It's a gloomy business, applying to agents. Thoughts that the story and my writing is good enough aren't allowed. Instead you go around feeling like a deluded idiot who's emptied the bank account into the lottery. I continue to write and enjoy writing, fitting it around workaday commitments, but the sinking feeling is hard to ignore.
The book is with 2 at the moment, Favourite Agent is into the 5th week; Superagent's second look is still in its first week. Plus 2 more responses to the 4 query e mails sent last Monday. Both saying yes, send it in, one says e-mail is fine, the other wants post. I'll do that when I've got one of the 2 rejections in. Although multi-submissions seem to be more acceptable these days, I'll keep it to a factor of 2 for now. Also received one rejection, reported last week, with a recommendation of a friend of hers to try, which was very kind. Still one shtooom no response from the agent who was so interested in novel 3. But then, on looking up the agency for new recommendation, I discover same agent is listed as a debut author. So perhaps it's not me, perhaps it's just her focus has changed. You always think it is you, though.
I've had a journalismo week, the editor has gone on maternity leave, always a writer's worst nightmare, but fortunately more work came in from her replacement. Along with reader's queries which I've never had before. And this morning I got a lovely reader's e-mail saying how useful one of my old columns was.
Have been investigating the wonders of WD40, or Water Displacement at the 40th Attempt as it shall be known in this house forever more. Have been into the garage to pick up a tin and gaze at it with renewed awe. This has to be the only cleaning gunk in the world with its own fan club.