The Highs and Lows of Finding an Agent.

Many self-published authors hate the notion of literary agents. In the current landscape of book publishing, they're not essential. In all the self-published message boards I frequent, the idea of shopping for an agent is dated.

Are agents the landlines of the literary world?

For most authors, they aren't needed. Many self-published writers have the skills for marketing to build a hungry audience all on their own. They know how to crack the algorithm... whatever that means. And if I was charming and outgoing... maybe I, too, could build an audience. But it's not going well.

And with Jiro, I felt that it needed a push far stronger than my humble means could give it. So, I submitted it to some literary agents. I felt so incredibly out of my depth. Here I was, rocking my bleach-stained sweatpants covered in Cheeto dust, trying to sell my novel to polished photos of New York agents with shiny hair in their mahogany-laden offices that probably smelled like lavender and tobacco.

Each website said that if you don't hear back from them in 4-6 weeks- you suck. They actually said it's because they are very busy, but I know what they meant. So, like the true dreamy-eyed optimist I am (on my good days), I sent my queries and then refreshed my e-mail every 26 minutes for 3 days.

I imagined the first 20 pages of Jiro sending shockwaves through their fragrant New York Offices. "Have you heard of this book Jiro? How does she not have an agent yet? Get Frank on the horn, we have to fly her out immediately." I eventually stopped refreshing my email and tried as best I could to put it out of my head.

And last week was day one of week four. Needless to say, it was a bad week for me. I love living in that little pocket of time where great things are possible. Before I published Jiro, I woke up every day with a rush of anticipation. Jiro was the book that would change everything... as soon as I hit that little publish button. That window of endless possibility has all the feels of Christmas Eve morning. Great things could be on the horizon.

And imagine the utter disappointment when Santa doesn't come. And sometimes, Santa poops in your stocking. That, my friends, is the highs and lows of publishing a passion project.

On day one of week four, I could read the writing on the wall. No one would get Frank on the horn, and all of my queries likely went straight to their junk folder. I wallowed a little bit. Ok, I wallowed a lot. Thankfully, they opened a Crumbl Cookies 20 minutes from my house a few weeks ago.

I still have two weeks left in that window. Well... I guess there's only one week left now. And there's still a little glimmer of hope that someone... anyone... will come through. I did the math, and the very end of the six-week window lands on my birthday. It makes that starry-eyed dreamer pop up and say, "The universe just wants to give you a special gift on your birthday!" I wish that optimistic toddler in my brain would just SHUT UP.

So, the jury is still out if I'll ever land an agent. And even after the 6-week window, I still have the option to send out even more queries. Stephen King's Carrie was rejected by 30 publishers before getting picked up. I know that it's a numbers game.

I know I should just write, and let the chips fall as they may. But I have this compulsion to keep trying. It's part of my identity now. I won't let this dream die, even though my tombstone will likely read, "Here lies Tara. Smash that like and Subscribe"

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