Thoughts While Querying

Now, Dear Readers, I will take you inside a writer’s head while she performs the age old snail mail querying ritual. For those of you who have been there before, this may sound familiar. For those of you who haven’t–yes, I need medication. I know.

And so it begins.

This paper feels thin and cheap. I should buy better paper.

Where’s the black pen? Why is it that I can only find colored pens when I need a black one to match the ink on the paper? Why does this matter so much?

Damn, I can’t fold a letter to save my life.

Wait, did I put the right name in the greeting?

I should triple check that all my contact info is right.*

Damn, I can’t fold an SASE to save my life.

I put the correct name in the greeting, right?

~Touches SASE fondly~ Please, no offense meant, but I hope I never see you again.

I put the address labels in the right spots on the outer envelope and the SASE, right?

%&$*, I folded it wrong and it won’t fit into the envelope. ~Prints out another copy.~

Where’d that black pen go?

Damn it, cat, get off my query letter!

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

Oh for God’s sake, just seal it and get to the mailbox, already.

And there you have it. A little journey into the querying writer’s mind. You’re welcome, by the way.


*This particular compulsion is based on the very first query letter I sent out, which had my home phone number wrong. This is something that most second-graders can get right, but I, evidently, cannot. Yes, world, I AM an idiot.

 

Comments: 3

 
 
 

Yes. Every word of that was accurate. Get out of my head! 🙂

 

 

That’s hilarious! Sigh… I totally understand. Then there’s also: “Wait. Did I already send one to these guys?” or “It’s been two months already, what the crap is taking so long?!?! It’s okay, it’s okay. Deep breaths…”

 

 

*phew* Good to know I’m not the only freak out there. =P What, precisely, did writers do before the internet? How did they know that they weren’t crazy, and they weren’t alone?

It befuddles me.

 

 

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