Oh, wonderful agent what can I say, I've got the latest partial of my book, so let's play.
The email is sent and a reply pops up, "I like your premise. Let's take a look." Underlying those few words, I hear the drill sargent's voice, "Drop and give me ten ... books!"
I polish my partial for the umteenth time ... all while I'm mumbling, "Your mother wears Army boots, that's why she has bunions. "No one hears, but I feel better˜ call it cheap theapy, right down to the letter.
The partial is sent, and I go back to terrapin central˜ aka "the waiting game". Hope glimmers, yet I know a "full request" depends on the will-of-the-wisp all the same.
Months later, the agent's promendading poodles pick my partial, and my well-polished manuscript is read. My SASE is sent posthaste with a note that says, "We're sorry but your story isn't quite right for us"( Read: Good lord, just put it to bed!)
And here I thought my "roar of the greasepaint, smell of the crowd" descriptions were da bomb. Er, until I read them outloud. D'oh! Oh well, I guess it won't get a spot on Bat Segundo.
I pull out my gin, drink a salute to Miss Snark then muddle my way though my mss’s apparent "missing" spark.
Ah, but even in my rejected misery, I realize I'm still in the fray. Did I at least "one-up" Galleycat today?
I'll give you five dollars to say 'mss's' outl oud more than once on a crowded subway car!
Scoring to come