Flump
Well, after the mania of absolutely definitely really actually finally no-really finishing my book, the steam's gone out of me a bit. In a good way. And as luck would have it, it also happens to be half term, and Felix has gone to York, so I get to do nothing apart from go to work, come home, put my feet up, watch Deal or No Deal and Richard & Judy, and generally flump.
Apart, of course, from the fact that on Friday night I sent my book to four agents, and I have to check my email every five minutes - just, you know, in case. I mean, personally I expected them to be So Terribly Excited about the chance to read it that they would have been waiting in hushed silence by their computers in the early hours of Saturday morning, printers at the ready.
But apparently not.
Still, this morning my obsessive email-checking was rewarded by one of them getting in touch to say thankyou for the book, and that it looks interesting and she'll read it asap - aha! Somebody who understands the wonderfulness of what she holds. Or the potential wonderfulness. Or who thought she'd better be nice, just in case...
(If any of you lovely lovely agents are reading this right now, I'm not normally this bigheaded. I normally hate myself. But, you know, it really is a good book, and what could you possibly have to do with your lives that would be more interesting or important than reading my book right now and then emailing to tell me how wonderful it is? Huh?)
(Not that I'd want you to think I'm being demanding or anything. I mean, nobody reads this blog anyway, right? And I don't really mean it. In fact it's fine by me if you read it a page a night for the next 424 nights, as long as you end up loving it and selling it to A Really Nice Publisher who likes it so much they give me a salary and a contract to publish every book I ever write from now until the moment I die, aged 133)
(But it'd be even better if you were even as I type writing me an email to tell me how ACE my book is)
(Because it is)
So, anyway. I concluded from today's email that intensive inbox checking obviously WORKS, and therefore I should do it even more often.
Some people have been trying to tell me that it might be weeks (yes, that's weeks) (WEEKS!!) until I hear anything. Which is fine, as long as you don't all mind if I EXPIRE from impatience.
Apart from that, I'm really very chilled out. And now I'm going to go and put my feet up and watch more telly and eat more snacks and get even fatter than I am in this photo, wot a friend took of me at the weekend.
And no, I'm not the one with a carrot for a nose.
And it's not me that's fat anyway, it's the coat.
___
Apart, of course, from the fact that on Friday night I sent my book to four agents, and I have to check my email every five minutes - just, you know, in case. I mean, personally I expected them to be So Terribly Excited about the chance to read it that they would have been waiting in hushed silence by their computers in the early hours of Saturday morning, printers at the ready.
But apparently not.
Still, this morning my obsessive email-checking was rewarded by one of them getting in touch to say thankyou for the book, and that it looks interesting and she'll read it asap - aha! Somebody who understands the wonderfulness of what she holds. Or the potential wonderfulness. Or who thought she'd better be nice, just in case...
(If any of you lovely lovely agents are reading this right now, I'm not normally this bigheaded. I normally hate myself. But, you know, it really is a good book, and what could you possibly have to do with your lives that would be more interesting or important than reading my book right now and then emailing to tell me how wonderful it is? Huh?)
(Not that I'd want you to think I'm being demanding or anything. I mean, nobody reads this blog anyway, right? And I don't really mean it. In fact it's fine by me if you read it a page a night for the next 424 nights, as long as you end up loving it and selling it to A Really Nice Publisher who likes it so much they give me a salary and a contract to publish every book I ever write from now until the moment I die, aged 133)
(But it'd be even better if you were even as I type writing me an email to tell me how ACE my book is)
(Because it is)
So, anyway. I concluded from today's email that intensive inbox checking obviously WORKS, and therefore I should do it even more often.
Some people have been trying to tell me that it might be weeks (yes, that's weeks) (WEEKS!!) until I hear anything. Which is fine, as long as you don't all mind if I EXPIRE from impatience.
Apart from that, I'm really very chilled out. And now I'm going to go and put my feet up and watch more telly and eat more snacks and get even fatter than I am in this photo, wot a friend took of me at the weekend.
And no, I'm not the one with a carrot for a nose.
And it's not me that's fat anyway, it's the coat.
___
Labels: Optimism, Writing About Writing
4 Comments:
Breathe deep! I hate to say this but it will almost definitely take weeks.
Which is one good reason for not sending it to only one at a time!
Good luck! (And I am getting it together for BWBD really I am ... honest ...)
You look positively svelte next to that snowman.
Good luck with finding the publisher!
Well Debi, even though I know you're probably right...
I'm hanging on to the fact that I've now had two acknowledgements in two days, and I know one of the other two is always very fast at getting back to me.
And don't worry about BWBD! It's a no-obligation kind of thing. And for everyone who is wondering what BWBD is, there's a post about that coming up soon...
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