Like An Expectant Father....

Like an expectant father....

So that's it, you've done it. The final word, on the final line, of the final paragraph in the final chapter of your masterpiece. You close the file down and sit back, more in relief than excitement. You've made it to the end of a journey that started, often years before, with the germ of an idea in the back of your mind.

Except, of course, it's not the end of the journey. It is really just the start. The next step is certainly more daunting than writing the book in the first place and, frequently, far more difficult. Until now, likely as not, you will have kept your manuscript to yourself, protecting it from prying eyes, tweaking and fine tuning as best you can but you know the moment is coming when your baby has to make its own way in the world.

Am sure everyone at Brit Writers has experienced the same feeling?

The moment that you hand over the manuscript for the first time is slightly surreal. You want honest, independent feedback, but you also want it to be good. And if it's good and you've given the script to somebody you know, you'll convince yourself that they're only being nice because they like you. They're not going to really tell you what they think, are they?

Those closest to you tell you it's an achievement. But you know different. You know that without finding an agent, you won't find a publisher and where's the achievement in an unpublished book? But does it go further, I wonder. Is publication an achievement or does it have to sell well? If it sells well, is it an achievement of does it need a second novel to be accepted? Does it need to be made into a movie or a television programme to be an achievement?

Achievement, for me, would be people who don't know me and may never know me, reading my work and enjoying it enough to let me know. That's special. Everything else would take care of itself.
So comes the moment when you embark on the hardest process of all, finding the needle in the global literary haystack that is the agent that has enough faith in you and your writing and enough interest in your work to offer you representation. Sit back and watch as the polite "thank you but no thankyou" emails roll in, some formulaic, some more polite and genuine.

Then there is the one email - the one that shows genuine enthusiasm and interest who requests the whole damn manuscript. They have no axe to grind, no reason to say nice things without meaning them. Your baby is despatched for them to pore over and appraise. You know, deep down, the odds are still against you, yet even though you said you wouldn't, you dare to dream. And so you wait, checking the email, hoping but daring not to believe that, like an expectant father, something special may just be about to happen.

www.howard-robinson.com