Sorry, But...

I don’t know whether this article in yesterday’s Guardian was intended to be rip-snortingly funny, or just to raise a wry smile, but all it did was make me want to yell: “Well, at least you’ve got an agent. AND you’ve had books published!” It made me think of bored teenagers slouched in front of the TV, moaning that nothing interesting ever happens to them.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2021/jun/28/why-do-writers-need-agents-to-keep-track-of-the-rejections

 

I have an agent too. I’m happy to have an agent, even though I know I’m not high on her list of priorities because I’m most definitely not a big earner. But she reads what I write and she answers my queries. And if publishers haven’t wanted my latest books, she’s shown no signs of dropping me.

So I’m grateful.

And I keep writing.

I’ve just started a new book. I wrote six pages the first day and felt good when I’d finished. So much so that I’d actually forgotten the cold that’s been dogging me this last week. Tomorrow I’ll write another six pages.

I like writing. And I’m happy to have the agent I have. 

Life could be a hell of a lot worse.