Oh Where Is The Agent Who Is Meant For Me?
Somewhere, somewhere, deep in the
heart of Britain, perhaps slumbering sweetly, perhaps smelling
flowers by a newly mown meadow, perhaps striding purposely through
an urban car park, perhaps sitting at desk looking at an empty
client list, somewhere, somewhere exits the agent who is meant for
me.
Why so reticent? Why so shy? Why don't you take me on?
I have been published in magazines. I have written poetry. I am the only person I know who has had a story published in Time Out! I had a poem in Swift when I was seven. (It referred to my tortoise nibbling my sock , which was a lie but I prefer to think of it as creativity.) Beryl Bainbridge once said she admired the intensity of my characterisation. (True) Laurie Lee (yes, it was indeed he) once called one of my stories, 'somewhat sub Lawrence but nevertheless effective in its way', which I think was a compliment. It certainly seemed like one at a time.
I am now on my second novel. Surely there is an agent, a dear little agent, a smart and infinitely wise agent, who will actually read my first novel and take a little interest.
I am not a nasty person. I will not pester an agent with ridiculous queries. I will revise and revise,within reason. I will be kind.
Somewhere, I believe. in this tired old world there is that very person, that courageous and insightful person, that wild and wonderful person who will be the agent who is meant for me. Call to me and I will come.
Why so reticent? Why so shy? Why don't you take me on?
I have been published in magazines. I have written poetry. I am the only person I know who has had a story published in Time Out! I had a poem in Swift when I was seven. (It referred to my tortoise nibbling my sock , which was a lie but I prefer to think of it as creativity.) Beryl Bainbridge once said she admired the intensity of my characterisation. (True) Laurie Lee (yes, it was indeed he) once called one of my stories, 'somewhat sub Lawrence but nevertheless effective in its way', which I think was a compliment. It certainly seemed like one at a time.
I am now on my second novel. Surely there is an agent, a dear little agent, a smart and infinitely wise agent, who will actually read my first novel and take a little interest.
I am not a nasty person. I will not pester an agent with ridiculous queries. I will revise and revise,within reason. I will be kind.
Somewhere, I believe. in this tired old world there is that very person, that courageous and insightful person, that wild and wonderful person who will be the agent who is meant for me. Call to me and I will come.
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