Updated to add: Immediately after writing this post, I discovered that the phone was off the hook. Why? Because two hours ago, I used it to call my cell phone, which I couldn’t find. Guess it wasn’t so much hyperbole, after all.
Like a few hundred other aspiring writers across the country, and perhaps a few of our writer neighbors to the north, I am trembling with fear today. I can’t concentrate on anything. I find myself reaching the top of the stairs with no idea why I was going up there. I trail off in mid-sentence. I find myself calling my husband by the cat’s name. I over-dramatize everything.
Hyperbole aside, today marks the beginning of the bi-annual Crapometer over at Miss Snark’s. I’ve been following her blog for over a year, but this will be the first time my crap has been metered. At 8 pm, I will send out my hook, which has been revised, honed, sharpened, critiqued, and railed at. Time will tell if I get to send anything else to Miss Snark.
It’s just one person, an anonymous lit agent, who will read it. Well, her, and a few thousand of her followers and amused readers. I don’t even know if she’s a real agent…the signs point to yes, but hey, can I trust the Magic 8 ball to verify an agent’s identity? Still, I’ll hit the send button and cross my fingers as I offer myself for sacrifice. Okay, not myself…my work. It’s a scary feeling, though. I’ve sent queries out, but the worst that can happen there is a rejection that only you will read. This is different. This is public.
So, to all the others who will, today, march up that mountain, douse themselves in gin (horrible waste, I know, but it’s symbolic), and light the match…good luck. We’re all gonna need it.