Riddle me this riddlers. How long do you hang on to a book agent?
What I mean is, you have spent years writing and perfecting your book. Then you spend another several years submitting to agencies when lightening strikes and you're finally accepted. Yet three years later your book doesn't appear to have gone anywhere and your contract is up.
When do you call it quits and look for a new one? And if you do find an agent who successfully gets you accepted into a publishing house are you still obligated to the original agent in any way?
Just some thoughts floating around in my head.
Sean over at Chamber Four was kind enough to read and critique my book. He had lots of kind words to say and I appreciate his candor and honesty.
Chamberfour.com
It was my greatest joy to become a published author late last year. It's slow going, but any new writing career takes a while to rev up don't you think? This is only one step of many. Other writers might have had an easier (or harder as the case may be) go of it but I've kept my eyes straight forward looking for that day when I could hold my own book in my hands.
For me writing became a passion in high school. I wrote all through college while I earned a degree in Biology; very contradictory, I know for a young adult author. I always wanted to be a paleontologist ... maybe one day. Anyway, I graduated and had a baby and got married. Staying home with her I spent the next ten years writing and submitting to agents all over the states. I had my successes, finding an agent only to lose them a year later. I was finally excepted into the Children's Literary Agency in New York and referred two years later to Eloquent Publishing. And now I'm published. While I look forward to publishing again I just wanted to spread the word about Purple Butterflies ... It was a young adult novel a long time in the writing and editing and writing again.
How about you? What trip did you take down the path to publishing?
Fairies flutter into the foggy morning, to find their long awaited companions amongst the tiny buds of the dogwoods, where the little birds have rested away the night, to flitter and dance on the morning breezes as the sun's heat melts winter's icy fingers. With wings awhirl and mischief on their little faces the fairies take immense joy in playing hide and seek in the ivory flowers, all else forgotten, but this most wonderous day of spring and her long awaited arrivals.
