'Splaining Part 4: This is It.

Writing makes a person very vulnerable. It opens you to public criticism, to ridicule, to rejection. But it also opens conversation and thought. It stirs minds, and touches hearts. It brings us into contact with our souls. So how can it possibly be a waste of time, an idle act, a mistake, a betrayal of truth? Who can possibly tell us not to do it? 

--Joan Chittister, Order of Saint Benedict

Through writing, my soul is fed and I am connected, mind and heart, to my readers--they see the world through my eyes, and in my process of creating characters, I am propelled to imagine things in ways I never might have--different hopes, different problems, possibilities and resolutions.  In the midst of the story, I think of the trees, not the forest, but when I am done--when I look back at the whole--I realize something new about myself and the world.  I am broadened (and sometimes I learn a bit about cars, football, and the legal system in my research!)

That is the whole "why" of it all.  Why, even in the face of self-doubt (behind a brave face and persistence), I won't--can't--stop writing, even if I never hear the golden offer of agent representation. Writing is what I need.  But because I'm not satisfied to put my work in a dusty trunk when it's finished, I'm putting myself out there, making myself vulnerable, seeking representation, and along with that seeking come requests and come rejections.  Some sting a little more than others while others give hope and lay the path for other possibilities. 

Even with all the steps, all the uncertainty, here's why *I* want an agent...

People still win the lottery.  Some models are still discovered on beaches, some actors are still found doing non-acting things, and some writers still break into publishing without agents.  Most don't.

I want an advocate for me, for my book, for my career.  Someone who sees the spark in my work, who is excited by that spark and can translate it to people I don't have access to--someone who will pitch it to those people in a way that sings.

While I want to be educated about what I will encounter in the publishing industry, I'm not an expert, nor do I want to be.  I want someone who sees contracts everyday, understands them, knows what is in my best interest and what's not.  A good agent knows, intuitively, that while something may seem like less, it may, in the long-term, prove to be more, and s/he can provide invaluable guidance to the writer when it comes to those instances.  I may know some math formulas, but my husband has a degree in physics and uses it, daily, in his job--who would be best to go to for expertise and accuracy on an engineering project?  Me or him?  I know the same principle applies here.

I want someone who will guide my career and help me market it.  I want an agent who is as in love with his or her profession as I am with writing--I've seen them; they're out there.  I want his or her drive to inspire me.

I want a cheerleader, but more so, I want a partner.  What I don't want is an agent who expects idolatry.

If I can find this agent, I can focus on creativity.

How do I know I want this? 

I've let it be known that I'm not novel-published, but have had filler and reviews published, and I've won awards for my writing.  A little known fact, however, is that I've actually been in a contract with a major educational publisher as a co-author for a non-fiction book.  There's no hiding it--it's easily found on Google if my name is entered without the "C."  Although I wish the outcome wasn't a part of my history, I'll be open and upfront about it with an agent when the subject arises.  That particular contract was six legal-sized pages long, requiring six sets of initials and a set of full signatures; it was full of legalese and things I had no clue about.  My co-authors and I went in with different goals: theirs was to be academically and professionally relevant, while mine was to protect what I wanted as a future career.  I had questions.  My co-authors wanted signatures, not aspirations, not questions, and I was assured that we should just trust the editor.  The whole thing was treated like signing permission for a field trip, not the monumental thing it was, and it unnerved me.  The partnership ultimately unraveled, and the contract was dissolved.  I never want to feel that discomfort of not knowing, of not having questions answered, EVER again when it comes to my work and my passion.

On a final note, there are those (and I'm acutely aware of who they are) who are quick and content to think that a book not in print means the writer is blowing hot air or that her skills aren't up to publication par.  And that's fine.  I'm finally starting to figure out that I don't live for those people...or their expectations...or their doubts.  The first guy I dated didn't want to marry me (nor the second or third, thank goodness); so it is when seeking an agent match--I want the right one, not just any one.  The difference between a writer who does it for a hobby and one who aims for it to be a career is that the hobbyist ultimately puts it in a box, while the one who wants a career puts it out there.  Even if it's again and again.

My work isn't going in a box.

See also: I've Got Some 'Splaining to Do, 'Splaining Part 2: Don't Put the Cart Before the Horse, 'Splaining Part 3: Here's What's Taking So Long.  I'm Not a Slacker...Stop Laughing, 'Splaining Part 4: This Is It.