So far the book that I’ve been writing is at approximately 12, 250 words. I would get further if I wasn’t stopping to count the words and subtract numbers to figure out how far away I am from 50,000. Hold on, I have to figure it out again. 37,500 more words.
Then I keep thinking that I need to stop worrying about numbers. It’s bordering on a weird obsession. I don’t like numbers or subtraction anyway. They aren’t worrying about me.
Every week, I get an email from Writer’s Digest about how I can give them money for some really super awesome webinar that will help get my writing career to the next level. It’s always tempting, except that the financial figures aren’t on my side either.
Yesterday, I did receive another email from Writer’s Digest about agents that are looking for writers.
I looked at the description of what type of writers they were looking for. It’s never been me. Agents are always looking for something that I don’t have or am not interested in having.
Yesterday, it was me. I fit the description of what a literary agent wants. MEEE!!!
The agent could love my book. Of course, she could hate it too. I’ve only panicked once or twice thinking about rejection.
When I was telling the boyfriend about the possibility of having an agent, he paused “The Following” so he could listen to me. It was kind of a special moment. We never stop “The Following” because we are obsessed. Plus once we stop, one of us can never find the right spot and then we are lost for like five minutes.
Today, I took a chance and let someone else read the first five chapters. I’ve written this story in a vacuum so this will be the first feedback that I’ve had.
I hope that she will be gentle.