As an author, coach, and public speaker, I hope this blog will help to show the frustrations and joys of the work behind the scenes, and hopefully attract many people that will become friends, and maybe even fans of my work. Like all of life, it will be an adventure none the less. Thanks for joining me on the ride, and being a part of my life.
THE REJECTION LETTER EARN A FREE SMASHWWORD COPY OFFER ENDS DECEMBER 3, 2011
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THAT'S IT. OKAY, HERE ARE THE OPENING PAGES.
THE REJECTION LETTER
He envisioned his own tombstone:
Literary Agent Extraordinaire
Killed in the Line of Duty
Damn, he knew he could die any minute. A blurred object mere inches in front of his eyes materialized, as a flash of light reflected from the cold steel. Focusing on the razored edge of the curved knife ascending into a sharp tip designed to kill, he stopped breathing. His body stiffened, and froze solid where he sat with his back against a hard cold wall. He felt scared any movement might further agitate his attacker. The pain radiating from the back of his battered head dulled his vision and his thoughts. A wire tying his hands together cut into his skin, increasing the unbearable terror ravaging his body. He inhaled the smell of blood and sweat as he gazed into the darkness, hoping to gain his bearings. Again a fist smashed into his forehead, slamming the back of his head into the wall behind him as the world faded. He fought his way back to life, only to stare into the slicing blade carving the side of his face. “DAMNNNNN!” His voice erupted and echoed off nearby walls and in his head. The pain shattered the remaining will to remain still. He struck out with his head, his arms, and his legs. In return the hand slammed his head back against the wall again. He forced his way back into reality as the warm blood flowed from his face. “What do you want from me?” “Satisfaction.” “Satisfaction for what?” “Ruining my life, that’s what!” Another slice sheared off an ear. “OHHH SHIT, stop, please stop. I’ll give you anything you want—anything.” “That’s impossible.” The knife retreated as a face leaned forward, one he recognized only so slightly. “You? Why you crazy—.” A vicious kick to his crotch blasted his tortured soul to new levels. “Oh God, why me? Stop, please stop.” “I know you think you have the balls to do what you want. Being a literary agent doesn’t make you God—you stupid bastard.” The next kick to his crotch made his stomach deliver its contents to his throat. The bitter taste forced a gagging convulsion. He knew then he was going to die soon. “I’m sorry. I’m—.” “You should’ve thought about your actions earlier.” Another punch to the face bounced his head off the concrete wall. Thoughts of his life rushed forward to fill in the fading minutes. Would his life end like this? His family, his agency, his friends, his clients—what would happen to them? His world collapsed as the remaining blood drained from his body.