Dear literary agent 2

Dear Literary Agent:



You are probably wondering why you have not heard from me before.

It's not personal. I have meant no criticism of your expertise or of your talent as a literary agent. I am sure you are a terrific literary agent. Indeed, I feel that you alone are up to the grave and complex challenges of representing a writer such as myself.

Furthermore I have not neglected or forestalled writing you for fear of your disinterest in representing me. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Of course you'd want to represent me! That would be like The Cavern Club not letting the Beatles play, or Moses refusing the Ten Commandments.

I hope that doesn't sound over confident.

No, the only reason I have delayed contacting you is because I have been concerned for you. Now you are a simple, salt of the earth literary agent. You are kind to cats. You contribute as you can to the home for retired literary agents. You work hard. You are a good person. What happens when you become my literary agent, when you face and triumph over the legendary eight epic challenges of the literary agent, when the home for retired literary agents is named after you, when you can afford to have cats cloned to your specifications, when a '96 Pol Roger 2000 Cuvee Sir Winston Churchill Brut tastes harsh to your tongue, and when book publishers return your phone calls within a week? 

Who will you be then?

But then I woke up this morning and I thought that, in as much as I know you, which I don't, not even a tiny bit, you will be fine.

You will be fine. You can handle it.

So let's do this. I look forward to discussing absurdly lucrative book deal bids with you in the near future.



Yours truly,

F. Calypso