Following a friendly meeting at his London club, Mr. Agent and I have come to an understanding. If I totally rewrite ‘Todd Garcia, Boy Archaeologist’, or more accurately, write a different novel around the same central concept, then he’ll represent my writing.
We discussed the manifold failings of ‘Todd Garcia’. He agreed – even from reading only the partial – with the conclusions of Ms Agent.
However, he saw something in my writing. ‘What’, I asked him. ‘Hmm, dunno’ he replied cheerfully. ‘But there’s something there.’
It was a strange and slightly unnerving experience. Before yesterday, I had a manuscript, but no agent. Now I have an agent but no manuscript. Mr Agent seemed totally confident in my ability to write a publishable novel, one he’d enjoy selling.
I wasn’t sure he was right though. That is, until I had to wake up in the middle of the night to comfort our little girl. After I’d got her back to sleep, I started to get some ideas. I grabbed a piece of discarded paper from one of my manuscripts and used one of her pencils to jot down some of these new concepts. By morning I was convinced that I have the makings of an even better adventure novel.
It’s a cracker – starts with a mysterious death in a plane crash, somewhere above the jungle of Southern Mexico.
R.I.P ‘Todd Garcia, Boy Archaeologist’. You were a good lad, did your job – attracted an agent.
