Le maudit Mo D.

analysis

Hey, I'm not unhappy about the rejection. It was to be expected, really. No one, not even hot shit gifted children like myself, gets signed by the first agent who reads their stuff unless they are famous for some other reason (presidential fellatio springs to mind). Second, the agent paid me two really wonderful compliments which, coming from someone who knows the publishing business, mean a lot. She said I'm clearly a talented writer, and she sees my novel as being publishable. Had I sent her fifty pages of contrived dreck, I doubt she would have said those things. So score at least half a point in my column.

So she's the first, and she won't be the last. I haven't even really started sending out tons of queries, nor have I called in all of my favors yet. So this is just the beginning. A vote of confidence, in sort of a backhanded way.

Also, a big hearty FUCK YOU goes out to the state of Texas for this bullshit 90 degree weather in February. You just make me want to run back to the arms of my true love, Massachusetts, don't you?

Shout out to E. Hugberg. Last night we talked about when the last time the radio influenced a music purchase. I told him that was how I found Beirut. In the car last night going home post this conversation at the bar, I heard a very moving, pretty song by the buzzy band Bon Iver and was indeed influenced to go do the right thing and buy his album at a local record store. Of course, everyone else in Austin was similarly moved and Waterloo was sold out. But if you love jangly guitars as much as this chica right here, then go have a listen at MySpace. This guy wrote and recorded this album living in a cabin in rural Wisconsin. Viva!