So one day, I was feeling like my life really sucked.
I was going through a really hard time at work and some people that I had to work with were acting pretty freaking crazy. Not that those actions themselves were unusual or anything. But the crazy was ramped up and I was feeling sad and desperate and like their crazy might rub off on me if I had to stay around them much longer.
So I started looking for another job.
I know, I know. But seriously. I'm going somewhere with this.
Okay, so I started looking for another job. And I went to a job interview and it was really great. The guy interviewing me was young...probably about my age. He was from my hometown and went to my rival high school. We talked and I felt comfortable and I started really feeling like this could work out great for me.
At one point he asked me about my writing skills and I told him, my voice full of false bravado, "I'm an excellent writer and, in fact, I just finished my first book".
He was surprised. He said he never had anyone answer that question in that way.
Ultimately, I didn't get the job and that book? Sucks. But the conversation stuck with me.
A few days later I was talking to one of my friends about a guy I went out with once who treated me in an extremely negative way. We were laughing and I thought to myself, "That would make a funny book. I would read that".
I was driving home that day and on my way out of work, I saw a bunch of buzzards circling a dead deer. Gross, right? So I looked away and I thought about birds. And then I thought about a date I had once that involved birds and I started laughing in my car, because that crap was funny.
And I thought, "That would be funny too. Maybe I should write this down".
I came home, turned on my computer, checked my email and opened Microsoft Word.
And I started writing the stories down. I remembered other stories and wrote those down. I rewrote and edited and giggled to myself a few times. And after about thirty days of that? It was done.
Shockingly? I loved it. I thought it was great. I knew I had a hit on my hands. And coming from someone who generally believes she fails at life? That's saying a lot.
So I started Googling. I found publishers and agents and spent hours online at writer's forums getting advice.
And I found it.
The perfect publisher for my book.
The publisher who I thought was perfect. A publisher I could just TELL would respect my vision, love my book, and want to give me lots and lots of money.
So I wrote my query letter. And rewrote it. And then, rewrote it again.
The website said they wanted to first three chapters. So I gave them that along with my query letter, all via email.
I hit send and felt very satisfied. I felt good about it. Great, even! I was doing things! I was making progress! I was going to get this little book OUT THERE!
Normally when you query an agent you don't hear back from them very soon. Sometimes it can take months before they even respond.
Imagine my surprise when, the very next day, I had a response in my in-box from the agent.
My hands were trembling as I opened the email and I absolutely could not believe what I read.
To be continued...