Sounds easy, right?
Heh. Heh. Ahem.
I have spent the better part of a year thinking about, dreaming about, being woken from my sleep by, being distracted by, writing and revising a middle grade novel.
Something I never thought I would ever write, by the way. But when an idea takes hold…
Anyway, I’ve finally gotten to the point where there is nothing left to do but to find an agent to represent it. Note: yes, there are other paths to publication, but this is the one that feels right for this book, in this moment.
I’ve had my writing rejected before. But nothing that has ever felt like this big of a risk.
I wrote a query letter. Deleted it. Wrote another. Printed it and crumpled it up. Settled on a final version and spent four hours – FOUR HOURS – nitpicking my word choice.
Just. Hit. Send.
I paced. I texted my husband (not a writer, but endlessly cheerleader-esque.) I paced some more. I swore at the screen. I ate some chips.
Finally, I hit send.
But this is what we do. We spill our guts on the page and then invite someone over to look. And we keep doing it, because that is what lights us up inside. Our stories have to get out of our brains, our notebooks, our Google drives, our document folders. They have to breathe the air, float on the clouds, become bigger than us, and ripple through the atmosphere.
This is how our stories become part of the world. How they change the world.
And so we hit “send”.