I'll start by saying that there's absolutely nothing wrong with writing a post about how you got your agent. In fact, I love to read about how other writers got their agents. 

But I won't write one for myself. It's not because I don't adore my agent (I do), or because I don't want to give other writers hope through my own story. The reason I won't write a post about landing my agent is because I've figured out (the hard way) that getting an agent is no guarantee your work will be published (at least the way you've always dreamed of). Getting an agent is simply the next step toward that dream. And sometimes that next step doesn't lead to an offer of publication from one of the big publishers.

Sometimes (in my case) it leads to countless rejections. However, it also leads to writing more books and becoming a stronger writer. Which might seem to take you backward to the query stage again if you decide to part ways with your agent (yes, this was me too). Then you might spend a humbling amount of time in the query trenches before finding a new agent. 

At which point, you probably won't write a "How I Got my Agent" post because you've figured out what I already know. 

Getting an agent does not mean you will be published or that you are a better writer than someone without an agent. I know plenty of agent-less writers and authors who are just as persistent and talented as I am. I happened to focus more of my persistence on getting an agent. And I had a bit of luck. 

Whatever stage of your writing career you are (stuck) in, don't forget why you write in the first place. Do it to fulfill a need within yourself, and then the rejections (whether from readers, editors or agents) won't hurt quite so much. 

At least I hope not.;)

Recently someone posted the following on Twitter: 

"No one wants or needs your stories. No reason to keep going. Save yourself and everyone else the trouble."                                         -The most poisonous, destructive thought for me as a writer

Having received three rejections on full manuscript requests in the course of a week, I felt this sentiment something fierce. But feeling that way did not make me quit writing, which, I think, was what the author supposed would happen if one let themselves think such depressing thoughts. So why didn't I give up when these destructive thoughts tried to choke the writer out of me?

Because my writer-self has a split personality. 

One of my personalities loves to write because I'm an artist, and I want to make beautiful things with words and breathe life into the characters in my head. This is the personality that doesn't particularly care about being published (in fact is relieved it hasn't happened yet), and cringes valleys when thinking about earlier drafts of my books. 

The other personality--hopefully the dormant one--wants others to want my stories too. This personality is what fuels my desire to be published. It was mighty depressed the week I received three rejections on my work, and even thought about jumping off a bridge or swimming in a shark-infested reef right out of surgery. But in the end, my writer-self still has its two contradicting personalities. Here's why...

Trying to get published also forces me to become a better writer. Which means that my end goal, no matter which personality my writer-self manifests, is to be a better writer. They both want the same thing after all. So now when I get discouraged, I remind myself that it's okay to want others to want my stories, also long as that desire takes a backseat to the art of creating beautiful words and stories. It's a continual process, one that I will forever be striving to get better at. 

Thinking about my writing journey this way somehow soothes my often broken heart when I dwell too long on why I'm not published yet. 

Do you have a split personality too? Has it fueled or hindered your passions?

Please note that I have already made it into the Agent Round of the Blind Speed Dating Contest.  
 
Excerpt from AUSSIE OUTSIDER (YA Mystery)

Scene: Rory Turner (16, an American living in Australia) and Tark Harper (19, a native Aussie) are sitting on a bench along Darling Harbor in Sydney. Rory has just learned that she is the reason Tark was not able to attend university after he graduated high school the year before.  
 
I stood up, blinking rapidly to beat the onslaught of tears that were coming. “I’m sorry,” I said, and took off running.

“Rory!” Tark shouted behind me.

I tore through the crowds of people, afraid that my face would erupt with stupid, unwanted tears before I could find a bathroom to hide in.

“Rory!” he called again, closer now.

Please just leave me alone. I never meant to hurt you.

Eyes no longer dry, I tripped on an uneven brick and braced for smacking the ground. Instead I was snatched by Tark’s warm, rough fingers. They cradled me to his chest as I tried to pull away.

Exhausted, I stopped resisting and let my tears soak his shirt. His arms cocooned me, shutting the rest of the world out. All the unfairness of both of our lives was swept up into the puddle on his shirt. 

When I stopped crying, I became aware of Tark’s heartbeat beneath my ear. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Faster than normal, it seemed. I tilted my head toward his. His bottomless grey eyes peered into mine. For a brief second I wondered what he saw—red, splotchy eyes, snot dripping from my nostrils, dried tears streaking my cheeks?  

Then my breath faltered and my mind went totally blank as his lips lowered, brushed against mine as if a feather had danced across them. My lashes closed and my mouth parted. The kiss deepened, sweet and spicy, dizzy and thrilling all at once. My teeth nicked his tongue as his fingers tangled in my hair. Our noses bumped, angled to make room for each other. My fingers clung to the thin cotton on his back, wishing it were his smooth skin.

