The 27

I planned to blog today about an op-ed piece John Grisham did a couple of days ago for The New York Times. It was about being a writer. But just now, I changed my mind. I have taken a couple of blows in the last couple of days and, against my better judgment, I decided to say just a little about it.

The main story in the current issue of "Writer's Digest" is called 27 Agents Looking for New Writers. Sounded good to me. I'm new.

I looked them all up and, not surprisingly, they don't all represent the sort of material I write. But a sizable portion of them do.

Since last week, I have queried five of them, including one already today. I will query a sixth one later today.

And while as a group they may be looking for new writers, many of them obviously are NOT looking for me. I've gotten three rejections so far, all saying basically the same thing. Nothing personal but I don't want you. (One form rejection was badly written. If I were her, I'd re-write my rejection form letter.)

I know it's not personal but when the rejections are coming in waves, it is a little harder to take. Agents as salespeople and are rejected by publishers all the time. They, apparently, don't take it personally. But they also didn't write the manuscript.

So, I am going to lick my wounds for the moment and go for a walk. It's wonderful outside -- warm and sunny. Then, later today, I will get back to work. It is what a writer does.

And I am a writer.

p.s.

And I ate steak. I only had a light lunch earlier but this afternoon I was hungry -- and a little depressed. So I ate steak.
I took Angela to dinner Saturday night for her birthday and brought home a doggie bag that contained part of my steak. It was 3 oz. So to make myself feel better, it's what I had this afternoon. Helped a little.

mbd
Thanks for reading and don't give up.