After encouragement from my blog followers and facebook friends I’ve decided to gird my loins, lower the visor on my helmet and venture out into the scary world. In other words I got a little more pro-active. I sent off an email to publisher #1 and requested an update on my submission. That was last Monday and I’m still waiting for a reply.
I picture a harassed dust-covered filing clerk, hidden away in a subterranean basement, desperately asking his/her colleagues: Does anyone remember this woman? Anyone? Anyone? Several weary, care-worn faces peer around towering stacks of manuscripts. They shake their heads. One says: Just tell her the usual, ‘It doesn’t suit our list’. She’ll never know you lost it.
Today I found two publishers who let you submit via email and who are actually, at the moment, open to unsolicited submissions. This is almost as rare as finding a pink diamond. Come to think of it, I think it’s rarer! (More rare? Dang; as an editor I should know that one!) I followed their instructions to the letter, prayed I didn’t get muddled between the two seeing as they wanted different things, and with fear and trepidation hit the Send button. I then ran to the loo and spent a few unpleasant moments. (Anxiety has a nasty effect on my bowels.) I tell myself – so as not to raise my hopes – that at least I’ll get the major publishing houses out of the way early so I can concentrate on the little “boutique” ones.
I thought I’d find an agent first but of the two or three that are still accepting clients only one was interested in fantasy. I don’t understand the disinterest when fantasy is one of the highest selling genres for children and teens. Oh well… their loss. When I realised there were more publishers willing to have a look at my work than there were agents, I decided to cut out the middle man. Perhaps, once I’ve got my best-seller and Dreamworks wants to talk film rights,the agents might decide to reconsider. (I wish)
So…I solicit your prayers, good wishes, kind thoughts, crossed fingers and any fairy dust you’ve got to spare. I promise I’ll let you know the good news if and when it turns up. One day you’ll turn to your wife/husband/partner/pet and say: What is that strange, high-pitched screaming? Is it a jet with engine failure? Are the machines finally taking over? Has the bearing gone on the roller-door? And you will be told: No, that’s Wendy. Someone’s agreed to publish her book.
And you think I’m exaggerating. Hahahaaaaa