The hunt for the one | I love you, You love me not. (Me and the literary agent)

I've done it again. I've fallen head over heels for an agent. A literary agent.

I've done it before, numerous times, and here I am, having ruddy done it again.

You see, as a writer, and aspiring novelist, picking a literary agent who you wish to represent you, and your work is no easy thing. You don't want any Tom, Dick, or Harry-ette. You're looking for the one. The one who you'll spend a career with. And so, in my case, I do my research (which, of course, is a nicer way of saying I stalk them online). I work to find out if we could be a good fit. Do they like what I have to offer? Are they in to New-adult? Do they like Fantasy? I read their wishlists, their Blog posts, and interviews, I look into those they currently represent... and then it happens, I try and fight it, but it just happens. I fall.

I fall head over heels. And so, I lop off the piece of my heart I've been working on (that being my manuscript), I compose a cover letter for it, and just before I submit (with sweat prickling out of my armpits, my palms becoming clammy, and my breaths heavy), doubt creeps in, and I decide to go over everything all over again.

 Surely the won't want me. Maybe I should wait another week, read through my work all over again, and then submit.

But then, another ten weeks go by, and enough. I'm being ridiculous. How long am I going to keep putting this off. Even my doubt is laughing at me. It didn't expect to have me going for this long. And so I march over to the laptop. I'm going to do it, I say. Today's the day. I'M DOING IT.

 My fingers hover over the send button, my heart thumps, fighting to break out of my chest as if it wishes to avoid bearing witness to this car crash. And then...click. I've done it. I've submitted that email, knowing it'll turn up in their mailbox as an attachment Word file (unless of course its preferred that I just paste it into the body of the email.). Then I wait. I wait, and the unrequited love grows.

It starts off slow - I mean, I've been hurt before, you know how it is. I've been turned down, either by being blatantly ignored, or by being given those painful, soul-crushing lines that include, thank you, or many thanks, for sending me "blah blah blah" but unfortunately, or, regretfully, or I'm afraid... And right there and then, it dies. What could have been dies, and I'm left reaching for the pot of ice cream (although it's frozen  yoghurt these days, I'm trying to be a bit more healthier.) and a glass of sparkling wine,

You see, in my world, for those 6-8 weeks (often times more) I've been waiting for this agent's acknowledgement, and or response, with butterflies, and as I stumble upon more of their clients and posts, and words of wisdom and advice, my love for them swells.

Oh my gosh, they just said their reading through their slush pile in this tweet. ... Maybe they'll mention me in a tweet. ... Oh, no, they've just mentioned people not following the submission guidelines in this tweet. Is that me? Did I not follow their guidelines properly. Is our relationships doomed? Is it heading for the rocks? Are we on the rocks? Have I not even the impact to face the rocks?

And then it comes. The email. The response...

Thank you... but... .unfortunately... not suited... keep trying elsewhere

And lump in my throat builds a little. My eyes sting somewhat too. I had loved this agent. I had seen a future, and they took one look, and flicked me aside. They don't want me. *reaches for spoon, heads to the freezer* I gave them my heart, and they took a look and passed. Did it repulse them?  Did he/she chuckle and flick it away? Or was it the wrong time? How could I have gotten them to love me, like I love them? 

How will I ever fall for another agent like this again? 

But then I fix up.  There's plenty more fish in the sea...right? Yes, I think, as I console myself, but that fish count is finite. Panic sets in. Who am I kidding? I can't do this. Why would they fall for me out of the thousand of others chucking pieces of their heart at them? 

The stars, as they say, must be aligned to find this elusive ONE. 

I have to hook them in just the right way, at the right angle, with the perfect hook, made of the perfect material, at the right time, Is that even possible? I'm not the luckiest of people. But the truth is, I can't stop this. This must be done.

And so, I straighten my back, and get on with it. Let me me go back and check my heart (manuscript) for any faults, I say to myself. Let me find what it is that could have turned them off. Let me see what i can fix to make my heart (my manuscript) loveable.

A few months later, and I'm buzzing again. I've found one. I think they may be the One. ... And oh, no... I'm falling.