Agent? Agent? Anybody here a literary agent?

Book report:

As of this week I began the (scary, somewhat intimidating) process of sending out query letters to prospective literary agents. Agents, for the uninitiated, are the champions who negotiate contracts with publishing houses and film studios, work the marketplace on your behalf and basically launch you into the world of the written world. I didn't know of their actual existence until about a week ago, and then I was frantic to learn everything I could. They are scarily essential to anyone wanting to publish a book that will be read by more than their circle of family and kind friends.

So here, forthwith, is the letter I've sent off to the first of I-hope-not-too-many agents in hopes of grabbing their attention. Maybe they'll even ask to see a synopsis, or worse, an entire manuscript. (*shiver*) Better get back to editing...

Dear Ms. X,

We are looking for an agent for our adventure fiction novel. Our story is based on actual events that took place in 2005 at Turkey’s largest racetrack when a natural horsewoman– the author, Ingela Larsson– a total outsider to the closed, male-dominated circles of horse racing in the Middle East, was invited to fix a troubled Turkish Thoroughbred, Wolf’s Son.

The book is called Wolf’s Son - A novel based on the life of Wolf's Son, a racehorse. The word count currently stands at approx. 90,000. As there has been considerable interest in the possibility of a movie based on the book (directors in L.A., the U.K. and Italy are already asking for the completed manuscript) we are looking for an agent who would not only be able to secure international publishing contracts but also pursue interested filmmakers and scriptwriters.

Below, we've outlined A) a brief summary of the book, B) the authors' biographies, and C) the first thirty pages (the prologue and two chapters) of the manuscript. We will forward a complete synopsis of the plot if you’re interested in the project. Your agency is the first to which we've submitted a query and sample of the manuscript, but we do plan to approach others in the next few weeks. If we receive an offer of representation from another agency, we will let you know in order to give you a chance to extend an offer as well.

We thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

Sincerely, Ingela Larsson and Tobi Elliott

(I had to check my name three times to make sure I spelled it right.)

Will post samples from the most exciting chapters in the coming weeks... Keep your eyes peeled and appetite whetted...

That's why they call it 'Puppy Love'

The truth of it is, my sister is just not completely herself without a dog to love... And both of her lovely dogs had died this year. The last one, Annie, had gone just last week after breaking her shoulder. Hmmm... I thought. We probably shouldn't wait too long to get her a new puppy. Annie's death was pretty hard to take on top of everything else that's been going on.

'Everything' included losing my mom, losing her first dog, Arnie, getting laid off, losing another friend to cancer... it had been an all-round shitty year for my sis. She'd be the first to say so.

Her birthday wasn't until mid-August so I had to make up a list of justifications for springing a dog on her early. The clincher was actually going to see some pups. After checking out as many ads online as I could, I got a call back from a lady who lived right around the corner from us in Bradner. They were practically next door to the Farm, and man, once I saw those puppies, I completely fell in love with the entire litter's blue-eyed adorableness. That's why they call it puppy love.

I vowed to cajole her husband, B. until he crumbled.

"B., they are really really cute. Devastatingly cute." I send him pictures. "Do you think she really only wants a chocolate or a golden lab?"

"Hmmmm... this is S. we're talking about. I think she would pretty much love anything with puppy breath," he says slowly.

We make covert phone calls back and forth all afternoon, coming bit by bit to the same conclusion. I let him say it first.

"Yeah, Tobs, I think we should get one right away," he says eventually. Man! It was sooo hard to twist his arm! Unbelievable, what a tough-nut that guy is!

"SWEET!" I yelp. I think it was thinking about puppies all day that made me do it. B. convinces me to call S. and invite them over to dinner. Then we could somehow get them next door and look at the puppies. Done! Brilliant plan!

Not so much. S. didn't want to come over. "No offense, Tobs, but I just don't feel up to it. I'm sorry, but I'm feeling really low. Can we take a rain check?"