All of my senses were buried in his touch, his taste, his smell. Drowning in him.

He drew his lips away as if in slow motion, and the noises of the wharf settled back in: mingling accents, water lapping on pilings, boat engines and car engines. How had I not heard them before?

This Christmas season I have felt many times like saying "Bah, hum bug," when it comes to my writing journey. 

For almost six years I've toiled, trying to better my writing craft with each of my five novels, with the hope of getting them published by the big New York publishers. But alas, I've had six years of almosts, not quites, and maybe next times.

Now, after five months spent in the query trenches (again-huge sigh), I'm bruised, broken and unsure if I will ever reach my dream of being published.

During this month of December, especially, my mood has been bleak as rejections continue to pour in and my already fragile self-esteem seems like it's being held together by disintegrating scotch tape. 

So earlier this month I began to pray for a Christmas "miracle", which for me was my perfect-fit agent offering me representation.

On December 19, my wedding anniversary, a writer announced on Query Tracker that she'd been offered representation from four of the agents who'd had or still had my manuscripts, including my "dream" agent. Devastation creeped into my blood, surged through my veins. It was hard for me to be happy for this writer that I'd never met, but to me appeared to swoop in with her first novel and receive multiple offers of rep. 

Jealous? Yes, I was, though I didn't want to be. A failure? For a while, I thought I was. One phrase in particular stuck like tacky glue in my mind:

The only people who fail are those that never try.

I felt the deep irony of this phrase. I couldn't help but be bitter, because I'd tried, tried, tried. And I'd failed, failed, failed. Bah, hum bug!

That writer's success seemed to spell my total failure. I was never going to be good enough, I'd never get published the way I wanted to. I should stop trying for something I'd never achieve. Bah, hum bug!

With thoughts like these, I'd turned myself into a Writing Scrouge. And I didn't like it. Gloomy, manic writer is not my preferred hat to wear. After all, I don't write to be published. I don't even write because I'm good at it. I write because I love it. So what if my stuff is never published. That is not, nor ever will be my driving force. No more "Bah, hum bugs" for me.

That's when I stopped praying for the Christmas miracle I'd originally desired, because let's face it, by Dec. 21st, I knew it wasn't going to happen. Instead I began to pray that my heart would be softened and that I would be truly happy for the writer and her success. That I wouldn't let it define me as a failure. 

Guess what? My Christmas miracle happened. My heart was softened. The Writing Scrouge shriveled up inside of me. "Bah, hum bug," was replaced with "Joy to the writer." And the world, I should add.

Peace on Earth, good will toward men...

That means all of you writers out there, even if you snag my "dream" agent!

I write YA from teen girls' perspectives, and as such there are usually some tears, or the threat of tears, involved in my stories. My characters are experts at swallowing their tears, blinking them back, or plain old commanding them to stop.

Today when I was pulled over for speeding on the way home from picking up carpool, I decided to employ my writing tricks as my eyes began to well up with the dreaded T-bombs (and they always do when those flashing reds and blues are for me).

Swallow. Blink. Blink. Blink. Swallow again.

Stop it, stupid tears! Get lost!

I even looked up at my eyebrows while blinking (I've never written about doing that). Nothing, and I repeat NOTHING, could stop my tears from trickling down my face.

Which forces me to admit: I am not able to control my tears in front of four elementary kids and one super nice cop. So how in the crap are my teen protagonists able to control theirs? They must be infinitely more talented at keeping their emotions under wraps. I should take lessons from them. Or maybe I should rewrite my scenes to be a bit more realistic, because let's face it, it's not so easy to stop the rain when it starts to sprinkle.

Getting pulled over by a cop was the catalyst for my tears, but the fifteen minute rainstorm that followed was due to other stressful things going on in my life right now. A blog post idea was born once the sun came out again (figuratively speaking only because today is really cloudy). I can already laugh at myself too. At least until I have to pay my ticket, anyway.

A few weeks ago Amber Argyle asked via FB who would be interested in doing a blog chain with her. I'm NOT a blogger, as evident by my lack of entries in the last two months, but I jumped at the chance to be involved with something she was doing, because she is so funny/awesome/talented (seriously, you have to listen to her speak at a conference if you get the chance).

Then after I agreed to the blog chain, I got a little stressed out because I had no idea what I was supposed to blog on. Usually I only blog when the mood strikes, which isn't very often. But thankfully, the criteria was preset, so today's blog is a Q&A about my latest WIP (Work In Progress to all you non-writer peeps). I hope you'll forgive me for using the book I finished this summer, since I haven't actually started anything new yet. Yes, I know I'm a slacker, but editing/revising takes forever, especially if you've decided to tackle all five of your books!

