Well I’m back! Ready to tackle that manuscript. After a lot of thinking and planning, I am recharged and ready. So what if I have to effectively cut twenty thousand words of the novel and CHANGE the wording of the remaining sixty thousand. I can do it!

A Positive Day

I can’t do this.

It’s too hard and long-winded!

Instead of totally deleting my two other characters I have cut and pasted them into another file, to use on another book. I have taken the odd day off of work and even tried to write during my lunch break, before work and after work. But I will carry on.

Another Day

This is hard work.

I am knackered. There are days when I feel I won’t get published that this is all a waste of time. You know, the usual pangs of negativity, total fedupness, hopefulness, feeling witty, feeling like an arsehole. Welcome to the psychotic world of a writer!

I DID IT!!!!

Nine months after the first words printed on the screen, I put the final full stop after THE END on my new novel. I post the first three chapters off with a smile and a hope she actually remembers me from the conference (it has been five months). Then again, from what I remember, her memory is very good. I wait.

A few days later, I get home from a particularly uneventful day at work and on my answer phone is a message. FROM THE AGENT!!! Telling me she wants to see the rest of my novel OH MY GOD!!!! I replay the message a trillion times. I call her back, trembling like an old fashioned blender. SHE LIKES MY WORK!!! I AM SPEAKING TO AN AGENT ON THE PHONE!!!!

I get my colleague at work to read it, again as I do, then post it off

I wait again.

One week later… nothing. I eventually pluck up the courage to call the agent and guess what? She wants to see me! THE AGENT WANTS TO SEE ME. Next week. AT HER OFFICE!!! OhMiGosh, OhMiGosh, OHMIGOSH!!!! On the phone, I stutter, sound like a complete prat, but manage to take down her address and make a time. I call my Nan, to tell her the good news. Then I dial my former ‘Im indoor’s number. Then hang up, of course. He’s been there from the start and it feels right to call…

Then he bloody well rings back because I forgot to press 141. I tell him the good news he tells me he’s not surprised, as he's always known how good I am (even though he has never read more than a page or so of my work!).

The next few days are spent in a blur. Wondering what will happen at this meeting with the agent. I re-read stories on the net of what happened to writers during their first meeting with their agents. Some signed contracts, others got a publishing contract within weeks!

Then that old problem creeps in; what am I going to bloody well wear??

Of course, the journey to the agent’s area is not without hiccups. My train journey (meticulously planned on London Underground’s route planner) flew out of the window, due to the line being suspended. Ok. But after imagining the agent’s staunch disapproval at my utter lateness, I arrived at my destination earlier than billed and used this time to gawp at the beautiful houses around me. Still unable to believe I am on my way to visit an agent. Funny enough, I’m not as hyped up as I’d imagined. Let’s face it, I’d gone over the moment in my mind for years. Five years and thought I’d be dancing on the ceilings, at the thought of finally doing it. But you know what? I still have this feeling of caution nestling within me. Perhaps I’m just a miserable cow, or just plain… cautious. Nothing wrong with that. Protecting myself. An innate defence mechanism, I have lived with most of my life (see, all that psychotherapy training has not gone to waste).

I finally arrive.

At the wrong door.

I am directed to the correct one and stand tall as the agent opens up the door. I enter.

Just what did happen in the agent’s house?

Hundreds of books. Thanks you notes from authors she had bagged deals for. I knew I was in the right place. With a glass of water in one hand and a pen and pad in the other, we got down to work.

Translation rights, film rights, everything just went over my head. We even had a chuckle about who could play my heroine – was this all real? The logistics of the novel obviously need changing. And with three pages of tips on alterations, 3 hours on the clock – I am ready to leave. I promise to have the alterations finished within two weeks. She tells me to take my time. I leave her office in a float and immediately phone my Nan and my former ‘im indoors. They are thrilled for me, as I remain still a little more tepid than I’d imagined. You see there’s something you should know about me; I’m LOUD. Really LOUD and it’s just not me to be so ...quiet. Yes I am excited, but at the same time a little tepid.

As soon as I get back to work, I book a week off work to do my corrections.

Within two weeks the corrections are sent off. The agent calls a week later telling me IT IS MISSING SOMETHING. Perhaps I should change the whole thing. Get rid of two of the main characters and WRITE IT IN THE FIRST PERSON! Wot? If I’d thought the waiting was over just because I’d visited an agent, I was wrong. The work had only just begun…

Christmas is almost here and I’m off to Nigeria to visit my mum just before New Year’s Day. So this will give me time to relax and not think about the manuscript. I can also take notes (considering the book is set in Nigeria). I’m lying if I said I am not disappointed, I was kinda hoping to have got really far by now. Oh well, next year is another year……

The caution was right. Things are very bad today on a personal level.

