That’s right. After three years of meandering through the literary field of dreams, the cows came home. I did not want them to come home. I was hoping they would find a nice, big literary house and settle down. But they came home today, their heads appearing over the hill as I received word from my second, and beloved, literary agent that our well of acquisition options had run dry. She still loves the book, but what else could she do?
Nothing, that’s what.
That’s the nature of the business. Having an agent and a good manuscript will not guarantee a book deal. Just as having a book deal will not guarantee a runaway bestseller. Bottom line is, even if you’re lucky enough to find an agent, your book is still, and always will be, at the mercy of editorial and personal taste (let’s be honest here, okay?), with a touch of business-driven-literary-trend-thingy thrown in to send the scales one way or another.
That’s where “the buck stops.”
I’ve been riding this emotional rollercoaster, even through a good deal of personal tragedy and setbacks, for three years now. Tonight, my literary future takes yet another turn into the unknown. The book on the chopping block today was Cold Currents, a southern mystery/thriller. It’s a good book, at least according to a lot of people along the way that have read it in advance. And I think the second book I’m writing in the series, The Layers Beneath, will be equally as good, if not better.
All that said, I’ll be publishing Cold Currents on Amazon soon. Hopefully, Layers will not be far behind. It will have good company in my debut novel, Rockapocalypse, and my short story, Anything But, both of which have garnered mostly four and five star reviews. I’d like to think the diverse (and comfortable, if you like series) nature of my books will do well over the coming months and years…
…but only the cows and time will tell.
The cows will head back out soon, in a much different direction, but with a slightly familiar goal. Again, I’ll be praying I never see them again, wishing a few people buy my books, hoping I can eventually make a good go of this literary business. Until then, I have a “gifted” police detective and an aging six-foot-seven Indian bounty hunter to ride shotgun with on a terrifying, white-knuckled chase across the Carolina landscape.
I hope you’ll join us.
There’s always room for one more reader on this crazy ride.