What is the working title of your book? 
OMEGA

Where did  the idea come from for the book? 
 A dream. One of those, "I had a cool dream about a video game that actually killed one of the players in real life when he died in the game." But after that, I was completely on my own to come up with the actual plot of the video game, etc. 

What genre does your book  fall under? 
 Contemporary YA w/ elements of adventure/romance/sci-fi 

Which actors would you choose to play your characters  in a movie rendition?  
Royce: Demi Lavato
Beck: Colin Ford
Cailee: Hayden Panettiere
Kade: Angus T. Jones

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? 
When the new virtuality video game, Omega, converges with Royce Larkin's reality, no one will believe her--that is, until someone dies in the game, and in real life.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an  agency? 
 Hopefully repped by my "perfect fit" agent and sold to my "perfect fit" editor.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of  your manuscript? 
It took ten months to write the first draft of OMEGA, which is a bit longer than any of my other books. I got hung up trying to create the plot/world of my video game, which was like having to write a book in itself. For several months, I shot down every idea I came up with until I finally forced myself to run with one of them.

What other books would you compare  this story to within your genre?  
I've been told my writing style is similar to Sarah Dessen, Cynthia Hand and Anna Banks. I've also been told I have a snarky, sarcastic voice. It might not be a compliment, but I'm taking it as one.

Who or What inspired you to write this  book? 
The romantic element was heavily inspired by Jane Austen (think, my version of PERSUASION). In building my video game world, though, my husband was a huge inspiration, since he's the gamer and I know next to nothing about them. The only kind of video games I like are the racing ones (MarioKart is my fav). 
 
What else about your book might pique the reader’s  interest? 
First, the video game world in Omega. It's a futuristic, dystopian-style Earth w/ fantastical elements. The gamers earn statuses (abilities) like healing and invisibility, and can do other things they could never do in real life. Omega also has the coolest weapons EVER. Like a mind-control gun. And a missile launcher whose owner becomes its eyes. Oh, and I can't leave out the scary canal monsters or faceless, hooded figures hunting the players, either. 
Second, no parents! Royce's Ps are conviently out of the country during most of this book. Gotta love that.
Third, a unique love triangle. Lately YA has seen a lot of two boys in love with the same girl. I'm so over that. In OMEGA, Royce and her BFF are in love with the same guy (only her BFF doesn't know she is). 
Fourth, funny lines like the following: No more nostalgic sniffing of ex-boyfriend. Royce is particularly obsessed with Beck's smell because it brings back all of  her memories of him.

Writers face rejection in many forms. Those who are published face rejection from critics and fans. Those who are unpublished but have agents (this was me from 2008 until July, 2012) face rejection from editors. And writers who are unpublished and unagented (me now) face rejection from agents.

Lately I've met with a constant stream of rejections from literary agents. It's been tough not to let them get the better of me.

They all say essentially the same thing: I'm sorry but your project isn't right for me. 

What does it feel like to get rejection after rejection? Picture a wave pounding you into the sand, chomping you around like a piece of extra sticky bubble gum and saying adios by leaving you with burning eyes and nostrils, just so another wave can do exactly the same thing to you.

Yeah, it totally sucks. So what should we do when rejection threatens to get the better of us?

There's the obvious action...stop querying agents. A no-brainer, right? Get rid of the source of the pain. Except that after writing five novels, I know deep down in my bones that this has become more than just a hobby to me. That it is a lifelong passion. Which means I have to keep going. So here's what I do when yet another rejection lands in my Inbox. 

First, I let myself feel. Sad. Disappointed. Frustrated. And any other emotions that care to manifest themselves. But then I channel those feelings into words and write about them. The very act of writing is therapeutic. Sometimes it comes in the form of a blog post. Other times through a character who has to deal with similar struggles.  Afterward, my feelings of discouragement and hopelessness seem to embed themselves into what I've written and all that angst I was carrying disappears. What I'm left with is hope. And hope is a fabulous thing. I've learned that it's okay to have hope. That I'll get an agent. That I'll eventually get published. But most importantly, that I'll never stop writing.

DON'T EVER GIVE UP is the common theme of encouragement from authors and agents alike. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of hope packed into those four words. However, when they're coming from an author who's landed an agent and/or a book deal, it's a bit like having someone tell me I can finish a race when I'm not even halfway done and they've already crossed the finish line.

That's why I've come up with my own words of encouragement. They're not from an author who's looking back on the journey to publication, but from a unpublished, currently unagented writer still muddling though the process of breaking into the publishing industry...

DON'T EVER STOP WRITING!

These words are especially necessary when rejection threatens to get the better of you. Writing will snuff out the exquisite disappointment that rejection brings with it. Writing will give you hope. And hope will fuel your passion for writing. So don't ever stop. Never ever.

