patterns change above their heads. But brave and plucky nobodies get tired too. Agents get tired. Editors and publishers get tired. Why should brave and plucky nobodies be any different.


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