If I want to be a writer, I have to write. I can’t sit on the internet browsing Tumblr and Facebook, robotically reblogging things that strike my fancy. I need my own space that can be taken seriously, something that says, hey, she really means business, because I do. I’m querying (hopefully the agents are okay that I’ve self-published because I hear that’s sort of a turn-off), and I’ve been writing, writing, writing after exhausting myself at Chipotle, my day job at the moment. 

I’ve been flying through the Guide to Literary Agents all today, and I’ve learned a lot. Agents have to be as invested in my work as I am, which means I have to find The One.

And there I thought I only had to find one person who was The One.

But now, here I am. Blogging. I really am a starving artist.

A dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer.


About abutcherwriter

I'm just a writer musing about life, love, and the agonies and magic of both.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to 7/23/2013

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s