A week ago, I did something most writers don’t think they would ever do… I turned down an agent’s offer of representation. Nothing wrong with the agent, just not the write agent at the right time for me. I felt bad saying no to her, but she was great, supportive, gave the names of a couple agents who might be better fits for me. I ended the phone call feeling really great, really in control of my writing and my agent search for the first time in a while.
A week later, not so much. I should have known it would happen. And maybe somewhere I did. That I’d crash. It’s cold and dark right now in Seattle. The holidays are not my best time of the year. And January is usually worse.
I’m trying to be philosophical, but I have to admit, I’ve got more questions and uncertainty than anything else.
I mean… What did I just do?
Did I really just do turned down an agent based on a hunch? On the feeling that I might not be cut out for writing mysteries, based on one easy manuscript?
So, I’m trying to remember that the agent remained enthusiastic about my prospects even in the face of my refusal. I’m trying to remember that I spent most of this year incredibly frustrated by my writing. That in September I almost gave up entirely after a run of rejections that left me overwhelmed and discouraged. I really did cry every time I opened Scrivener for a while there.
But I also need to remember that as I reach the 30% mark on my WIP (and the huge stumbling block that goes with that milestone) I’m excited to get to work each day. I want to fix this story. Because I don’t regret that this is what I gave up an agent for.
Even if means starting over.