For the last couple weeks I've devoted my time to blowing the dust off the query letter for Moving Fear, writing a new one for PRICK, not to mention making sure my Query Tracker subscription was up-to-date. Now that I've severed ties with my previous agent, it's time to hit the query trails again.
The truth is, if I wasn't doing all of that, there wouldn't be much else for me to do...writing-wise. I've been riding a high for two years thinking my writing was good enough to land me an agent, but now it turns out the agent wasn't very good - so naturally I have to reassess what that means. PRICK was my fourth novel -- all of them written over a span of seven years -- and although I'm itching to work on something else, I think I've reached a point where I'm not sure putting forth the effort will lead me anywhere. It's not that I believe my writing can't improve, because it absolutely can, but I also feel that over the course of four books I've improved enough to warrant serious consideration. The cost-benefit analysis of starting a fifth manuscript is cloudy - at best.
I guess what I'm saying is that I've reached a tipping point. I have sequels outlined for both Moving Fear and PRICK, and I'm poised to dive into either of them should I land an agent or publisher, but I'm hesitant. I'm consumed with the eternal debate that most aspiring writers are forced to face at some point. Do I possess enough talent to break into this industry...or am I simply banging my head against a wall that could care less? No, I'm not saying I'm giving up. I'm sending out query letters and tossing chum in the water to see if the sharks are interested. But at the same time, I'm not working on anything new.
Time will tell if this is just a brief respite preceding a flurry of activity and excitement, or the agonizing silence before the doctor pronounces the time of death.