Any resemblance between my idea and actual creative genius is purely coincidental. A blog post from the agent-seeking days, originally featured on "Me Want Agent...NOW!"
I am not a writer. I mean, I am, but not officially. Until about fourteen months ago, my attempts at writing something significant included a Barry Manilow musical (Aww, crap! Now you're going to steal my idea aren't you?), a children's book which I won't even tell you about, because I learned my lesson after you all stole my Manilow idea, and various fan fiction, written purely to entertain J and me. Additionally, there was a period of true creative genius during which I knew my idea about a boy who draws things and they come to life was going be a bestseller
But then I had this idea...and it was a good idea. And then I developed the good idea, and it became a great idea. I tried to find something else out there like it, but the fact is there wasn't anything. So I started developing this great idea, and then it started developing itself. The idea became a series of books, with numerous marketing tie-in ideas already fully developed in my mind.
And I saw the potential that exists, and I knew that the potential would be obvious to everyone. So I finished the books, and then I sent out my first query...and I got a rejection. And I was ready to let it go. I'm not a writer! I'm an executive. I'm a wife and a mother who had an idea, and wrote a couple of books. I thought that was probably as far as I would ever get, and hey...that's pretty good! But then I sent two more queries, and the third agent I contacted - a big NYC, impressive agent - asked for the complete manuscript.
And then I got the rejection.
There have been some partials requested since, and many queries have been sent. I still believe in the idea, and the writing, and I intend to keep plugging along until someone sees what I see, but it's getting old.
I wish that I could be like Walter (yes, Walter) and use my magical gold (yes, gold) pencil (yes, pencil) and draw myself a book deal, and a world in which I'm a writer. Officially.
I am not a writer. I mean, I am, but not officially. Until about fourteen months ago, my attempts at writing something significant included a Barry Manilow musical (Aww, crap! Now you're going to steal my idea aren't you?), a children's book which I won't even tell you about, because I learned my lesson after you all stole my Manilow idea, and various fan fiction, written purely to entertain J and me. Additionally, there was a period of true creative genius during which I knew my idea about a boy who draws things and they come to life was going be a bestseller
But then I had this idea...and it was a good idea. And then I developed the good idea, and it became a great idea. I tried to find something else out there like it, but the fact is there wasn't anything. So I started developing this great idea, and then it started developing itself. The idea became a series of books, with numerous marketing tie-in ideas already fully developed in my mind.
And I saw the potential that exists, and I knew that the potential would be obvious to everyone. So I finished the books, and then I sent out my first query...and I got a rejection. And I was ready to let it go. I'm not a writer! I'm an executive. I'm a wife and a mother who had an idea, and wrote a couple of books. I thought that was probably as far as I would ever get, and hey...that's pretty good! But then I sent two more queries, and the third agent I contacted - a big NYC, impressive agent - asked for the complete manuscript.
And then I got the rejection.
There have been some partials requested since, and many queries have been sent. I still believe in the idea, and the writing, and I intend to keep plugging along until someone sees what I see, but it's getting old.
I wish that I could be like Walter (yes, Walter) and use my magical gold (yes, gold) pencil (yes, pencil) and draw myself a book deal, and a world in which I'm a writer. Officially.
Any resemblance between my idea and actual creative genius is purely coincidental.
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