I have finished a draft of my book.
I wouldn’t call it a first draft because the first draft I finished a couple of months ago. This is the draft I’d like to send my agent. But I’m not as confident about this novel as I have been with ones in the past. With this one, I’m more tentative. I’ve dug a little deeper and came up with something that is dear to me. I’ve bared myself in a way that invites…well, a possible snort, an eye roll, a What was she thinking?
So I feel a bit as if I’m sending my agent a photo of myself in my underwear.
And not particularly alluring underwear. (Ah, unlike the lady above…)
Earlier in the writing of this novel, I would send bits to my sister who would send them back with wonderful encouraging notes on them. We should all be so lucky to have a sister like that.
And recently I gave a draft to a fellow writer who I knew would take it and guard my trust with her soul. She responded with great suggestions and even greater tact.
So now having worked on it more I’m getting ready to give it to my agent.
So I can begin to see what is wrong with it.
Because for me, I can only begin to see what is wrong with it once I’ve let go. And the sincerest form of letting go, for me, is to give it to my agent.
So without further ado, I press the send button.
And stand very awkwardly in my underwear.
photo by Zellaby (flickr)