Why, oh why does querying agents make me nauseous?

I swear my eyes cross as I stare at the email draft ensuring the name and to box are addressed accordingly. My knees turn to mush and my brain seems to sizzle out of confidence, and yet I still click that magical, can never take it back ‘send’ button. Why?

I’ve never published before and until recently, if you can call the last two years recent enough, have never had the urge to try. I was happily confined to the realm of fan fiction living off the ‘awesome chapters’, the ‘you must really know what love is’, and the ‘you should pen a script.’ It was a blissful youth in amateur writing for me, and I appreciate everyone who took the time to read something as meaningless and silly as some of my former dribble was. I had no idea how to formulate dialogue, and still I had fans. Then again, maybe I was just bidding my time in finding a great personal story outside of characters already in existence.

It honestly just hit me when they found me. I’ve been told writing like that does not happen without a stronger force behind it coming from somewhere. Though, that’s no testament to how skilled my actual writing is, but I firmly believe I have a lovely story in my head that is dying to find circulation.

At times when I do my reading vs writing and tune out the voices inside my head pleading with me for more of the spotlight, I find comparisons easy. No, not the kind that makes me feels as though I’m copying styles or characters, and possible plot, but more that feeling if they can do it so can I.

I’ve been following my twitter. I now follow many agents, some I’ve been rejected by already, some who eventually will reject me, or quite possibly see the thing I’m clinging to that makes my story special and finally write me something more positive.

In my experience the no’s I have received, even the form ones, have all come with a positive energy attached. I was terrified of being told no, but in afterthought I sort of rejoiced in it. No, means you’re welcome to keep trying, and to move on. Most have been gracious enough to wish me luck, even gave me a ‘while I find your ideas interesting’ and then a resounding no attached. Once I got over the initial ‘oh damn’ moment I celebrated at least I’m trying.

Maybe I’ll never get picked up and all this worry and concern will have been a wasted effort, but you know sometimes whether you’re great at something or not, if you believe in it you need to pursue it. So I am. I just wish it was easier not becoming lightheaded and woozy as I browse the blogs and twitters to the agents I find would possibly be interested.

How do you cope with the unnecessary anxiety of waiting? I mean what’s the worst they can say? No? I fully don’t expect an agent to come to me with I’m a freaking moron and should just give up now, and they haven’t yet.


Virtually Holding A Good Friend’s Hand.

A friend of mine recently spoke out on her blog about her bipolar disorder and how it has affected her life. Reading her blog I can easily say I ‘get it’- it’s so much easier to hide inside yourself, then to face the world when things just don’t make sense. I think for me when I’m ‘down’ it’s really about things emotionally not syncing up or making sense, and when I’m manic things make too much sense. Then when/if ever in the middle it’s nothing but panic over how confusing both sides are when they try to mesh.

My good friend discusses her coping mechanisms with her animals, and for me it was always writing. I never realized that until as I read her blog I thought I wrote something that would go great with that. Now, as my little ribbon of support for my friend for her journey in hitting the world and allowing people see inside her, I’m going to post a few things that I’ve hidden in a notebook clearly marked ‘do not enter’ and ‘Meg’s soul’.

Inside the notebook is a catalog of my ups, but mostly my downs, many pages marked with initials and years they were written. Why I’ve done this is because to me I think everything should matter. Everything should be remembered to some degree, so as to not repeat things that only cause disruption from enjoying life.

The first item up on this personal journey is a piece written in 1995, I was between 15-16 years old. Titled Tomorrow’s Way, it approaches how quickly moods and emotions can change.

There’s a rage that’s filling up in me.
Can’t let go, can’t you see?
Pressure now is growing strong.
Gonna change, won’t be long.

Where’s the end of the pain?
No tomorrow, and it’s raining.

Where’s the future place of hope?
How am I supposed to cope,
With you staring down at me,
Making me feel so unlucky?

There’s a place I know there is.
Place of love, and not haunted.
By a ghostly memory of the past,
That I’ll never see… again.

Go away the poisoned rain.
Crying now won’t ease the pain.

The past to me is my future now.
Wait and see, I’ll show you how.

When ever after was happily.
When laughter brought the sun shining.
Rainbows came after the rain.
Stars woke up in a dream.

My troubles seem over now.
Guess again…
Too tired to wake up anyhow.

So, you think my world seems easy.
Just remember not to tease me.

Now you see my life’s a breakin’.
But you’re the one whose a shakin’.

Worry less, I’m not quite dreamless.
Rainbows brought the sun shining.
In my little world of sorrow.
And yet, there’s hope for tomorrow.

Another piece I found has no title, and was written Jan. 24th, 1999. It was written when I was asked by my mother to really consider life, and figure out what it means to me. Where was I heading to? This is sort of a conversation about life between her and I a way to say I ‘get it’ in a sense. She passed away four years later, and I don’t believe she ever got to read it. I’d like to dedicate this to a mom, who to me was in many ways the mom of all moms. She was truly one held together woman and since her death, my inspiration to keep her memory alive in hopes that what she contributed to the world will somehow keep getting out there. I was 19 when this was written.

Mama, please don’t tell me you’re leaving.
Mama, tell me daddy’s not going to.
Stand by me and guide me,
And I’ll do the same for you.

Mama said do a little soul searching,
And you’ll find all the answers you need.
But the world out there my dear,
is more confused than you’ll ever be.

Mama, I thought you’d be here forever.
Who knew it had to end.
Mama, please tell me how love is terror,
Then maybe you’ll stay.

Mama said listen to the memories,
You’d know that you’d never forget me.
Someday soon you’ll know,
How much I love you too.

Mama, I hear you singing like an angel.
In time those words will heal these wounds.
Mama, life’s too precious to wait for dying.
You taught me how to give, and give I will.

This next piece is called Be Thankful, written Nov. 15th, 1999.
It was written as way to identify with myself, why I matter, and I’ve never really shown it off cause it’s too real to think of myself this way, but here it goes…

Be thankful dear child,
Your heart’s in the right place.
Your love will teach those,
Who have fallen from grace.

Your eyes will see through,
All that’s shallow,
Your dreams will reach beyond,
And soon others will follow.

Your hands will steadily hold,
those who tremble.
Your hope will guide those,
who are simple.

Your smile will shine beauty,
On that which is not.
Your faith will extend,
past that which is taught.

You’re an angel without wings,
with a halo that’s unseen.
Be thankful dear child.
For this is your dream.

To mend a broken heart, is to be thankful.

That’s a glimpse into cataloging ups and downs of my bipolar, things I’ve though and felt. How I’ve identified with myself and my surroundings. I’m willing to bet it’s not far off from what a lot of people feel, but the difference, is when I’m down the world feels like it’s over, and I have to convince myself there’s a way to get past it. When it’s going too well, I have to convince myself I can find normalcy, and fit in where I do belong.

In truth everyone belongs or we wouldn’t exist. Our madness and our strengths gives us reason to feel in the first place. It’s how we make sense of our lives. It’s okay to be mad as sin, and it’s alright to feel on top of the world, it’s always a challenge to accept existing in between. Some how the dramatic affect of being radically one way or the other makes life easier when you learn how to ride the wave of insanity. How do you cope?