The Numbers Are In

A literary agent reported his/her numbers for this year:

Queries read: 36,000

Sample pages requested: 839

Full manuscripts requested: 98

New clients signed: 9

Holy ass-crap.

Multiply those numbers by the hundreds of agents out there, and that is what I'm up against. Forget the fact that I don't have a MFA degree, a single publishing credit, or someone on the inside who can put in a good word for me. The numbers are ridiculous on their own.

I feel like a contestant on American Idol for writers. Thankfully, there aren't any cameras rolling, and Simon isn't sitting in front of me telling me how bad I suck. Form rejections do that all on their own.

You know what I say? Fuck it. Numbers don't scare me. People have been defying the odds ever since Snooki received a personalized tweet from Senator John McCain regarding the taxation of tanning beds. I feel like I'm only a half-step behind. This agent may not represent my genre, but somewhere out there I am one of the "98 manuscripts requested."

Numbers, schnumbers. I'm making 2011 my bitch.