It's really important to me, I said to her. But all I got was her cold shoulder, and she had a shoulder cold enough that I saw it clearly right through the phone line. She was damn good with the silent messaging. I was impressed.
I really really really want him to edit me. Really. I mean, look at it this way…he basically already has been, you, know, editing me. For close to two years.
(Damn. Has it been that long? Close to two years? Good Lord.) [No, that's not me talking to the agent. That's me talking to me.]
What do you have against the guy? Could you tell me, so I can understand?
I heard sighing on the line. And a pencil, maybe a pen, scratching along on paper. I waited, and I was nice, because I was very comfortable and content and, hell, let's be honest, freaking thrilled to have connected with this agent. She'd been on my top ten wish list, and I didn't wanna make her mad. So I just said…Is there a bad history there? Because I know, Sparky can be a smartass…(God, how I love smartasses. Maybe she did, too…)
"Sparky?" She laughed. "Sparky doesn't edit in your genre, you know."
I see your point, and you are, of course, absolutely right. But I'm not sure that matters here. Really. I mean, he's seen so much…
"You don't even know the man's name, do you? Or what House he's with. Am I right?"
Well, yeah, there's that, but…but…well, you have to admit - you can know somebody's name and not really know them. Case in point, I'll send you a few chapters from my second novel…
Oh. Yeah. Already sketched out…yeah…
(Damn. She's really good. Got me off topic like a mama handling a whining child.)
Another silence. This time I think I see her smiling. "You're over three hundred words now…"