Whew. Now comes the daunting and stressful task of finding a literary agent to sell it to a publisher. That's something I didn't do with the first two, but am tackling this go round. It's a game of patience and those of you who know me well are probably harrumphing at the notion. Patience isn't something I have in abundance. I used it all up when my kids were young. What I have left gets sucked up by the whack-job neighborhood in which we live. However, I'll have to dig deep and find more because I'm gonna need it.
It could be a year or more before anything happens.
I'll wait while you read that again.
Yep, a year.
You know what happens during the waiting period, right? Self doubt. Discouragement. Distress. But guess what? I plan to keep dark thoughts out of my head. I won't let the ticking of the clock make me second guess the book's merits. It's not going to be remembered as a classic piece of literary fiction, but then again, that's not my goal. My goal is a little less lofty, but only a little. I wanna sell a gizzillion of them, make some readers happy, and publish another dump truck-full between now and when my ashes are scattered near the base of Minard Castle in Annascual, Ireland.
Until last night, I'd been struggling with what to label the book's genre. Labels are so damn important in the publishing world. Just calling it "fiction" isn't good enough. There's classical, contemporary, literary, women's, historical, science, horror, etc. You get the idea. The one that is least impressive to my ears is "Other", but it seemed to be the best fit. My round novel didn't fit neatly into any of the square holes of genres. But a friend suggested another. One I'd never heard of. Perhaps she made it up. I don't care. It works. Are you ready?
South Florida Sleaze.
Voila! It fits Keys Disease like a glove. Done and done. I'll take it.
To keep you mind stable during that long year, you just have to start the next book:)
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