I like to think of myself as a pretty organized person, so the fact that my bedroom is quickly descending into entropy bothers me a little bit. Somehow I’ve managed to convince myself – and this doesn’t make any sense, I know – that this problem will go away as soon as I graduate from high school.
Weird, I know. But that seems to be the pattern with all of my problems. Once I’m out of high school, there are going to be a whole host of things I don’t really need to worry about. And a whole host of new, exciting things to worry about, I’m sure, but those are the in the future, and therefore imaginary.
I really need to clean my room at some point this week. Another thing that I tell myself I have plenty of time to do, given the week off. But that’s not really true either. It’s not a week off. It’s a week for writing, a week for reading Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, a week for selling ads for Blue Prints, a week for finally rescheduling my driver’s test. It’s a week for scholarship applications, NYU paperwork and query letters.
Yep. I’m at that magical moment in a young writer’s life where he has enough of a manuscript to start going out and begging agents to represent it. So far I’ve sent out exactly one letter. That number will probably go up tomorrow.
I’m optimistic about my chances, which is funny, because I’m feeling the exact same way I felt right before I heard back from Columbia admissions. But I’m pretty sure this thing I’m writing is good, which is obviously not an objective endorsement, but if anything my first reflex is to trash anything I’m writing. So the fact that I’ve made it through 120,000 words without ever once hating this thing, even a little bit, is extremely promising. In fact, it’s fair to say that I love it.
And I’ve got a great idea for the next one, which is problematic. I kind of wish this idea would go away, because it’s distracting. It makes it harder to write the current one, and I’m about two or three pushes away from bringing a beautiful baby manuscript into the world. Which, as you can see, has a big enough effect on my demeanor to create some really bizarre metaphors.
Oh, and if someone either knows or is a good literary agent, you can just leave your contact info in the comments. Because hey, it can’t hurt to ask.