I've been writing for a long time now. My track record is damn good. I've never been rejected for a piece (though I haven't always gotten my first choice publisher.) It's been smooth sailing. Pretty much I write something, send out a query or pitch and then it goes away. A check comes in the mail to replace it. Yay.
Now, I've never attempted something as big as a book before. Frankly, the prospect of writing one was pretty terrifying. I've gotten over it. Book is written and now in the final stages of editing. Under very trusted advice, I've decided to break a deal with a publisher in Thailand and instead pitch it to the U.S or U.K distributors.
What the hell is this agent crap?
Yes, I've heard of this 'literary agent' beast, but never encountered one first hand. I thought they were like the yeti or Sasquatch...some mythical animal that appears out of the mist of fame.
I'm sitting on a bed in Scotland, wearing a fuzzy robe at three in the afternoon, staring at my laptop like it's just grown a second head. (Because even a first head wouldn't be all that bad.)
As a former model, the very word 'agent' is up the same alley as 'predator' to me. Isn't that the fat, greasy guy that tries to trick you into doing porn?
Being in over my head is nothing new. I'm a professional technical diver, after all. But frankly, I'd rather deal with the oceanic sharks than the human ones.
While I've got a good idea of what to avoid, I sure as hell don't know where to start.
Whose idea was this anyway?
Oh yeah. Mine.
Maybe I should just publish in Thailand, instead. It might not make much money, but at least I'll have my foot in the door.
Alas, dear T/A. You get to hear the stories of my sorrow. It is cloudy out and my drysuit is leaking in the neck seal. This means everyone else is out diving, and I'm sitting here bitching to you.