Sunday, October 4, 2009


I told Dr. Krog that today was the perfect day to get a cat.

A cat named Query. And he would have a perfectly question-mark-shaped tail, and he would snuggle with me, because it is cold and fall-y out.

So what did my beloved Dr. Krog do?

He brought me a newspaper.

I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'm going to save the newspaper, so that when I've finally worn him down and forced him to BRING ME A FREAKIN' KITTEN, ALREADY, we can line the litter pan with the newspaper. And then the kitten can crap on it. Because I like that sort of planned, nasty serendipity.

And Dr. Krog has just agreed to give me a cat, provided his conditions are met.

His only condition is that I produce 100 query letters for his book. This month.

Do you guys have any earthly idea how much trouble goes into a query letter?

You research the literary agencies, then select an agent based on their biography and published books. Then you do *more* internet research to find their quotes, blog interviews, and general hopes and dreams. Then you expertly tailor your basic query letter to appeal to them as a human being. Then you jump through 72 hoops, add various synopses and chapters to the email, check it for errors, check it again for errors, retabulate everything, make sure you put the right person's name at the top, pray to any god that will have you, sacrifice a chicken, hit "send", pray some more, and update your color-coded spreadsheet.

It takes me an hour to do two of them, if I'm lucky, and the current plan is to do two each day.

If I churned out 100 query letters in October in addition to keeping the children alive, finishing the edits on my own book, writing my own synopsis, and writing my *own* query letters, there would be no time for sleep or eating, which would be great for my diet. But bad for my sanity.

And that, my friends, is a token peek into the life of two authors in a race to get published so they can send their kids to private school.

If you know a literary agent, by all means, please give us a hook up and free me from this Sisyphian task so that I can go back to reading my Diana Gabaldon book and eating Ginger Cats from Trader Joe's.

If you plan to send me a cat, please don't, because Dr. Krog will most likely throw it out the window.*

*Not really. **

**Well, yeah, probably. He's merciless.


Caroline D. said...

fuck that. just get yourself a cat already.

charissimo said...

Ehh, cats usually land on their feet anyway. A little trip out the window most likely won't hurt it one little bit.