Appointment Number Two...Or, Does It Ever Get Any Easier???

I’m waiting for my conference impressions to unscramble before I post them, so you’ll have to bear with me. (Good luck to us all, by the way.)

In the meantime, here’s the update on my second appointment.

NO HEAD SHAKING! I’M GETTING BETTER AT IT!

Ha…either that, or I’m less intimidated by being face-to-face with an EDITOR young enough to be my daughter. (If I had one, that is). (And, just so you know, when I say FACE, I mean FACE. Literally, the physical space between us was about three feet…hmm…do I smell an evil RWA psychologist at work?) Without naming names, let’s just say this editor was not in the market for ST (which I discovered about a week before the conference—not my fault, I trusted the area-of-interest grid). Nonetheless, I arrived armed with Plan B, my unfinished chick-lit, for which she expressed an interest. (Waiting for applause to die down.)

Not that she gushed or anything. I’m just not the kind of “pitcher” to inspire visible enthusiasm (sigh.) But she did use the words “sounds like a fresh approach” and asked me (gave me permission?) to submit when it’s completed. Ah…there’s an incentive I’ve never had while writing a book!

Oh, and this was just adorable—she mentioned they’re looking for “older” protagonists and I responded with, “Mine’s thirty-two.” “Perfect,” she said, nodding innocently.

Older??? Older????

Okay. I know. I’m over it.

But wait. Putting aside whether 32 is (cough) older, for my money, chick-lit has never been solely about 22-year olds. Case in point: on Saturday night, Lani Diane Rich won a Rita for “Time Off For Good Behavior” which she wrote in 2002 and which bears a 2004 copyright. Heroine’s age? Thirty-two. Chick-lit? Definitely.

By the way, I discussed my chick-lit WIP with an agent on the previous day and she suggested I “age” my protagonist to 48.

Yeah, I could do that, but…………I’m not MENTALLY old enough to write what everyone calls HEN-LIT. You DO understand, don’t you?

P.S. My self-designed business card garnered some eye twinkles. Too bad I didn’t shove it in more faces. (Or down more throats.)