“I’m afraid this isn’t a match for me, but thank you for the look. I appreciate it.” Said the answering email a mere four hours after I’d sent of the query with a quiet prayer to accompany it. I’d sent it off knowing I was unlikely to hear anything back for months. I was glad of the space. During those months I was free of obligation to that project. During those months I could unwind my tendrils of hope to attach them somewhere else. I know many authors view the long waits for query responses with distaste. I’m sort of glad about them.
Instead I’m staring at the simple words and know that it is time for me to do something again. The ball is back in my court. Instead of waiting, I’m back to researching. I’m also having to quell a whisper of sadness. The tendrils of hope were truncated. It is easy to tell myself the agent didn’t even read the query, but I’m pretty sure he did. It just wasn’t what he was looking for. Then I wonder if the query itself is at fault, if he’d just seen the book then the outcome would have been different. The speculation is pointless. At some point this book will catch the eye of an agent, or it won’t. My job is to write the best book I can, the best query I can, and to send them out. The rest is not my job.
I haven’t the energy to begin researching again tonight. The wisps of sadness are too strong. So I clicked through my regular internet rounds and saw that another person has volunteered to help with the shipping party. Sadness dissipates when faced with such good will. I am fortunate. Then Patch appeared at my elbow even though he was supposed to be in bed. “I just wanted to give you a hug mom.” And he did.
Tomorrow will be full of work. I must assemble a shipment of things for GenCon. I need to help construct a covered wagon for the pioneer parade on Saturday. I need to garden. I’m looking forward to all of these things.