THAT'S THE WORD!
Futility.
I have been racking my brains all day, searching for the word "futility." Since my bad experience with my erstwhile agent, I have had a massively bad attitude about the whole book publishing industry and the Sisyphean task of trying to get a book published. On the one hand, I feel a huge sense of futility in even sending queries to agents and publishers. On the other hand, I know very well that the only guaranteed failure is not trying.
No, I'm not trying to market On the Edge any more. I have given that up as impossible. I will be putting the books out under the Private Ice imprint when I get around to it—in the fall, perhaps. I do think that I can sell the book to readers, even if publishers couldn't be bothered with it. But we'll see.
I did, however, send a bunch of queries this week for Nobody's Hero, a picture book I wrote about a boy who was saved by a dog during the Indian Tsunami on December 26, 2004. I sent 12 via email last week... one single response came back saying the agent was too busy to take anyone else on. Not that I believe him, but it's one of the kind fictions perpetrated by agents so they don't have to tell people that they just didn't care as much about the story as the writer does.
Anyway, I put another 50 queries into the mail box today. I don't expect to hear back from anyone, really. Picture books are insanely hard to sell... maybe worse than skating fiction. But at least I'm trying. Even if it is with a vast sense of futility.
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