Writer's Nightmares

Before I went to bed last night, I did a couple of things: I worked on a short story that I need to finish by Thursday, and I thought hard about a book I'm starting and how many more themes I can possibly cram into it. Because gender identity, the culture of youth worship, the writing life, introversion and the individuality of perception aren't enough. I know that I can shoehorn music theory, extraterrestrials, the nature of time and makeup tips in as well.

So, in my dream I was hanging out with the Zombie Club, except that it wasn't the actual Zombies themselves. One of them was a tiny little short man that I've never seen in real life, another was a dear friend of mine that died two years ago. We had all gotten together on a sort of field trip to visit an agent's office, but it wasn't like any real agent's office, I'm sure.

At this particular office, you made appointments with the various agents, and there were about a dozen to choose from. You were allowed to pitch up to six works, but the pitch went like this: first you had a card with six lines on it. On each of the lines, you write three words that describes the work you're pitching. Based on those three words, the agent may ask to see a two-sentence synopsis. Based on the two-sentence synopsis, the agent may then ask for a whole package - a full-length synopsis, sample chapters, etc. So you go in with a suitcase of stuff, but it all hinges on the three words you've chosen for the card at the beginning.

The six of us (there are eight Zombies in real life, but in the dream, only six) sat at a table facing the agent who looked at our cards one by one. He would check off the things on the card that he wanted to see, and each person would then get out their two-sentence thing. When the first agent looked at my card, he just said "Hmmm, no...too dark...no...gloomy...sorry, nothing here." And handed it back.

I was embarrassed and a little angry because he'd only really looked at the first three. I was thinking "You think you're so goddamned important that you can't even look at EIGHTEEN WORDS?" At the end of the day, we'd seen at least four agents, and everyone else had gotten at least two or three requests for samples, but I had gotten NOTHING. I was so angry, because this wasn't a commentary on my writing skills, but on my skills at picking the three words that would market my book most effectively. I have to admit, being still unpublished at this late date makes me keenly aware at how important those things are, and makes me panic a little at not being better at them.

And just to add insult to injury, at the end of the dream, I got separated from the rest of the Zombies and couldn't find the car in the mall parking lot, and my phone got all screwed up and I couldn't even call them.

My dream suck sometimes.