So, a boring day was had by all concerned. By all concerned I mean me, by the way. No-one is foolish enough to want to join me in this crazy quest for a little bit of fame and fortune. Sure, I have support from friends and family. But no-one actually helps. Maybe I like it that way. Then I get a greater sense of achievement from it all.
So anyway, my boring day. I shall spare you the mind-numbing detail. Basically, it consisted of me, a bright pink highlighter pen, and the latest edition of the Writer’s Handbook. Using a patented skim reading technique all the publishing houses in the UK have been scanned and marked up for future reference. There’s a key and everything!
If the entry is completely pink, it’s a big thumbs up and they are approachable. If it has a pink asterisk then they are approachable, but with caution. And no pink marking at all means that I need to sell my soul, find an agent and try to get noticed that way.
I say sell my soul, because I have a mental image of an agent as being someone who sits in a small office, behind a big desk, smoking a cigar. The desk is covered in mountains and mountains of paper, with no discernable order, despite there being a perfectly good row of filing cabinets directly behind the large leather chair the agent is sitting in. Oh yeah, the final part of my mental picture is that agents are evil. I seem to think that they are always after your money, taking huge cuts (“95% I think we agreed didn’t we?”) and not being very nice. Perhaps I shall find this image to be wrong. Put it this way, I can only be impressed I reckon.