Remember ages upon ages ago, I was stressing because my first-choice agent hadn't responded to my full after five months of having it in her possession? It took nine months, but I finally got the (form) rejection letter yesterday. It had been so long and I'd (almost) forgotten about her. I didn't think I'd end up hearing from her at all. I'd even joked to my husband that I might go to a conference and pitch the same novel to her just for fun. (It really was a joke. I wouldn't do that. Honestly.)
In these past few months, I had taken her out of the first-choice spot and had even considered whether I would actually want to work with her after hearing nothing from my status inquiry notes. No agent is better than a bad agent? They say.
I remember those olden days when I used to wonder what I would do if she and some other agent both offered me representation. How would I choose?
So young. So naive was I.