I know that coming to the four-month mark of querying is not absurd.
I know that even the most experienced authors have trouble finding an agent to represent their work.
I know not to take rejection personally.
But…
But, but, but... That God-forsaken “but” is presenting itself to me in the form of a voice from my pain body.
A voice that says, “but, you are just a massage therapist, you uneducated fool!”
It’s the same feeling that I have learned to quickly suppress during times that I am sitting in rooms with higher-educated people.
Most of my friends have degrees, and many of them have prestigious careers. I share tables with doctors, architects, teachers, and some of my friends have titles that I don’t even know how to pronounce correctly.
And I’m just a massage therapist. A service worker who took a 12-month training course on a whim.
Of course, these feelings of inadequacy are fleeting because my work reminds me on a daily basis of its value.
But, but, but, but... What if agents don’t understand the capabilities of service workers the way that I do?
What if they don’t know that we read books and that we have stories to tell?
What if when they see that the subject matter is massage therapy, they forget that anything can be made into a beautiful story?
As time goes on in the querying process, it feels like I’m in an episode of Fear Factor. The “buts” and the “what ifs” come at me like I’m a game show contestant sitting in a vat of venomous tarantulas.
But I’m not on Fear Factor. And this is all fake. It’s as scripted as it is on the show, and I am both the producer and the audience.
I know I am being ridiculous, as I have read many books that have been traditionally published with storylines less interesting than mine, but written in such a way that it is fun to read. Just like I did.
I worry that these “buts” and “what ifs" are screwing up the energy that I need to draw an agent to me, so I have put them here in this vulnerable entry.
I will remove them from my brain and leave them here to dry out and die, like what happens to a worm when it gets lost on a sunny sidewalk.
Today, I leave these thoughts behind.
Tomorrow, I will move forward. Tomorrow, I will rewrite my letter and make Query Tracker my bitch.
