Dear Literary Agent,
I wrote a lovely novel, and I have no doubt you’ll clamor over your desk and spill your morning coffee just to reach the phone to hear all about it. It’s about anonymous letters and love and friendship – tantalizing themes that have never before surfaced in the history of fiction. I just know you’ll say yes. I’m at the gym, so if I don’t pick up my phone just rattle off a message.
Love and kisses,
Me
Two months later. . .
Dear Literary Agent,
It’s the strangest thing, because I didn’t hear back from you. That’s odd. Did you get the World’s Greatest Manuscript as an attachment to the email I sent? Oh, wait. Maybe it’s because I work on a mac and it didn’t convert. And if you’re like all those other fancy-pants agents, you’re probably just on an extended vacation to Italy. I’ll await your reply, about how much you love my writing and want to meet up for tea.
Best,
Me
Six months later. . .
Dear Literary Agent,
It’s me again! I never so much as received an out-of-office message, or a rejection, or a kind brush-off from you, so I don’t know if you received my novel or it landed in some spam slush pile, never to be revived. I can’t possibly imagine that four years of my life were wasted, and that you read it but didn’t actually like it. That’s so absurd I’m cracking myself up! See how good I am at humor? Well here’s to perseverance. I’ll try and track down your personal cell phone number and pretend I’m you at the dog groomer to get your home address. Toodles!
Me
Two years later. . .
Dear Literary Agent,
You didn’t have to get a restraining order, for goodness sakes. That was a bit extreme. I was only papering your front lawn with the pages of my manuscript so you’d notice me. So you’d read my words. So I wouldn’t be invisible. I love what you did with your spare bathroom, by the way. White subway tile is really a good choice regardless of your personal style. And the towels were so nice and thick. Were they Ralph Lauren? I know I wasn’t technically invited in, but I just really needed to pee so I found an open window. But we’re old friends, right? So why in the world did you find it necessary to send me all those strange legal documents about keeping fifty feet back? What’s that all about?
Me
Well into the future . . .
Dear Literary Agent,
As it turns out I did need all those medications you suggested. Thanks to your referral to the police, the mental hospital, moving, and for changing your identity. Finally, I sought the help I needed. I’ll never again send you a manuscript, because I clearly see now that you don’t appreciate my writing style. I know it’s not me, really, but it’s just my genre’s really not your thing. That being said, I do have a project in mind that I’d love to tell you about sometime, if you’re willing. I can tell from your silence that you’re dying to hear more.
You know what’s odd? This email bounced back the first time I tried to send it, like the address doesn’t work anymore. What’s up with that? No worries. I’ll figure something out. You know, I might just try another agent.
