Most days I try to get in a couple hours of writing time. Unfortunately, the more time goes by, the less of that “writing time” gets spent on anything creative. I don’t think I’ve written anything but articles and reviews and other assorted nonfiction for the last week.
Today I spent most of my “writing time” identifying my first ten query victims. All I did was put the proper filters on at AgentQuery, but still it’s time-consuming to run through the results. You have to look at all their websites, filter out the agencies that look slimy or unprofessional, see what kind of submissions they’re looking for, notice which websites assault you with tacky book covers or annoying music. (Only one had music; I crossed it off the list pronto.) Then look at the pictures of the people themselves, see what they have to say about themselves and how they say it. It’s kind of fun. During most of this process I’m the one who’ll be judged, but this once I get to enjoy a little bit of control.
This is all sort of heady. I’m excited to have a novel ready enough to send out for rejections, and happy enough with the query and synopsis I tossed off last weekend to pinch my nose shut and dive in. And I’m totally juiced that my friend Ariana’s book is getting published, since she’s someone I’ve known and hung out with and believed in for almost as long as we’ve both been on Writing.com. She’s totally worked her ass off for this. Now I’m ready to take a turn.
But I miss the actual writing part of writing. It’s so much more rewarding to write a story than to sell it.
And hey, how introvert is that, right?