A large duck (burger_eater) wrote,
A large duck
burger_eater

The universe has stopped making sense.

If you read this, you will lose all hope in justice and decency! You will cast aside your faith in a just and loving God! You will doubt the connection between causes and effects! Brace yourselves!

I have an literary agent. [1]

"HAH!" you say, because you are still in denial and refuse to accept that you now live in a Lynchian nightmare of ominous nonsense and human grotesquerie. "You don't impress me with your fee-charging scam agents!"

In response, I can do little more than shake my head in sympathy. A scam agent would be logical development, considering who we're talking about here. A scam agent would make sense.

Prepare to throw aside the last shreds of your sanity, because unfortunately, we have cast aside these naive concepts of logic and "sense." Let me explain.

A week and a half ago, an agent offered to represent me. At the time, I was seriously considering putting my writing aside and entering grad school. I was even taking practice GRE exams (and flopping, lemme tellya). My latest book, Harvest of Fire, seemed like yet another hard sell: It had one of the dreaded newbie openings-that-don't-work [2], it was a sequel to an unsold novel [5] and the "monster" doesn't appear until 90% of the book has passed.

What the fuck?? Only one kind of idiot writes that sort of book, and you're reading his LiveJournal.

Except... they liked it (without even the need for blackmail or obscure, mind-altering hallucinagens harvested from the depths of the Marianis Trench). After the first offer of representation, I contacted the other agents who were considering more than a query and let them know an offer was on the table. One passed without reading it. One read the first two chapters and passed. Two others loved it, requested the full manuscript and then made the incomprehensible decision to offer representation. Welcome to Bizarro-World!

As I said, I mailed off the contracts to be counter-signed this morning. Like fire and brimstone coming down from the skies, rivers and seas boiling, forty years of darkness, the dead rising from the grave, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, and mass hysteria, this is one of the signs of a Ghostbuster Apocalypse.

But it gets worse! Everything you've read so far is just a sign of the end of the world. What you don't realize is that we've left reason and decency so far behind that we've entered a world that makes as much sense as a Bob Kanigher comic [6].

The agent I just signed with also represents Charles Stross.

Charles!

Stross!

It just don't seem right.

Goodbye, world of order and comprehensible meaning! Hello, world of Lovecraftian meaninglessness and cruelty! Burger Eater just signed on with Caitlin Blasdell at Liza Dawson Associates. Up has become down! Left has become Right! Good and Evil are in the Honeymoon Suite, and Evil is really concerned that Good finish first!

Also: that chill you feel on the bottom of your feet? That's hell freezing over.

Sorry if this latest news shatters everyone's belief in the value of intelligence, hard work and a job well done. I'm going to bed before the Imposter Syndrome kicks in.

Signed,
Me

[1] Unless the agency contract I just signed and mailed off is shredded at the other end by a home care nurse, who is under strictest orders to prevent the agent from signing legal documents until she has recovered from a disorienting head injury. As of right now, this seems like the most likely thing to happen next!

[2] What opening is that, you ask? Why, it's two people driving in a car. Other openings that supposedly don't work: a character waking up in the morning [3] and the frequently-useless and rarely-read prolog [4]. Like exercise regimens and healthy eating plans, I don't start books well.

[3] aka my first novel.

[4] aka my second novel.

[5] aka my second novel. All three agents who were interested in representing Harvest of Fire remarked on what a terrific start to a series it would make. When I told them there was, in fact, a previous novel, I thought I was in one of those cell phone commercials where the calls are dropped suddenly. Strangely enough, none of the agents seemed excited about the prospect of me wrapping my bottom desk drawer in brown paper and mailing them all my unsold manuscripts.

[6] http://tinyurl.com/38yyn9 and http://tinyurl.com/38qj7e and holy crap can you believe http://tinyurl.com/2ztf3a
Tags: harvest of fire, words
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