Word Better Than No Word
Finally, after more than three months, got a letter from Zachary Shuster Harmsworth, the literary agency based in NYC and Boston that had called back in February after learning of my Oregon Literary Fellowship and asked to see my work. Of course, they don't feel The Muse of Hanging is a fit for them. I knew that when the envelope was my SASE and not a larger, business envelope that might, oh joy of joys, include a contract. Still, a small crumb in what I don't think was a form letter:
"...we commend your literary fellowships and appreciated your sparsely, elegant, often dreamy prose."
So I guess they at least read it. Have I grown thick skin, is my lack of emotion part of being 49 or simply a Zen acceptance of the utter weirdness that is trying to make it as a literary writer these 21st century days? Truth to tell, I'm relieved to now know one way or another so I can keep working and work some of the other literary agent contacts I've got.
What a line of work to want to be in. Back to reading the new Harper's and an essay called: "Doing Time: My years in the creative-writing gulag" by Lynn Freed.
