(Continued . . . )
Now that I had been officially "dumped" by my first agent, memories of high school dating flooded over me. How about the time Becky dumped me while we were sitting outside her house in my El Camino? (Yeah, it happened!) Or when that cute blonde told me that she didn't date guys who didn't use deodorant? Heck, it was expensive, and Right Guard was still introducing their new line of products.
Realizing that I had been dumped by my agent, I considered jumping off the roof of the parsonage, but it wasn't very high and I realized I would likely just break a hip and be laid up for a few months. So I decided to forget it. Oh, I did cry myself to sleep a few nights, but eventually I shook myself out of the doldrums and got back to writing . . . and that with a vengeance.
In fact, getting dumped by that first agent was actually a blessing. I wrote like mad. I wrote with eyes closed, teeth gritted, and kept a frantic pace at my Tandy 1000. I wrote articles, curriculum, and eventually set off on a course of writing several book proposals . . . so many, in fact, that in 1997, I had five books accepted for publication (in one year!).
Then, as 1997 was drawing to a close, I decided to try my hand at finding an agent again. I did my research, wrote my letters, and one afternoon in early 1998, I received a phone call from New York. This time, the voice was a woman's, and she had a British accent. Let's say her name was Madelleine. (Actually, that is her name, but for the sake of this blog, let's just pretend her name is Madelleine.)
"Todd," she coos. "I've just received your new book proposal idea and I think it's a bloody-good one!"
This time I don't speak off the cuff. "I would say 'I Love You'," I tell her, "but since we just met let me just say that I've always had a fondness for the British. I hear Big Ben is really something to see. And I like those soldiers who stand at attention and don't smile. Are you like that?"
"I've come all the way across the pond," she tells me, "just to represent you and introduce the rest of the planet to your fine work."
"I'm married," I tell her, "but, baby, if I wasn't . . . . "
(to be continued)