Secret Agents . . . Continued (But Barely)

(continued . . . last installment)

Thanks for following my blog series on my literary agent woes. All of it (with a bit of poetic and satirical license tossed in) is, unfortunately, all too true. I have had four literary agents, and all of them have dumped me. What makes this series all the more fascinating is that, today, when I arrived home around 11:45 a.m., the UPS man pulled into the driveway and handed me two boxes of books, from two different publishers. These boxes were loaded with my author's copies of two books that will be released into bookstores May 1. Both accomplished without an agent. And a third book on the way later this year. And heck, I'm still writing every night producing more of my junk!

So, if there are any agent wanna'be's out there, better WRITE ME a letter this time, or call. Because I'm not pursuing YOU any more. I'll continue writing for full royalties. Any agents out there want a 15% cut? Why don't you send me YOUR resume for a change?

But hang with me here . . . I've actually learned a lot about myself through these experiences with agents. Including--for example--a deeper awareness of my own sins.

Sins? you say! Yes, sins! Such as . . . envy and coveting.

You see, I have always been envious of other writers who have had an agent as a friend and guide for, oh, say thirty years. An agent who has made all the great book deals, and allowed the writer to just, well . . . write. I envy those writers. Sorry to say it, but it drives me nuts. I could care less about the other stuff that comes with that kind of commitment, but it would be nice to find someone who would actually say, "Hey, Todd, old buddy old pal, I'm gonna stick with you like ugly on a monkey's butt. I'm gonna sell your work and cherish it like it was my last Cuban cigar. I'm gonna write you every Christmas and call you my friend."

Heck, I'll just settle for someone who wants to sell ONE of my books!

I also hate to say it, but I covet those matching pen and pencil sets that agents are fond of giving to their writer friends as gifts. You know, the engraved sets that say things like, "You've got the write stuff!" or "Write On!"

I see these sets and I covet them. My wife tells me, "Hey, you want a pen and pencil set, I'll buy you three. They cost five bucks. We can afford it."

But I tell her, "No way. I want one from an agent! I want to make someone grovel in a pile of my rejected manuscripts. I want to overcome this sin with a victory!"

She buys me a can of Lima beans and thinks that's the same thing.

Not hardly . . . but I am still waiting for that special someone. That special agent. The secret agent. Anybody out there want to represent an ageing writer (or maybe a writer in his PRIME) who can get books published on his own (three in one year . . . and maybe more on the way)? Free money! FREE MONEY! I've already done all the work. Come and get it! All I ask is that you do SOMETHING to earn your 15%!