Almost, but not quite

Almost but not quite can be a good thing sometimes...

• I've almost been struck by lightning twice (they say third time's the charm and that's why I run for cover when the thunder boomers roll in--and people who know me stay far away).
• I almost came to know, in a scarily biblical sense, a speeding 18-wheeler when my car spun out of control on a snowy Mass Turnpike (I don't care how quaint James Taylor makes the Pike in winter sound, it's a hellish drive, whether you're in Stockbridge or skidding toward the Allston/Brighton tolls).
• And I gave birth to an almost ten pound baby (he was the size of a Christmas ham with linebacker shoulders as it was).

Then there are the times when almost frustrates the crap out of me, like the time I almost had a story published in a romance magazine. I almost made a hunk of change on the sale, almost had something to brag about when querying agents/editors. Then the magazine went belly up--no story! Crushing.

Last week, I almost had an agent. Got The Call we writers shiver to think about. Well, okay, I was shivering because I'd just gotten out of the pool, but I have to admit I was thrilled. Right after hanging up, I emailed my critique group and husband the good news, then went to work looking over my WWII-set mystery to see where I could trim it per the agent's suggestions.

But my euphoria was short-lived. The words, "I'm interested in taking this on..." became "Sorry I must decline" a few days later. Mainly because the agent discovered a more-than-tough market for WWII-set mysteries. The agent loved my story, characters, plot, etc. but not enough to battle the market. Fair enough, but I almost lost it--why hadn't s/he discovered this daunting fact BEFORE calling me? The agent could've sent me a nice rejection, citing the market, and I would've been all kinds of "Almost, but not quite..." mollified instead of almost in as much pain as when I pooped out an almost ten-pound Christmas ham with linebacker's shoulders.

Chalk up another painfully amusing tale for the memoirs. And let's face it, I'd rather have an almost-agent who liked my work enough to call me up to chat about it than no interest at all. Well, almost.

Janet - Still believing no power in the 'verse can stop me!