Four years ago, Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Agency was an answer to my prayers.

Having written my first young adult novel, I decided to brave the terrifying world of querying literary agents. I was THRILLED when Rachel requested my complete manuscript. The song and dance (with a few escapee tears) came a couple months later when she called me to offer representation. Wow. There was no other word for it.

I didn't worry too much that Books & Such made the bulk of their deals with the Christian Booksellers Association (CBA) and I was trying to get published with the American Booksellers Association (ABA). My agent was taking a chance on me, an unpublished author, so I was more than willing to take a chance on her.

Rachel targeted ABA publishers while I continued to write. We saw manuscript requests, a revision request and plenty of rejections. But no offers. Four years have passed and I've now written a total of five young adult novels (all stand-alone, though two of them have definite sequel possibilities). As Rachel's client list grew to include more and more authors looking to be published with the CBA market, I realized how completely alone I felt in being represented by an agency whose resources were directly exclusively to the CBA market. 

After MUCH thought and consideration, and an email discussion with my agent, we both agreed that there was probably another agent out there more in tune with the ABA market who could better represent me.

So...I can't call this a "new" adventure as I've already done this once before. Therefore I'll dub it a "newish" adventure. Let the querying begin. Here's hoping I find another literary agent every bit as awesome as my first one! 

Last week I found out why I've been so dog tired for the last little while.

Mono. I first got it thirteen years ago, and since then the virus has been dormant in my system. Like a volcano, it is now active and wreaking havoc on my body.

While I was bedridden, I posted on Facebook that my plans had to be drastically altered from what I'd originally intended to do during the week. One of my friends commented, "You know what they say about the 'Best-laid plans of Mice and Men.'"

That got me thinking about all the plans I've had throughout my life, and the things that have happened to interrupt them.

Let's start when I was eleven years old. I lived in a suburb of Sacramento, California. Friends...check. Temperate climate...check. Was I looking forward to attending middle school and high school there? Absolutely. Then a change of careers had my family moving to Salt Lake City, Utah, on the eve of sixth grade. To say this was a hard move would be a HUGE understatement. To say I liked Utah's cold winters would be LYING. I hated them. And being extremely shy, I had a hard time making new friends.

My plan: No WAY was I living in Utah any longer than I had to. I was moving away first chance I got, as soon as I went to college.

So what happened to my plan? When I was a senior in high school, I applied to many out-of-state schools, including the University of Hawaii and Pepperdine. I got into every college I applied to. Some of the schools, like Pepperdine, were REALLY expensive and I couldn't imagine how my parents were going to pay for them. Some of the schools, like the University of Hawaii, were so far away that my parents said I could only come home during the summer. So I had to think about what I really needed, not just what I thought I wanted. I NEEDED a small, private school that I wouldn't get lost in. I NEEDED to see my family often, because I knew I was the type to get homesick. So I chose to stay in Salt Lake and go to Westminster College, which met both of my needs.

Sure, once in a while I WONDER what my life would have been like had I gone away to school. But I KNOW what my life is like because I chose to stay at home. And it makes me smile.

Moving on, to when I was nineteen years old. Ask anybody who knew me back then and they'll tell you I wasn't going to get married until I was AT LEAST twenty-six years old. My plan: finish college first, go on a mission for my church and then work for a few years before I met Mr. Right. 

Of course you're going to ask what happened, right? I didn't get married when I was twenty-six. I was set up on a blind date with a terrific guy named Nate. We dated for a year and somehow I knew that my "plan" had to be thrown out the window. Because Mr. Right showed up way earlier than he was supposed to.

Do I WONDER what my life would have been like had we met when I was a few years older? Not really, because I got to graduate college with my best friend by my side. And travel to places like Europe, Canada, Mexico, Alaska and Hawaii with my best friend.

When my husband and I had been married five years, owned a house and had a one-year-old son, we were infected with the opposite of island fever. Our plan: we desperately wanted to move to Hawaii. For at least a year or two, anyway.

Did it happen? We networked for some time, but jobs were scarce and our willingness to live on less-than-ideal means was not very high. In the end, we've never been more than tourists in Hawaii. 

Sometimes I WONDER what it would have been like to move to a tropical island. But then I think about the roller coaster economy, and realize I have a comfortable house, and my kids go to a great school, and I KNOW that my happiness doesn't depend on WHERE I live.

Interestingly, as I think back on the "best laid plans" that went awry, I also remember the plans that I succeeded in accomplishing. Like graduating from college in only three years. And traveling around the world. And writing not just one, but multiple novels. And being a wife and mom. 

One thing I've learned from making plans...Life defines who you become, not your plans.