Geoff Rod

I sent over the 20 pages later on that night.  I took the dogs out for a walk, called goodnight to Beth upstairs, discovered she was already sleeping, and eventually wandered back to my computer and pulled up the email I’d sent to the agent.

After rereading the attachments I’d sent with a somewhat-fresh mind, I’d found four problems. 

Fuck.

A few days later, I got an email back from the agent.  It was polite, eloquently worded, very formal, and said something along the lines of “while there is much promise in your writing, I do not believe I will the best to represent your work.”

But there was a note at the bottom that I appreciated.

“Don’t give up.”