Stranger Things Have Happened
Among other things that happened at the conference last weekend was that I got a chance to talk to an agent who, unfortunately, had already turned me down in the past. I managed to corner her during the first day of the conference, told her I had really enjoyed her talk she had given concerning urban fantasy (which I missed half of, due to us still driving in to S.F.), and she appreciated that. I then told her I had submitted to her in the past, been turned down by her, but since it had taken place so rapidly, I appreciated that.
"You did?" she said, in a tone that clearly implied she hadn't thought anybody would say something like this during the weekend.
"I did," I confirmed. "I've been doing this for a long time, so I can handle rejection. The default answer in this business is no, right? The thing is, the waiting for the axe to fall is the hardest part. No, I can deal with. If it's not to be, just go ahead and chop my head off and let me get to the next name on the list and keep moving forward, you know?"
She was impressed enough by that little speech to say, "The fact that you're here says you're definitely professional about how you want to approach things, so I'll tell you what: track me down later, and pitch me again."
I blinked. "Really?"
Yes, really. The next day I sat down, pitched my idea, and she liked what she heard enough to say she wanted the first ten pages and the plot summary. She liked the fact it was the start of a series, definitely liked the fact that four books were already done and two of them were, editorially speaking, reasonably sparkling. I said the other two needed to "be run through the editorial woodchipper a few more times," which she laughed at. It's apparently not the first time somebody has submitted something, been rejected, and then met the person only to be told to go ahead and submit it again. It happened to Jim Butcher; he was turned down, finangled getting to go to lunch with the agent, and by the end of the afternoon she said she was interested.
"Not that I am complaining," the esteemable Mister Butcher said unbelievingly, "but this is the same stuff you turned me down on six months ago."
"Ah," she laughed, "but the thing was, I hadn't met you yet."
Hey. It could happen.
"You did?" she said, in a tone that clearly implied she hadn't thought anybody would say something like this during the weekend.
"I did," I confirmed. "I've been doing this for a long time, so I can handle rejection. The default answer in this business is no, right? The thing is, the waiting for the axe to fall is the hardest part. No, I can deal with. If it's not to be, just go ahead and chop my head off and let me get to the next name on the list and keep moving forward, you know?"
She was impressed enough by that little speech to say, "The fact that you're here says you're definitely professional about how you want to approach things, so I'll tell you what: track me down later, and pitch me again."
I blinked. "Really?"
Yes, really. The next day I sat down, pitched my idea, and she liked what she heard enough to say she wanted the first ten pages and the plot summary. She liked the fact it was the start of a series, definitely liked the fact that four books were already done and two of them were, editorially speaking, reasonably sparkling. I said the other two needed to "be run through the editorial woodchipper a few more times," which she laughed at. It's apparently not the first time somebody has submitted something, been rejected, and then met the person only to be told to go ahead and submit it again. It happened to Jim Butcher; he was turned down, finangled getting to go to lunch with the agent, and by the end of the afternoon she said she was interested.
"Not that I am complaining," the esteemable Mister Butcher said unbelievingly, "but this is the same stuff you turned me down on six months ago."
"Ah," she laughed, "but the thing was, I hadn't met you yet."
Hey. It could happen.