Call My Agent: The Age of Literary Representation

It feels like I have entered a new stage of my life here in Los Angeles.

The reason: I now have literary representation. I have an agent. I now have "people." People who can talk to your people. I'm one of the many many folks in this town who rely on individuals to pimp out their creative work and then wait by their iPhones to hear the latest developments and be on the receiving end of numerous rejections.

This was the day my 22-year-old self had been waiting for. It's the first step towards what I hope will be many more steps.

However, it wasn't quite the experience I had envisioned for myself.

The whole process wasn't as glamorous as one would expect. There was no glass-walled conference room with me seated at one end and a team of suits on the other with nothing but a fruit and muffin platter between us. No champagne corks were popped. No hands were shaken.

Everything all came together...over email. There were a few phone calls. And then, three days of trying to decipher the terms of my contract and one signature later, it became official.

Regardless of how it all went down, I'm happy that, after nearly a year of putting together the pieces of my book, I finally have someone who believes in me and wants to get my writing seen by every publisher possible. I like to think that my 26-page proposal will be enticing enough to throw a few offers my way (the dream of anyone working on their first book).

And the work shall continue. Only six of my twenty chapters are complete. I still got a ways to go, so if you don't see me out and about for the next two or three months, please know that I am probably holed up in some cafe or in the shadows of my bedroom, isolating myself in order to finish my non-fiction endeavor. (For those who have asked: it's part memoir, part satire on health and lifestyle guides. I'll let you know more the more I know it's closer to becoming a reality.)

Thank you, Garson & Wright.

Fingers crossed and reaching high,

@TheFirstEcho