Just yesterday I found out another academic colleague is a wannabe novelist. Unaware that I had written six novels and more short stories than I can count (I don’t have that many fingers), she asked me if I knew anything about getting an agent. My response: I know a lot about NOT getting an agent.
You see, a friend of mine knows an agent. He introduced us via email. The agent kindly agreed to consider my Medusa novel, even though two weeks later he forgot who I was. At least he read it. No other agent has. Didn’t sway him, though.
I spend some time on Medium.com. They have some great stuff about writing. They won’t care to read much of your stuff unless you’ve had more success than I have, but then, I’ve got a nine-to-five and I take my writing way too seriously.
Hearing from my professorial colleague got me excited about my fiction again. Problem is I’ve got a non-fiction tome under contract and a deadline nearing. If there were 36-hour days on this planet I might be able to get some fiction in edgewise.
Writing a book—any book—takes more time than you might imagine. If you want to do it well. Agents don’t want to hear it. They want it to sparkle. And by that I mean they want to see commercial potential. They’re not interested in getting you off to a start. It’s a shortsighted outlook.
My Medusa novel has movie tie-in potential. I would say that, of course, but it’s true. Circe is still hitting the readers’ fav lists. And I taught classical mythology for a couple years at a state university. I have edited, reedited, and rereedited that novel. It sparkles.
Do I know anything about getting an agent? Yes. I’ve contacted several. I know their standard rejects by heart. If your soul’s not been sold to this craft, however, you might consider taking up knitting instead.
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