I've been a bit naughty today.
- I did no work
- I've spent most of the day exchanging cheeky banter with publishers and journalists
Can't help it. It just happened. There's a feeling that I should be in some kind of well-behaved hibernation while I await the decision of the agent but I'm rebelling. For one thing, the agent in question is lovely so I'm fairly sure - regardless of their eventual decision over my writing career - they wouldn't want me to stop living for the next 5+ weeks. For another thing,the publishers and journalists are lovely too and I like having little chats with them. They know lots about the things I love and are great chat-ologists. Why do I feel guilty?
I think there's a deeply felt concept that agents, publishers and others in positions of authority are either out to get writers or are simply unapproachable but is this true? Probably not. Authors are supposed to fall into the same category and yet today I received a very lovely email from one of my favourite authors, Joanna Trollope.
It's a contentious suggestion but maybe they're all just people too. What do you think?