Hiding amongst the superfluous was an email from an agent. A real email, not an automatic one after a submission. Her biography said she would get back to me by eight weeks and now, here we are. I tilted my head at it, intrigued by it’s presence. Ed never got back to me after his promised eight weeks. The mouse suspended over the email subject line before I clicked it. I read the email.
Thanks so much for thinking of me, but this one’s just not quite right for my list. Due to a very full workload, I have to be extremely selective about pursuing new projects.
Please know that this is a very subjective business and that tastes range widely among agents. Someone else may feel very differently—you deserve someone who is passionate about your work and is confident about their ability to position it.
Best of luck with this, and thank you so much for thinking of me.
I laughed. So this is a rejection letter? I didn’t have any expectations this moment, but I definitely did not foresee such a graceful exit. “So what you are saying is it’s not you Ryan, it’s me,” I said out loud into the silence. Good to know.