Agent Conference and Cosmos Stacy

The Agents’ Conference went well this weekend. Let me rephrase; after nausea and crippling self-doubt receded, the conference went well.

Kenzie sent me off with a virus I fought all day on Friday. The drive down to Austin was miserable but I took it as an act of faith. Once I got to Austin and checked into the hotel, I took a short nap and felt a bit better. At 3, I attended the first workshop where we distilled our literary endeavors into one hook sentence. It was difficult to get mine into one sentence and I never truly did because, frustrated, I quit trying.

Next, we were all off to court the agents at the cocktail party. It was high school with legal drinking. The poor agents, the popular kids, stood cornered by one author after another while trying to respond to pitches that were not really heard because the noise was approaching the decibel level of a rock concert. I stood in many of these lines and would get almost to the front when a lovely colleague would elbow me out of the way to sell his/her blockbuster that was, no doubt, better than anyone else’s. Authors then compared the notches on their highball glasses as to how many agents they hit up and how many they had to go. I again gave up and resolved to talk to people, regardless of the color of their name tag, a novel idea in a room full of novelists.

Disheartened, I went back upstairs and anxiously awaited the arrival of my soul sister who I had no doubt would help me put all of this in perspective if only by listening to me and making me feel as if I mattered again. Of course she did and when I went to sleep I prayed for peace and a new frame of mind. The phenergan helped me sleep and the extra oxygen soothed my rattled nerves.

I slept in a bit on Saturday and then went to a seminar where the panel instructed us to reject rejection. While I pondered this, the re-frame hit me. I had been going about the whole thing all wrong, following the same rote path everyone else was taking and feeling as if I were prostituting myself and my novel in the process. I resolved to do this conference my way.
I did this first by introducing myself to agents and complimenting them only. I complimented personalities, speaking voice, attitudes, hair styles, author/agent relationships. I did not pitch my book, but instead validated others. It fit me, allowing me to get the attention I needed while still honoring my personal creed that we all have a story and all are, first, human beings each given skills and talents. I met great agents this way and had several request partials of my manuscript. I bonded particularly with one and hope she likes my writing as much as she liked me. Ironically, that particular agent’s last name is my first married name and the name I just recently had dropped from my daughter’s legal name. Life is funny that way, because honestly, I had not even considered this agent, yet we saw a familiarity in each other and enjoyed a moment of bonding. I love when the Universe reminds me I must not be dismissive.

So, all in all, the weekend was a success. I learned an overwhelming amount of information about the publishing business as well as the cosmos Stacy, and I rest in faith that I was and am exactly where I should to be.

Peace and Love.

hourglass figures revealing power

I never considered myself a powerful person. I don’t make a six figure salary. Every job I’ve had has been one that hovers at the lower end of the corporate ladder. My opinions and beliefs are not so subversive that they threaten the power structure, but power and what it means to me has been dancing around in my brain and reflecting in my life the last few months. For the most part, that is because I finished writing my book; a book that is a cautionary and tragic tale for those of us who do not own our power.
I looked at power as a gift only given to those with big voices, big paychecks and big social circles. In reality, power is in the mundane, the day to day choices I make, the people I influence. I have so long set power outside of my scope that I forgot the impact my life makes.
I walked behind a woman with the most beautiful hourglass figure at the grocery store the other day. I wanted to stop her and compliment her but wondered that I may sound weird or threatening. She finished one side of the aisle and then turned around to peruse the other side and faced me. I was surprised to see that she was in her seventies.
I knew I had a choice. I could ignore the little voice inside of me that wanted to edify this woman or I could speak up. When she glanced at me, I took my chance. “Pardon me. I just wanted to compliment your figure. You have the most beautiful hourglass shape,” I told her and then steeled myself for whatever reaction she may have.
“Oh honey, my sixtieth high school reunion is coming up and I’ve been working on it for months. Thank you so much for telling me,” she replied and little tear testaments sprung into her eyes.
I’ve held that moment in my heart and mind for a while because in edifying her, I internalized a lesson I had only rudimentally grasped. “We are powerful beyond measure.” I read that in Marianne Williamson’s A Return to Love years ago. Ah, yes, I’ve sarcastically thought; I am so powerful as I live my ordinary insular life, yeah right. But power is revealing itself to me a little more every day.
I had the power in that grocery store to make someone’s day, perhaps month. I have the power when I walk into my gym to create community with other women and notice their hard work, the new definition in their calves, and the pep in their steps. I have the awesome power of Mother Love, that all encompassing love that has no conditions but has the highest of expectations. I make decisions every day that make this world a better or worse place to be. My God, I am powerful beyond measure!
Celebrating my power is not all fun. For if I claim my power that means I have to claim the dark side of that too. The times I re-mold my children into my own image instead of their own. The times I re-enforce stereotypes. The battles I choose and even the ones I don’t. Therefore, power is a gift and a great responsibility, so therefore I will use intent as my measuring stick. What is my intention when I speak with a person? Will my presence enlighten both that person and myself? And such is this rambling. I invite you to claim the power in your life. Then, please share.
Peace and Love.