The loveliest of cocktail parties was held on the veranda in the foothills overlooking the University. Hors d'ouvres were passed around, glasses of wine and beer were handed out by the dozens and everyone seemed to be having a millingly good time. I had some fun--more than in the last days. The agent from yesterday asked me if he was helpful, I basically said, no. It's too hard with 20 pages and 20 minutes to be helpful, I said. Then someone came up and asked if he'd "hustled" anyone. He said a couple of folks. Ouch. But, I of the massive delusion decided he was just being trying to look cool to the asker and in fact had hustled no one.
I'm working on compartmentalizing the business part of writing from the rest of my life, but it's slow going--especially when the safety net years of graduate school have almost passed and I need some substantial publication, not just journals, to really say I have anything like a career. I also wonder if I'm a genre slut and if this makes me a better writer or just opens me up to more rejection. My lovely friend Jeff says, you would be a dilettante, if you didn't do all three well. What a sweetheart. And Lynn who reminds me that there is more than one agent in the sea. And Julie who props me up by promising that she'll be reading the great review in New York Book Review and that she'll send this agent who lost out a copy of the published book and the review. Erik asked, who does he represent? I read him the list of his clients. We didn't recognize any of their names. Erik said, see?
See why I can't leave graduate school? What would I do without the kindness of my friends?