What have I been doing?
I'm glad you asked.
I thought to find an Irish literary agent. Brave, impudent perhaps, of me. As it's challenging - not so much the finding of one but the abject, begging tone one wants to keep as far away as possible from the request missive.
Along with that, the d and f on my keyboard decided to go on strike, I may have overused them. H'm. Desperation. Failure. FFFS.
I started my hunt in Cork, the city of my birth and the one that keeps yanking me back by the scruff of the neck every year, sometimes twice in the same year. I found one. Whether she feels she's found me is yet to be seen.
But I spent untold hours polishing up my biography, smoothing my various synopses into full disclosure of my works and oh, that was hard. You're not allowed more than 300 words to summarize individual pieces. And then the cover letter: wheedles, cajoles and despair omitted. Pleasant, light, unconcerned (but not too detached),grammatical, succinct.
I did say this was the year I was going to get really, really serious, didn't I?
Well, I am.
