Are You My Agent?

A play on P.D. Eastman’s ARE YOU MY MOTHER?

A writer opened her Twitter account.

An agent Tweeted.

“MSWL!" MSWL! I’m growing my list and I must have some new books to read!”

“I will respond in 90 days if I’m interested,” she said. “It’s a no if you don’t hear back.”

And away she went.

The writer wrote. She wrote, and wrote, and wrote!

Out came the perfect manuscript.

“I #amquerying!” she said, and she registered for Query Tracker.

Down into the black hole of research she went.

Down, down, down! It was a long way down.

“Now I will go and find my agent,” she said.

She did not know what her agent looked like. She scrolled right by their tweets.

The writer cold queried a big name agent. “Are you my agent?”

The agent didn’t respond.

The big-name agent was not her agent, so the writer went on.

She came to a pitch roundtable agent. “Are you my agent?” she queried.

“Sorry, I just didn’t feel a strong connection,” said the pitch roundtable agent.

The big-name agent was not her agent. The pitch roundtable agent was not her agent. So the writer went on.

“I have to find my agent!” she said. “Where are they? Where could they be?”

The writer worked her way down her query list. “Are you my agent?”

“How could I be your agent? I don’t rep your genre,” said the wrong-genre agent.

The big-name agent was not her agent. The roundtable agent was not her agent. The wrong-genre agent was not her agent.

Did the writer have an agent?

“I know I have an agent. I will find them. I WILL!”

Now the writer picked up the querying pace. She pitched in Twitter pitch parties, but received no hearts. She pitched at events, but no one listened. She sent five queries a day, but still only received rejections.

Just then, the writer saw a critique group. “We are looking for a new member.”

The writer ran right up to it. “Agent? Agent? Will you help me find an agent?”

But the critique group said “Revise!!”

“Oh, you won’t help me find an agent. You only say ‘REVISE!’. I have to get out of here!”

But the writer could not get away. And the critique group lifted the writer up.

They lifted her way, way up.

And up, up, up went the writer. And her stories. And her queries.

“Where am I?!” said the writer. “I just wanted an agent!”

And the critique group stopped. “You’re ready,” they said.

Just then, someone requested a phone call.

“Do you know who I am?” they said to their writer.

“Yes, I know who you are!” said the writer.

“You are not a big-name agent. You are not a roundtable agent. You are not a wrong-genre agent. You are not a critique group.”

“You are MY agent,” said the writer.