Damn! Double, double damn! And this was the day we actually had a real meal prepared, with all the real ingredients and stuff. This wouldn't happen for another three weeks! Whatever. I arrange it with B. that I'll come over later that evening and convince S. to come for a drive all the way out to our place. Hah. No idea how to do that, of course, so I start praying. What was a little sister to say? Jesus, help.

I go over to their house around seven o'clock, thinking furiously the whole way. When I get there I swiftly lay out my brilliant pretext to get S. to come out to The Farm right away: "S., I need you to check something out."

"What? Why?"

"Ummm, I can't tell you." This wasn't going so well. It had sounded better in my head.

"Now?"

"Yes, it's kind of urgent," I flap my hands urgently, indicating urgency. "It's something I need you to see it in person. You can bring the boys if you want."

She looks at the Mike's Hard Lemonade into which she'd been drowning her Annie-related sorrows. "This sounds bad... is it good or bad?" she asks, suspiciously. Evidently S. doesn't like not knowing what's going on. I am surprised. I thought she'd go right along with my super-brilliant idea.

"Ummm...." I say, thinking hard. "It's not... TER-rible. But I do need you. We need your advice on something."

She sighs, big-sister like, nodding her head, probably thinking, What would these crazy Elliott kids do without me? What happened? Did they explode something in the pool? Throw the BBQ out the upstairs window? Suck gas out of a car with the vacuum cleaner, again? Honestly! She stares moodily at her Mike's, probably thinking they should go off and be alone somewhere. Somewhere private. Somewhere where there were no Elliotts.

"S., it's really important. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't, I know you've been having a rough time. Please."

She sighs again, a bigger one this time. I wonder if she's contemplating throwing Mike at me and making a run for the basement.

Even though B. was in on the plan he pretended dumbness. "Well S., sounds like we should go check it out... I mean, a drive this evening might be nice. Yeah, come on boys, get your things." I think he deserves an Oscar. I mean, it was really well played.

The boys chime in, thankfully. "Yeah, let's go!!" I'd already asked them to go along with whatever I was saying, although that meant they bugged me sotto voce every two minutes to tell them what the surprise was all about.

"Alright," S. says, saying goodbye to what's left of Mike with one long, chugging swallow.

We get in the car and drive to The Farm, S. and the boys in my car and B. trailing us. As we drove up Bradner I called J. and M. to let them know we were close so they could come over too. As we drive right past The Farm suddenly S. has cottoned on to something. I think Mike tipped her off. "Hey! Is this a surprise or something? What's going on?" she asks. No, it was more of a demand come to think of it. Whatever. She's my older sister and she's getting a puppy and for once in her life she can just NOT KNOW something ahead of time. "Nope, nothing!" I say cheerily.

In the backseat the boys are practically vibrating with barely suppressed tension. K. lets out a giggle.

"Ah, no. No surprise," I said, lamely. I realize again how much I suck at making up excuses. I don't think I'll ever be able to have an affair, I suddenly realize. "We're just going somewhere else. It's not far."

We turn the corner, then another, then turn into a driveway, nearly mowing down the group of people standing in the driveway. I was suddenly scared they were there to take the last of the pups and I/we would be left without. Lab puppies ready-to-go and under $800 were harder to find than consistent sizing at Lululemon. For some reason that fear made my foot push down harder on the accelerator than I meant to. Thankfully they scattered.

We pull up behind a car and S. says in genuine confusion, "What's going on?" We're in somebody's strange driveway and there seems to be no reason for it.

To my left I can see a little black pup ambling around on the lawn. Thank GOD! There is still at least one left. I point to him. "See, we're going to see some puppies."

S. looks at me with her big baby blues wide open, and then abruptly bursts into tears. For one awful moment I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake. It's too soon. I shouldn't have brought her to see black puppies. She's going to fall apart!

