Turn, you damnéd gears!

I know, Shakespeare never wrote any such line. But he should have.

I did a wall-of-text bitch session to my beloved and they have now vowed to assist in the whole "this part of the process needs you" deal. Y'know. When they finally stir themselves from a nice, comfy bed and a good ebook on their kindle.

Of course my efforts to find an agent via LinkedIn require me to pay them money just to attempt contact. As in, LinkedIn wants money from me so I can contact people. Not the agents.

If I could afford to pay these guys, I wouldn't need to be looking for an agent in order to earn enough money to pay these guys. The system is rigged against the noob, I swear.

Goin through the free channels, I have to read profiles (where available) to see who would read what. And I absolutely, positively have to pick an agent who likes the ballpark of the things I write, because my preferred number of agents is one.

It's hours of work. And much of it is disheartening because some like one niche part of my style, but not the rest of it. Some will only plug one gender, I am sure. That's bound to come into it, somewhere.

You'll have agents who won't touch anything written about brown people. Agents who won't touch anything with a female protagonist. Agents who won't touch sc-fi and only handle fantasy.

I'm aiming for the stars, I know... but right now it feels like I gotta tunnel my way up from 20 000 feet below sea level, and get through an entire mountain.

Pass me the frelling teaspoon. I've got this.