Good dog.

So as some of you know, I've finished a draft (or two or three, but who's counting, right?) of my first young adult novel. I finished it on my birthday and the feeling I had as I typed that last line was - indescribable, so I won't even bother to try. Needless to say, there were some tears shed (grrrr!) along with maniacal laughter. And then I didn't know what to do because I had no idea what came next, and truthfully, I didn't want to know - not really.

And that is when the dream of a literary agent first came into my life. I started doing research into publishing and learned that I have a lot to learn and that none of it is really any fun and not at all like writing (which is lots of fun) and there is where I began to create my invisible agent. Like the invisible friends of childhood, she is perfect with chic, yet understated clothing and lovely rings on long fingers only slightly smudged on the index and thumb of her right hand from making notes with her favorite pen. And she has a lovely smile that warms her eyes and makes me feel all soft and happy and like a puppy playing in my heart. And, of course, she thinks I'm brilliant (because I am - positive mantra) and knows exactly what to do with each story I've written and all the ones I've only just begun to write. And she's good - no fabulous - at her job, which means that all I have to do is write and write some more and then . . . yep, write again. And each time I'm finished, I turn to this perfect person and say, "You take this now." And she smiles and nods and gives my words the lives they deserve. I love daydreams.

Unfortunately, daydreams end. As my eyes clear, I am staring not at the face of my lovely imaginary agent, but down at books that proclaim they can teach me the secrets to publishing. I want those secrets, I do, so I read and read and read and follow the suggestions. Suggestions like reading Publishers' Weekly and Writer's Digest and many other online and print materials that spew so much chatter at me about publishing and publishers and agents, editors and writers that my mind begins to buzz. But, I've always been a good student so I do as I'm told and continue to read these things and take notes, strange, twisted, cryptic notes about people in the industry that I've never heard of and will probably never meet. So, now I not only know that John Q. Publisher exists, but I have a note written somewhere that says John Q. Publisher is getting a new job at Very Important Press and he'll take with him his favorite desk chair and the exotic collection of Venus Flytrap plants he keeps on the windowsill to his new fancy NY office. And I sift through this random pile of notes and tell myself, somehow this will get me published. At least that's what the books are telling me and shouldn't those people know because they had their work published - it's in my hands this very moment. And again, my head buzzes and I feel a bit nauseous and so I put it all away and open a blank page in Word and begin to write. As I write, the world slows and stands still around me and my head stops pounding and my heart moves more slowly, more steadily and then the happy puppy from the agent daydream comes back to play. Good dog. Stay.