Agency

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Fuck you, John Ater.  In the nicest way possible.  I’m grateful I only threw my napkin at you tonight.  Rather than my phone, which I have often been tempted to do, or kick you or smack you or, ack, who the hell knows what.  Here I am stating rather boldly and bluntly to the Universe, that hey, I’m available to be in more intimate relationships, then you, sirrah, ask me oh, so innocently, “how’s the book?’

Fuck off.

Really.

It sucks.  Why is it so hard to say that?  Fear of rejection, fear of acceptance.  Fear of rejection, fear of success.  So I sit on my thumbs quietly going insane.

I had a date today, my last online date, thank you very much, and I spent a lot of it talking about my book, “Baby Girl”.  My date seemed quite interested and very positive about what I told him.  And it again re-inforced my need to get it out there.  Then John asks me tonight, how’s it going?

I was busy talking about my move to Paris, and he laughed, that’s in two plus years, what about right now, today, the present.  What?  Shit.  Yeah, the here and now.  My book, how’s it going.  Well, after I got rejected by the agency I sent it to I haven’t sent it out again.  Nor have I sent it to John, who has asked now a number of times to read it.  I love this man like the mother I never had.  In fact, he told me I should just call him on Mother’s Day, I did that last year and the year before, felt actually right on.

He is the only man I feel ok to cry around.  The only man I have really been truly intimate with.  He knows me heart and soul and still thinks I’m lovable.  Pretty awesome.  So, how come I won’t send him my book?  What’s he going to do, bite me?  Nope, most he ever does is offer suggestions and then laugh at the faces I make.  Please, God, help me walk through this fear.

I want to be published.  I want to be a writer.  I am a writer.  Scratch that, I want to be a published writer.  I want my books made into movies, while I”m alive to see them, please. I have so many stories coursing through my brain.  They scratch at me and ask to be voiced and I just walk away, and let them stay careening around in my head.

I can be as fabulous as I want, but if I don’t start back on the trying to get published track I’m just going to hate myself some more and I know what happens when that goes on and really, I don’t want that.  I want a happy, sane, serene sober life.  I want an amazing loving life partner, male, thank you very much, and I want to travel and god damn it I want to be a published author.

So, when John asked me when I was going to submit to the next agency I glibly talked over him and prattled something off that had nothing to do with the question he was asking.  He directed me back to the question.  And I said tomorrow.  Tomorrow, after I go shopping with Arin I will come home and send out another query to another agency.  I will also send my book to John.  And I will keep asking for help, since I don’t know how to do it.

I don’t know how to get published, I don’t know how to date, I don’t know how to do so much and if I don’t ask for help, I’ll just waste more time suffering for no apparent reason.  There’s no need to do that.  I deserve better.  I worked too fucking hard on my book and I need to get the fuck out of my way.

Hey, God, it’s me Carmen, what agency should I send out Baby Girl to tomorrow?

Thank you, I need all the help I can get.

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