Honest, I will finish filling in the previous post with all kindsa fun detail about the week with chickens and odd names of children and silly things visitors say. Really I will. Before leaving for the Stranded Mermaid Tourney tomorrow morning.
However, tonight I wish to share my, um, gobsmackedness. I haz been mansplained. Yes I haz. A male poet and author has explained to my poor slow female brain how:
a) the publishing business is broken, because it is driven by publishers, not by authors.
b) it is impossible to get an agent.
c) good writing is languishing unpublished because publishers don't recognise quality
d) it is impossible to get an agent.
e) you have to submit to all agents and publishers, regardless of their interests or specialties.
f) it is impossible to get an agent.
Even after the others in the writing group had asked me about my revisions* and I had in a non-info-dumpy way noted that I had an agent, Poet-guy repeated that it was impossible to get an agent. Even after I had mentioned that I expected a lot of revision because she started as an editor.
He didn't ask how I got an agent, or how long it took, or how many rejections I got, or about my query letter. He just refused to integrate it into his view of the world.
I almost want to admire his impermeability.
Of course, he writes poetry and nonfiction (a book on meditation) published by an actual publisher in both Canada and the States, so why should he take into consideration the experience of a genre writer? And a gurl at that.
*ask me about my revisions! They are done! I dance the happy dance!