Imagine this very afternoon you are approached by one of the most exclusive and sought-after literary agents in the country. Perhaps it is the effusive Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary, or the reclusive Sarah Chalfant of The Wylie Agency.
She has been watching you, she says, following your every move and closely monitoring those brilliant Blog entries and witty Tweets. As she speaks, you can tell that she is barely able to contain her enthusiasm, because she wants desperately for you to join her A-list of clients. However, she controls herself with a cool and detached demeanor, seeing as she is a distinguished professional. Plus she also wants to make a favorable impression on you.
The truth is, you’ve been expecting this call for years now, because you knew all along that you were really, really special – particularly when it came to expressing yourself through writing – and that God’s plan for your life surely involved a much more robust distribution channel for sharing these inspirational vignettes beyond the pathetic dribble of visitors from your daily Blog traffic.
As she sets down her tea cup with Ivy League dexterity, you can’t help but notice her most exquisitely manicured hands. She pats at her skirt for a moment, then looks up at you and says, “Your work… It is a gift from heaven! I already have three major publishers lined up for auction. This book of yours will single-handedly revive the publishing industry, I am certain. You will be huge!”
“Well, Duh,” you think to yourself. But instead you say, “I appreciate this so much. You don’t know what it means to me, having my work acknowledged by one with such refined taste as yours.”
She gives a half-interested nod, but is preoccupied. “There’s just one thing…” she says, coyly, tilting her head ever so slightly while stroking your cat, which has silently appeared on the sofa where she is seated.
“Sure,” you reply. “Anything for this book deal. What is it?”
“Your book…” She begins, but her voice falls to a whisper. “Your…masterpiece -” She pauses, gazing out the window at the pattering raindrops against the gray sky. A clap of thunder cracks the silence. She returns a determined, penetrating gaze. “The title of your book – It can only be one word.”
Your face turns white with the shock of this seemingly absurd demand. She continues with a fierce resolve. “Your entire work must be summed up with just one word! The publishers insist!” The hissing of her words hang in the air like a cloud of smoke as she stands to her feet. “It’s the only way this book will sell!”
“One word? My entire life’s work? Are you crazy?”
With that, she exits as quickly as she arrived. You notice that a business card has been left behind, which has fallen to the floor. Picking it up, you study the bold font announcing her fabulous name, and you detect the faintest scent of her lingering perfume. Her voice echoes in your head over and over again with her dire command: “Just one word! Just one word!”
To be continued.
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