"S., we're just going to look at them. I thought you could pick one if you want him, the whole family is in on it," I'm totally babbling. "But if you want another one, like a chocolate, or a golden one, we can wait, but I wanted to let you know we want to get you a puppy for your birthday, it's from the family, everyone is in on it, M. and J. and Mom and Dad VW and your other sister... "

I've spilled half my bottle of water on my seat and am now sitting in it, awkwardly trying to comfort S. over the drooling mama dog that has meanwhile hopped into the car with us. The minute I opened my door she bounded across to us, tits wildly flapping about, leapt into my seat and jumped on S. as if to say, "Hey there! Welcome! Come check out what I made!" Then she jumps off again, leaving S. crying harder than ever.

"I can't look at them, I can't!" she sobs. Tears ran down her face and I felt such compassion for her. My poor sister! We had to convince her to get a dog!

"S., yes you can! Just have a look, we can get it for you if you want. And if it's not what you want then we'll find another one for you. It's an early present," I said, as gently as I could.

M. and J. had meanwhile pulled up and thank heaven for that, because our brother M. can give hugs that make just about anything all right again. He envelops S. in his arms and then they slowly head over to the shed where the puppies were sequestered. K. and B. Jr. had long scrambled out and were excitedly running amok with the chihuahua and the mama Lab, and divebombing the lone Lab baby that had been left out.

The visit couldn't have taken more than half an hour. It took that long for S. to get over her shock of what had just happened and get used to the idea that maybe, maybe she'd be able to fill one of those empty doghouses sooner rather than later. Three puppies romped and played with the two boys, scrambling after their heels, licking their faces and biting their ears and generally making a delightful nuisance of themselves. We had two to choose from, a boy and a boy, a red collar or a brown collar. They were both equally cute, equally puppyish and equally perfect. When S. started trying out names for the one in the red collar I knew we'd settled on something, and it was going to be ok. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The boys were overjoyed. B. was chuffed he'd made the right call to get her a puppy right away, and S. was almost swooning, totally in love. All was as it should be...

They decided to come pick it up the next day to give themselves time to get ready, set up a cage or a fence for the little guy to run around in. All the way back to The Farm we discussed names for the little guy. I'll tell you what they settled on when I know....

It's been awhile folks

I think I'm ready to approach this Page again.

I must admit, this empty space
this very space right...








HERE










... really intimidated me for awhile.
For about, oh, five months or so.

Even the thought of it totally did me in.

"An empty page."

I couldn't think of what to fill it with, even though there was so much to say.
What to write?

- Mom's death?
- the arrival of my first Love, Mr. WildMan?
- the tumultuous implications of having a Love?
- my family and their slow recovery from losing a central figure?
- the on-again-off-again drama of a stunning, mind-boggling, unlooked-for, kaleidoscopic, once-in-a-lifetime relationship?
- the "I love you so much I can't live without you, WildMan", and, "why don't you get the hell out of my life I never want to see you again," kind of emotions?
- my kickass garden and its luscious crop of tomatoes?
- the erstwhile pristine blue pool we slowly let bloom with green algae while Dad is away?
- the pleasure and pain of writing a first novel, hating a first novel, and falling for it all over again when said novel reinvents itself as a newly-interesting little something (it's like a girl with long hair putting it up in a complicated twist after wearing it down for so long you can't imagine her as anything else but Girl-With-Long-Hair, and then she looks like a different girl, but really isn't)?

There was so much swirling around in my little life –
so much that compressed itself into such a few short months –
so much to say and yet –
I had no words for it.
None fit for public consumption anyway.

I have not been a public person for many moons now, and that suited me just fine. It was enough just to live my life and keep to myself, my WildMan, my family and a garden.

And a book. You'll hear all about that little adventure, you will indeed.

But for now, it's enough to know that I'm ready to be public again about this intensely internal process, and let you in to the little stories of what I've lived along the way.

Welcome back to my Page. Are you ready?