I am once again submitting a manuscript to agents for possible representation. As has happened before, a number of agents say they like my work but they don’t want to present it to publishers. They fall in like with it. They don’t fall in love with it. I feel like I felt as a flummoxed teenager trying to date girls. Most girls liked me, which did not mean they wanted to date me.
I can’t remember the number of times I was told I was a, “nice guy.” It was better, I’m certain, than being told I was a creep. However, it was not the reaction I was hoping for. It also happened that most of the mothers of the girls I wanted to date liked me too. That was of course the, “kiss of death” for many potential boy-girl relationships. When a girl told me she felt I was, “like a brother.” I knew the time was right to get a shovel to bury any hopes I had of being her boyfriend.
At least now authors have options. I have a plan B and a plan C, not to mention the rest of the alphabet. I believe sooner or later the manuscript will get published. Maybe the agent I sent it to most recently will get back to me to say she’s in love.
Or maybe not.
Wish me luck.