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Beggars can't be choosers

..so I guess that means I'm not a beggar after all.

When sending out query letters to agents, I like to do so with my usual sunny optimism. I put together the best letter I can, showcasing my work and myself, and then obsessively check my email for the rejection I'm expecting. But I like to up the odds even more, add in a little more heart-pounding drama for myself. So I start with the agents who seem like a long shot. The agents who represent my favorite writers, who it would be the stuff dreams are made of to be represented by. It's more exciting to be shot down by a top level agent than by someone you've never heard of.

I started by sending the query letter off to four agencies that would make me pass out if they decided to represent me (that seems like a good litmus test for an agent you should be working with, right?). I figured I'd get the pipe dreams out of the way first, so I could move on with no regrets.

And then I got the request for my full manuscript. And then another request. And a third one. And I had a moment (or a week) where I decided that could be enough. Having three big name literary agents request your manuscript was enough to call it quits and label it a good writing career in my mind. :) But instead, I sent them to the agent who I most wanted to work with, who seemed like the best fit. Tamela Hancock Murray, at The Steve Laube Agency. And she liked my work. Tamela was so gracious, and so kind to coach me along with things she needed her writers to have (other than a manuscript). Thanks to Tamela, my website was launched a little earlier than planned. And my Facebook page was born. Then she asked if I had anything else to show her. Six weeks later my historical was finished, polished, and emailed off. She liked that, too. (And thank goodness because I was racing against the start of morning sickness to get that finished!).

Then I got The Call. And I think I managed to sound professional. Maybe even put together and intelligent. Not easy to do when you're talking to an agent you thought you could maybe sign with in your wildest dreams about ten years down the road, after you've established yourself. And you're shooing children out of the room so you can hear what she's saying.

So that makes it official.

I'm officially calling myself a writer now. A writer signed to my first choice for both agency and agent. I keep signing on to The Steve Laube Agency website just to read through the list of writers they represent and convince myself that I'm really going to be represented by the same agency that works with my favorite writers. And then I pinch myself. And do a couple cartwheels. And smile. Lots and lots of smiling.

(Two year old Ari is on the other side of the camera with my husband, Eric. Apparently being a

real-life, signed and agented writer still doesn't move me up the ranks when Daddy's home)

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