The Call

January first, ten hours into 2013, the phone rings.  It's the agent I pitched to in California at the RWA conference last summer.

The agent has already passed on the novel I pitched. With her permission, I sent another one, with a different tone, back in August.  I pressed send and, like a thousand other writers in the throes of submissions, I waited.  I hoped.  I focused on other projects.  Time passed.  I waited a little longer.

Two months pass.  I follow up.  The work is still under consideration.  More time passes. 

When the call comes, I can hardly think straight let alone listen without my hands shaking as I jot down notes.  I ask lots of questions.  I can barely hear because my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. 

Good things are said about my work.  Nice things.  Wonderful happy things.  I am not used to praise and immediately I'm suspicious.  But I take a deep breath and listen.

I've finally met the agent who gets my work.  Who wants to represent me.  Who wants to put my fiction out into the world.

I am sick.  I am happy.  I think I am dreaming.  There's even a small part of me that thinks, she has called the wrong number but I'm not going to tell her.

What led to that call was a lifetime of writing.  A lifetime of dreaming, doodling and imagining WHAT IF.  I want to take that phone call and send it in a time machine to my teenaged self.  She needs to know that call comes.  Even if she rolls her eyes at you when you tell her to turn down the music.  (She's so impatient!)

Five years ago, after I had completed my first novel and was immersed in novel two and three, I made a big decision to quit full time work as a librarian and go part time for two reasons. First, I wanted more time with my kids. Second, I wanted more time to write.

And write I did.  And submitted.  And got rejected.  And joined writing groups.  And found critique partners.  And found beta readers. And blogged.  And entered contests. Attended conferences.  Met lots of other writers and other soon-to-be-published writers.  Took workshops and honed my craft.  And wrote.  Revised.  Wrote some more.

I can't say that any one particular thing in the list above is solely responsible for the call.  But what I can say is that without those wishes, dreams, plans, setbacks, failures or even the doodles, it might not have come at all.

So the call comes.  That wonderful mind-boggling call.  And I think I am ready.  No.  I know I am ready.  And you know what?  I'm hoping the world is ready because Stacy Post has just found an agent. 

I'm thrilled and delighted to announce:

Stacy Post is now represented by Marlene Stringer of Stringer Literary Agency. 

YAY!!!! 

Now, if anyone has a time machine I could borrow...