You Have to be a Little Crazy to Write: the Afternoon I was a Buddhist.

I’d spent many an hour on the pitch, which was now perfect. Ready for the presses. Okay, maybe a tweak here and there to accommodate the movie version. Not just my time had gone into these few paragraphs which would determine the rest of my life. My English professor brother-in-law let me talk him into reading the pitch about six times. He hasn’t been coming around as much lately. My husband knew the pitch by heart and weeks ago learned to only nod and not too harshly or I’d demand to know what was wrong with my pitch and why was he treating me like an idiot. 

Was he determined to break my spirit? Was he afraid that when I was famous I’d lose interest?

Yes, my anxiety about the pitch was changing the fabric of my family.

Since my pitch was already as golden as words from the gods on Olympus, I’d reserved the hour to find Inner Peace. I practiced the mantra, “Just because the agent with the power to grant my every wish and wildest dreams…or…dash my hopes and self-esteem so far down I will be holding up the ladder for those who are climbing up to the bottom—doesn’t agree that my manuscript will start bidding wars, does not mean I have no reason to live.”

I was down to thirty minutes. I scanned the Table of Contents. I flipped to the chapter on applications and searched for a single transcendent phrase to save me.  Now I know when you movie buffs read this tale, you are going to say, “Wow. She’s just like Julia Roberts who converted to Hinduism after shooting Eat, Pray, Love in India. But hold on. First of all, picture Miss Robert. Right away you can see I’m too short to be Julia Roberts. Also, if you think Julia Roberts would never do anything as silly as trying to learn Buddhism in thirty minutes—remember that Julia married Lyle Lovett after sharing a flight. I would never do anything that ridiculous. Unless it improved my chances to get published. 

Gotta go. Next: Love to Write.

Tags: Agents