Yes, that's what all those bells are you're hearing: me giving out wings. Or kisses under the mistletoe, if you prefer, 'cause there's not a Nargle in sight. (Um, you are all hearing those bells, aren't you? Hello?)
If you read my last post, you know I was expecting a phone call. Now, I've read other writers' posts about "The Call" with much trepidation. What the heck were they all talking about for an hour or more?? I am not a phone person. I hate the phone. The phone might as well be a Nargle.
But somehow, I spent over an hour on the phone with the aforementioned agent, and I didn't even notice how much time had gone by. I can't tell you how awesome it is to talk to someone who loves your book. (Really; even when my betas love my books, though they can't get me a publishing deal, it's just awesome. I ♥ my betas.)
Writers are a largely narcissistic lot (yeah, I know, you're shocked), but we are, for the most part, weirdly introverted narcissists. If we weren't, I guess we'd just put lampshades on our heads and dance a jig on your table. (And perhaps some of us have; I'm not going to be the one to break the secret oath of the writers' vory v zakone. Oh, crap. Did I just write that out loud?) But instead we scribble in silence, hunched over the notebooks tucked into our Bibles in church (um, maybe that was just me), and then hope someone will ask what we're doing. (But not our parents. At least not in church. At least not what I was writing.) And then when that poor someone takes the bait, we haunt them forever: "But I've rewritten the first chapter again. It's so much better now. C'mon! Read it!"
(Wow; look at all the semicolons and parenthetical clauses and sentences starting with conjunctions in this thing! And exclamation points! Aw, who cares! I have an agent!)
Yes, you read that right. I have an agent: Sara Megibow at Nelson Literary Agency has signed me. And she squeed, you guys. Let me quote from her email: "SQQQUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" I kid you not. I have an awesome agent, who squees! :D