 I am finding it very hard to summon up enough zeal to write.

I’m still writing. Hoping the agent doesn’t forget me because this is going to take some time. The books about three sisters – hey, that’s all I’m giving away just now! I really feel hopeful. Also, my ex I’m indoors and I have decided to get back together. It’s been ten years, so no more messing around. Gee, I have my boy back and an agent interested in seeing my finished book. This feels great. But as usual, I have to be cautious.

The conference was fab!

Mingling with writers, published and unpublished felt so surreal. Not least, standing in the dinner line with commissioning editor for sitcoms, talking about Brixton! Spending fifteen minutes (at an interview) with the gorgeous Simon Trewin was equally lovely. He is very approachable, as you will see on his website, so get your stuff sent in! Another agent said my idea was good, but needed to do a lot of work on the script (on, hello, you have only seen the first three pages, give me a break!!!!). The third agent. Now, let’s see. I have sent her stuff in the past and I remember her asking something about my writing being fluid. This was a few years back and it took me ages to figure out what she meant. I still don’t know. Nevertheless, it was a rejection. And judging by the faces of writers, filing out of the fifteen-minute meeting, I was about to get another one. Equally, she looked equally bored, when I said hello and sat down in front of her. That’s until she opened my flimsy little script I’d sent her before hand. “I like this,” she said. Or something like that, because my mind is an absolute blur. Fact is, she liked my new story. Encouraged me to finish it and send it into her. Oh my God!

I am so happy. All the usual clichés about floating on cloud nine seep into my consciousness. It could actually happen. I may get an agent and… well you know… BECOME A WRITER!!!!

I’m back!

On the 14^th February, feeling low at my lack of valentine cards and I got my work laptop out and just… wrote. Something new. Of course the first chapter reflected how I was feeling at that moment and soon manifested itself into the beginnings of a dare I say it… novel..? Ooooh, I feel all cold, fluffy and yet so excited!!!!

I am not to be messed with! Trawling the Internet, I have found a list of literary competitions I could enter. I started sending stuff out. Older things I had written, some of the current novel. I came across an interesting event for authors I had never heard of. The Annual Writers Conference. Looking into it, it’s a place where writers from all over the place, get together and attend workshops and, get this, ONE- TO-ONE INTERVIEWS WITH LITERARY ASGENTS. Real ones. This is too good. I cannot believe it. I contact them right away and booked my place, along with THREE 15 minute interviews with top literary agents. I really can’t wait. I’ve got to make sure I have at least three chapters ready and polished of my new novel. But more importantly, what am I going to wear????

The agent basically said the manuscript was well written, she laughed, read it in one sitting. O.K.

But it was too 'Chick Litty' I suppose (my words). Because she said it would be hard to sell such work due to the over-saturation of the stuff. So perhaps, I’ve missed the boat. Perhaps I should steer clear of anything marginally 'Chick Litty'. Perhaps I should give it up all together…? No way. I may feel like shite now, but I know me and I will bounce back.

Of course, now the manuscript is pristine, I start sending it off the agents and even one or two publishers. Within the rejections, two agents ask to see more!!!!! But on doing so, they seem to come back with the same comments, using different words; Very funny, well written, but hard to sell in current climate. I sense a pattern forming here… At least these same two agents have asked me to send them anything else I may write in the future

Rejected.

I cannot speak.

I need…. Space!

Okay, the results are in. Rather a report from the writing doctor. I’m pleased to say its all kinda positive and get this, HILARY JOHNSON HERSELF, WANTS TO PASS THE MANUSCRIPT TO A LITERARY AGENT SHE KNOWS!!

OhMiGosh, OhMiGosh, OHMIGOSH!!!!

I can hardly believe it. Of course, 'Im indoors says he is not surprised and has never doubted my ability. But I tell you this, the joy I feel is too much.

Inevitably, when I jump off the clouds and find myself back in my flat in front of the computer, I realize, I have a lot of work to do. First I have to undergo the recommendations Hilary Johnson’s reader had made and this included adding over ten thousand words. Getting rid of adjectives, making the main character more sympathetic. The usual suspects.

Oodles of doubt creep in. What will this agent say?

I forgo luxuries like food and heat to scrimp enough money to send in my Manuscript for inspection. No, actually, I lend most of the money off ‘Im indoors'. I send it off, arrogantly knowing that the first line of the report will not read ‘rubbish, triffle, call yourself a writer?’

At this stage I’m looking for an in depth report on WHY NO ONE WILL F****** PUBLISH ME. Or just a few little pointers in the right direction.