You hand your material over to an agent – and then it starts…..
A ticking clock in your head that never seems to stop. You wait days. Then weeks. Then months. And all the time…tick….tick…tick. You think sometimes you may have even forgotten about it. But just when you think that….tick…tick. I sit caught on that knife’s edge teetering between hope and fear. Between ecstasy and despair. Between literary life and death. I wait. As a game, it doesn’t have much to recommend it. But as a necessary step in the life of a writer, you can’t beat the hope that bubbles just under the surface. To know that you’re in the game…because you’re waiting for some agent, somewhere.