This is the nonfiction story of one man's quest to publish a fiction novel:

As we have discussed previously, I’ve been waiting to hear back from The Cooke Agency on whether they like my manuscript enough to represent me as an author.  I couldn’t get a hold of the agent who asked for the full book after liking the first five chapters, so I decided to contact the assistant who first got in contact with me.  

I sent her an e-mail explaining the situation, saying I wasn’t sure if my e-mails had gotten through.  Finally, FINALLY, I received a response:

Dear Matt,
 
Thanks for your note below. Suzanne isn't in the office today, so I can't ask her about this, but I do know that your manuscript is still on her reading list. So, she does have it and plans on reading it once the other stuff is cleared away.
 
I apologize for the wait, but I'm afraid it does sometimes take longer than we intend to get back to authors. Please let me know if your circumstances change, you have other agents/publishers interested etc.
 
All the best,
Samantha


So the saga continues.  I just have to play the waiting game and see what happens.  It’s horrible and torturous, but it’s necessarily.  It's something we all have to go through.

But these people, these agents, they have so much power right now.  They have the power to make me a real writer or not.  And as I wait for them to wield that power, I feel complete helplessness.  If they end up not liking the book, all this waiting has been for nothing.  I could have sent my manuscript to plenty of other potentials instead of sitting here stagnate, doing nothing to further my “career.”  I could have been twiddling with my query letters instead of twiddling my thumbs.

But if they do like it, a brand new chapter of my life begins. 

And so, I wait.  Powerless and helpless, I wait.