oh god. she's going to drop me.
I haven't sold for two years. Well, not a New York book.
A couple of weeks ago, she sent the email setting up the appointment. And that was two weeks of desultory work and more active contemplation of my future as a has-been before I'd ever managed to be a have-is . . .
I was wrong. She meant we need to talk, as in plan the next year--though it didn't help that she started out by saying "I have bad news," in hushed sympathetic tones. "Your book got rejected by [I've already forgotten the name of the editor]. She liked your voice; she liked the characters. The book just didn't do it for her."
That's bad news? That's NORMAL news.
The rest of the call was about what I should write next. How's about an erotic historical set in New York. Sure! Why not combine Summer and Kate?
She'll do her bit with pitching the old book and a newish one to new editors and I sent off a couple more finished books and she'll look at them.
And I sang as I peeled the potatoes last night--until the boys begged me to shut up. Ahh, low expectations have some payback. Relief! Glee, even! I still have an agent. I might still have a career.