The SO has a story like that about his pilot buddy in their youth, the pivotal line of which is the SO speaking to his buddy in a low, calm voice, "Start the plane, Dave," repeated at varying intervals and volumes. Heh. Must be a pilot thing.

I'm putting together a list of agents who handle romance as a preliminary step to finding 2-3 of them to come to our conference. The conference chair wants a West Coast agent, and I think we should have at least one NYC agent, since we didn't have one last year. And of course we want a nice, balanced panel, maybe with someone young and hungry and looking for clients, maybe someone from a big, well-known agency, since that could be a lure to draw registrants to the conference.

I'm working from the Writer's Market 2005 agent guide, entering info into a spreadsheet, because I'm all picky and organized. I enter in a Los Angeles agent, nice mid-sized agency, member of all the relevant organizations, and think that this one looks good and would be perfect to fill our CA slot. I'm about to highlight it as one of my "call first" agencies, and am pleased that they're one of the few that lists a website. I check it. Contrary to WM, which lists them as moderately open to new clients, the website says they're not taking on new clients at all. Market conditions. So sorry.

So next up is an NYC agency whose name I recognize. Perfect candidate for the East Coast prestige slot. I check the website. Only taking on unpublished clients in nonfiction. Tight market. They hate it, too.

Of course, these are only two agencies, and I've got others to choose from that are in the market for new clients. But it does A) suck, and B) reinforce the idea that if I'm committed to this, it needs to be for the long haul and without any immediate expectations, even if I am as brilliant as I like to think I am on my optimistic days.

Susan, edits and comments insent.

To Be or Not To Be: Upside Down Drabble

The anticipation was excruciating.

Trips into Madison two or three times a year were very special occasions. Christmas was coming. I felt on tenterhooks as the car cruised down the highway. Despite the snow in the fields, the road was clear. Coming in to the S-curve, it suddenly felt like we were skating. As the car fishtailed into the second half of the curve we went airborn over the cornstalks. My brother’s body dropped onto mine, slamming me into the door. While the car hovered there, on the edge of uncertainty, all I wondered was “would it or wouldn’t it?”

Hi!

It's very late and I doubt anyone's around, but I just finished another essay and am looking for beta readers. Any takers?

If no one is around tonight, I'll ask again tomorrow.

I'm in.

Hey Kristin, I'm still up (I don't leave the mountain time zone until tomorrow). I could give some quick feedback tonight, then more measured feedback late tomorrow night.

It's still super fresh and new--I just finished it, so I've barely even looked it over. All I really want right now is some general feedback (I may change my mind after a reread tomorrow and request more specific).

Thank you both! Insent in a sec...

Send, ma'am, but I won't get to it until tomorrow. Was baking.

Deb, thank you. Insent and hoping you like it.