I am in final preparation for “The Query”. I have written what I feel is a stellar letter soliciting the kindness of an agent and their willingness to ask for more pages of the same stellar words.
I have groomed, cut and added. I have changed whole passages and pages at the suggestion of a few readers whose advice I trust: an editor friend of mine from a large publisher of non-fiction; a retired agent; a best-selling author; a friend who is a voracious reader of fiction. I have written, rewritten and written, again.
I like the manuscript. In fact, I love the story and am excited about the possibilities. That’s why I write. Because I love good stories and I am addicted to the excitement a new idea brings to the way I view life.
Yet, as I finish the eleventh draft of my second novel and read it through the umpteenth time, word-for-word, until my eyes no longer focus on any single letter of the twenty-six letter alphabet, one daunting quotation bounces between my ears:
“There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”