Secret agent

While my second draft is festering in my drawer, I mean awaiting more feedback, I whiled away the time by looking into self-publishing versus finding an agent. My head is full of grand ideas to publish my play. I haven’t really gone beyond that and thought about whether anyone would actually want to buy it. Then of course I stumble across the sites that tell me you can self-publish, but frankly you probably won’t sell many copies. And it will all cost you money.

One of the most helpful articles I found was Self-publishing a book: 25 things you need to know. The headings start well: Self-publishing is easy. (That’s what I want to hear.) Quality has improved. (Great.) But then: The odds are against you. (Are they? Don’t tell me that! Always remain positive – if you can see it, you will be it!) Creating a professional book is really hard. (It can’t be that hard, can it?) Even if your book is great, there’s a chance it won’t sell. (Oh no, the financial reality … OK, how much can I afford to lose? Better not tell the husband.)

So, it hits me – I need an agent. I’ve had one before (I tried my hand at writing funny books for children. Let’s just say they were perhaps funny strange rather than funny ha ha – but I did get valuable feedback from major publishing houses). Then life got in the way of writing. I’m back to the comedy – but this time for adults. So how hard can it be to get an agent again?

Terrible. I’d forgotten what a trawl it was. “Don’t contact us, unless someone has introduced you,” they say. Oh, right. So I’ve got to know a famous author, or be a friend of an agent? And that makes me a good writer?

Another says: “Most publishers and many agencies no longer accept unsolicited submissions.” Perhaps I need a famous name to pretend they’ve written this play?

And if the agent does accept unsolicited material, they may insist on exclusivity – and even take a couple of months to reject you. Mmmmm. This is not going well.

There’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to save up and publish my own book: Martini Bond, a parody of James Bond. There may be nothing in it financially for me, but I will get the satisfaction of bringing out my own play about a secret agent … Perhaps I could even cut my costs by accessing my husband’s cash. It might take months of emptying the small change from his pockets. But it sounds like it could work. I could even be my very own secret agent. Just don’t tell my husband.