The Fox and I.

 

                    I've fed the fox a couple of times. Sometimes he walks by. I've given him dog food three times in the last couple of weeks on the grounds that I prefer foxes to rabbits.

                    I'm hoping that reporting on my feeble efforts to get a literary agent might stimulate better efforts. In the last three weeks, I've sent out four emails to agents and got no positive responses. In fact, I didn't get any response from

Daisy Chadley of Peters, Fraser and Dunlop.

Stan from the Northern Literary Agency

Fraser Ross Associates.

Jenny Brown Assocs did reply, saying that they weren't taking submissions right now. That's okay. If I could get a quick response, I could continue searching.

                    Can't say my heart is in this searching for an agent business. That's practically all I've done in three weeks. Dearie me.

Tonight 23/6/23 ... I got an email from Stan saying he'd look at the two books. I sent him three since I didn't know which two books he wanted. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I don't have to send out any emails to anyone about getting an agent for a couple of weeks anyway. So well done, Stan. 

                       I think I'll have to think of something else to write a book about. Where do you get your ideas from?

How tentative about getting an literary agent can you get?

Daisy Chadley at Peter's, Fraser and Dunlop didn't reply to the first email I sent to anyone in this quest to find a literary agent. Wasn't it always thus! If they'd just look at it and then reply with a no thanks.

                    You think you should just send one email at a time, and wait for a reply, and be a good soldier. Well, maybe that's not the way the world works. However, after sending one email into the cyber void, I'm not quitting yet. I'll send another one when I can find the time ... I had more time when I was working because I tried not to do any work and if you do that, you've got plenty of time to fill. These days there aren't enough hours in the day for the stuff I want to do.

                    I also sent a copy of The Buddha, The Dakini, and The Dirty Old man to somebody, LR Price Publications. They have this big advert when you ask for manna from heaven on the computery thing, and you talk to the machines, and it might be something you'd do because it's got a big advert.

                    I'll have to stop being half arsed about this, but it's hard to find the time.

                     It was too hot today to sit outside. The weather has been amazingly good for over a week. Or, amazingly bad because it seems climate change wasn't a hoax after all.

                      Even with no time, I'll have to find the time to read the books by Cormac McCarthy I haven't read. So I should. I don't read much fiction, if any these days, but I did read one or two books by him, and was blown away. Brilliant writer. So brilliant. But dead now: deid deid deid as he can be! Let that be a lesson. We're all fucked.

        

Tentative beginnings to get another agent.

                         The Samye Ling is almost open again. I was there in February and was freaked the first afternoon by the cold after I went down to the riverbank and became chilled. Nowhere to get warm, They had the heating on a timer due to the eye watering cost of energy these days, but this time it was back in the old routine, almost. Anyway, the cafe was open and so was Potala House, where I normally stay. For the first time, I had room in Johnstone House in February which just felt weird.

                        There was something called the Monlam going on and the temple was mobbed every day with folk doing prayers, and some teachings from Drupon Rinpoche. He asked for a show of hands to see how many in the audience had done one of the big three or four year retreats ... about a fifth of the folk put their hands up. Impressive. 

                        An eighty five year old guy was sitting behind me sometimes. I met him on the Holy Isle. Turned out he'd only been in paid employment for three years of his life, and had made his living out of dealing dope till he did twelve years in retreat. You'd think butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Someone else I know told me they were dealing in Amsterdam before they came to Scotland; someone else who did twelve years in retreat.

                        The top photo is of Lama Yeshe and Ani Llamo coming to the gate of the centre as I was leaving. I saw them going the opposite way, to Purelands, when I was in  a taxi on the way there. Lifted my heart, so it did.

                          Writing stuff since this blog is supposed to be supporting my Kindle account... So, one of the two folk I gave The Buddha, The Dakini, and The Dirty Old Man to, someone I met on the Indian pilgrimage who'd read some of my books, said she thought it was really good, which was encouraging. 

                            When I read Cold Killing while my friend was reading The Dirty Old Man, I found it okay. When I'd put it aside to concentrate on the writing the dharma book, I thought it probably needed filled out in "act three". But it's a crime thriller novel and works on plotline, so it's okay as it is, I've decided.

                            So now I've got two new books. I'd like The Dirty Old Man published because it might help folk who are interested in meditating, but it's not a genre novel, so it's chances are slim. The same with Cyclists, and it got published nearly right away. If I make any money from  The Dirty Old Man, I'll give it to the wee French nun who is trying to develop a retreat centre. But it probably won't make any money.

                            In my experience you get published by knowing people. Sending out emails to agents is probably not going to get you published, but I don't know anyone .... still I sent an email to someone and this would be a good place to keep a record of what I'm doing in this regard.

No 1: Daisy Chadley at Peters, Fraser and Dunlop. Picked her to send an email to because she was the last on the list of folk there who were willing to entertain folk like me, the random outsiders.