Well, I spoke with an agent about my book today. She and I have been communicating back and forth for a long time, but today was our first phone conversation. She gave me some great advice on how to build up my writing portfolio and make my name more recognizable in the writing community. She also gave me a list of editors that may be interested in my book.
At one point in the conversation she asked me for the full manuscript again, but mentioned she probably wouldn’t have time to get to it and that I should continuing querying to others. As such, I’m not really sure what to do with the list of editors, since you need an agent as your liaison, there.
The end of the conversation ended awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I told her I would continue querying and keep my sights on big-name publishers rather than small ones or self-publishing. At that point she just kind of… stopped talking, so I’m not sure if I said something wrong or if our signals got crossed somewhere or what. It was kind of uncomfortable.
However, I told you all I’d keep you updated on my writing as things happened, so there you go. If anyone out there has any experience with this kind of thing and might be able to enlighten me on what you think happened, let me know.
So my story from before was featured in Last Best News. View the article by clicking Here.
I think Ed Kemmick did very well at explaining my side AND the hospital’s side of things. Which is rare in the news these days. Good on you, Sir.
Today is my 27th birthday. I spent a lot of time thinking about how I’ve changed in the last decade or so, and it reminded me of this post. So I’m sharing it again.
Sometimes I wonder if 10-year-old me would be proud of current me. I look at the morals and the opinions I had as a young girl and wonder if I’ve lived up to the standards I set for myself back then. Did I become the wonderful woman I always envisioned? Did I make myself proud? Or did I become a monster in the eyes of that sweet little girl? I truly wonder what 10-year-old me would say if I were able to meet her.
Then I remember that 10-year-old me was a goddamned idiot. Continue reading
This is short update on the various posts about mental health and treatment that I’ve been putting up over the last couple of weeks.
First, I want to say that my medication is working well, and life is… good. I haven’t had any suicidal thoughts in almost a week, and I feel certain again that I can face any challenge that comes my way. I smile more, and things don’t seem as overwhelming. I’m back to looking forward to challenges and overcoming difficulties. I’m writing again. And I remember what it is to feel unbreakable. There are some cracks in the armor, still, but I at least feel like they’re repairable. Every day is a little bit better. And, more importantly, I’m still trying to make it better for other people that suffer from depression in my community. For the first time in a long time I feel like I can do something about it. I don’t feel weak and insignificant anymore. I don’t feel like I’m unworthy of change. Continue reading
In case you’re just dropping in, I’m still discussing the way mental health patients are treated and what I’m trying to do in order to keep that from happening to anyone else ever again. Specifically in this post, I’m talking about why advocating for mental health is so impossibly hard, and how much it costs me and others like me to help spread change. Continue reading