I Am Avoiding You
I went to grad school to write. What am I doing right now? Avoiding writing. Yep, that's my ambition.
Adia has recently learned to crawl, which is detailed at Mommy's blog. She is terrible. She will find whatever might be left on the floor after Chrissy vacuumed and eat it. It's usually some kind of hair. The other day I think she found dog hair. There's never been a dog in our apartment.
This has led to somewhat of an existential crisis for Chrissy, given that she's always been morally opposed to vacuuming and cleaning floors, and we must do it constantly. When we got used to living with each other, our deal was that I would avoid taking out the trash and she would never have to clean the floor.
This morning she vacuumed and I took out the trash and we didn't even notice we were doing each other's jobs. This child has made a mockery of values.
I would like to send a memo to anyone who's sent me a full manuscript in the last few months and is chewing their toes waiting for a response. (I'm looking at you, Jaden.) I am swamped with many things, as is the nature of a part-time agent, and I want to give your book the time it deserves. So I doubt I'll read these before the new year. Sorry. They are on my list of things to do, and they will get done, but at the moment there are a thousand other things screaming for attention.
Think of it as your first lesson in the excruciating slowness of the publishing industry. It's a lot like someone I dated in college. By the time she got around to a definite idea of what our relationship meant, I was starting not to care. Isn't that reassuring?
Adia has recently learned to crawl, which is detailed at Mommy's blog. She is terrible. She will find whatever might be left on the floor after Chrissy vacuumed and eat it. It's usually some kind of hair. The other day I think she found dog hair. There's never been a dog in our apartment.
This has led to somewhat of an existential crisis for Chrissy, given that she's always been morally opposed to vacuuming and cleaning floors, and we must do it constantly. When we got used to living with each other, our deal was that I would avoid taking out the trash and she would never have to clean the floor.
This morning she vacuumed and I took out the trash and we didn't even notice we were doing each other's jobs. This child has made a mockery of values.
I would like to send a memo to anyone who's sent me a full manuscript in the last few months and is chewing their toes waiting for a response. (I'm looking at you, Jaden.) I am swamped with many things, as is the nature of a part-time agent, and I want to give your book the time it deserves. So I doubt I'll read these before the new year. Sorry. They are on my list of things to do, and they will get done, but at the moment there are a thousand other things screaming for attention.
Think of it as your first lesson in the excruciating slowness of the publishing industry. It's a lot like someone I dated in college. By the time she got around to a definite idea of what our relationship meant, I was starting not to care. Isn't that reassuring?
Labels: L. Perkins Agency, Literary Agent, Mommy