Two days into the experiment and, so far, I have the same result as the very first batch of query letters I sent out in February; that is, a response the next day for the whole manuscript.
So, expanding on the fishing analogy, it’s like there are two fishermen, both strapped in their respective boat seats for an afternoon of marlin fishing. One is encumbered with too much gear: his rod’s heavier than the other fisherman’s but not as strong, and his lifejacket is too bulky and chafes his armpits, leaving him uncomfortable and rigid. Using the same fishing line, hook, and bait, however, they both manage to get simultaneous bites from their trophy fish. Neither gets anything more than that one teasing nibble (although both get painfully sunburnt).
The encumbered one feels a bit smug because his equipment, as flawed as it is, got him the same results as his streamlined partner—who, of course, invested more in his lightweight gear. Still, since they’re friends, they know they’ll have a good story to tell their buddies back at the hotel bar even though they’re saddened to return home from their once-in-a-lifetime fishing trip empty-handed.
Suddenly, someone appears next to the men on the boat. He holds out his arms and, amazingly, a marlin jumps out of the water and right into the man’s embrace. Even more amazingly, the marlin looks at the stranger, as if to say, “Take me. I’m yours.”
So, in the end, it may not be the gear that matters. As long as you have a good hook, line, and sinker—even if they’re all made of weighty stuff—you should at least get a bite. What really counts is being able to take the fish home, stuff it, and hang it over your fireplace.
Hmm. I think something just got lost in that analogy…
The story makes me wonder, though: since I’ve got the same result as the first cast of query letters, I may have already assumed that I’ll end up with the same conclusion: empty-handedness. Or, more likely, it only feels that it would be utterly magical, if not impossible, for such a rarity to land so easily in my hands. It’s like magic dust that sparkles as it spills through your fingers.
Still, if you’re going to write a novel—and conduct science experiments—it’s good, if not intrinsically necessary, to believe in a little bit of magic.
So, expanding on the fishing analogy, it’s like there are two fishermen, both strapped in their respective boat seats for an afternoon of marlin fishing. One is encumbered with too much gear: his rod’s heavier than the other fisherman’s but not as strong, and his lifejacket is too bulky and chafes his armpits, leaving him uncomfortable and rigid. Using the same fishing line, hook, and bait, however, they both manage to get simultaneous bites from their trophy fish. Neither gets anything more than that one teasing nibble (although both get painfully sunburnt).
The encumbered one feels a bit smug because his equipment, as flawed as it is, got him the same results as his streamlined partner—who, of course, invested more in his lightweight gear. Still, since they’re friends, they know they’ll have a good story to tell their buddies back at the hotel bar even though they’re saddened to return home from their once-in-a-lifetime fishing trip empty-handed.
Suddenly, someone appears next to the men on the boat. He holds out his arms and, amazingly, a marlin jumps out of the water and right into the man’s embrace. Even more amazingly, the marlin looks at the stranger, as if to say, “Take me. I’m yours.”
So, in the end, it may not be the gear that matters. As long as you have a good hook, line, and sinker—even if they’re all made of weighty stuff—you should at least get a bite. What really counts is being able to take the fish home, stuff it, and hang it over your fireplace.
Hmm. I think something just got lost in that analogy…
The story makes me wonder, though: since I’ve got the same result as the first cast of query letters, I may have already assumed that I’ll end up with the same conclusion: empty-handedness. Or, more likely, it only feels that it would be utterly magical, if not impossible, for such a rarity to land so easily in my hands. It’s like magic dust that sparkles as it spills through your fingers.
Still, if you’re going to write a novel—and conduct science experiments—it’s good, if not intrinsically necessary, to believe in a little bit of magic.
Absolutely. I love the analogy.
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