An epistolary record of the lead-up to my offer of representation.
A piece of me is tempted to joke that, before receiving my offer of representation from Stephen Barr of Writers House, my novels were about as in-demand as laxatives after week-old gas station sushi. That’s not quite true—I’ve had a few prior brushes with publication, including an offer from a small press on one of my early novels—but it certainly felt that way.
You can understand, then, how going from form rejections and the occasional full manuscript request to sudden interest from a senior agent at a powerhouse agency was the emotional-whiplash equivalent of a car-dealership-thingy trying to headbang on a roller coaster.
I could ramble on about the granular details of it all . . . but us writerly types like to preach about showing, not telling, right? So, with kind permission from Stephen and his junior agent Erica, here’s a record of all our email exchanges, from my initial query straight through to Stephen’s request for a phone call (not neglecting a note of social awkwardness at the very end, because hey, it’s me).
My ten sample pages were attached at the bottom of this email.
As you might be getting from my tone, I was hugely flattered by a request from an agent of Stephen’s caliber but doubted it would amount to anything. Hence my efforts at reserve and professionalism . . .
. . . and at this point, that reserved professionalism of mine suffered a precipitous defenestration. I did at least attempt to match his tone in my reply, even if I couldn’t hope to match his wit:
This message mercifully interrupted me mid-workout at the gym. It was around this point, I think, that I began to feel sick to my stomach with nerves. After all, I wouldn’t be the first author to have hopeful signs fall flat in the final sprint.
And there it is! Thanks for following along on this rather self-absorbed journey. In my next post, I’ll reveal the substance of The Call itself.
Until then, friends!
Luke Wildman 