It's a weird thing, this writing business. You have to be a wordsmith, a business person, a salesman, and a rhinoceros. I suppose I should explain the rhinoceros bit. According to www.earthlife.net, the rhinoceros has the thickest skin, and I believe it after the youtube video I saw of a rhinoceros fighting off a crocodile. Today the crocs are snapping, and I'm wishing for some rhinoceros skin. Okay, okay, they're only agents, but they're wielding some sharp rejection letters. I've only really started trying to interest an agent in my second book, but already I remember the first time around and how, after about a dozen form letters saying "thanks, but not thanks," I went to a writer's conference and got lucky. I'll never be able to thank the editor at Echelon Press enough for rescuing me from the dangerous waters of Query Swamp. Before someone gets all defensive for the agents, I know they're just people. The ones I've met are even nice people. And yes, I know they have to make a living, and they're inundated with letters, but it still smarts no matter how gently they take a chunk out of your ego. Why is it so many of us keep doing this? Maybe it's because when I write, the only world I'm aware of is the one of my own making. And as I saw on a t-shirt once: they know me there. Time to put on my rhinoceros armor. I have another query letter to write.