"They're all going to laugh at you..."

So I just sent a whack of envelopes out to some of Toronto's literary agents, containing what I hoped was an interesting enough pile of paper to convince them to, if not represent me, actually want to see more of my work.

I feel like Carrie at the prom. I'm proud of dress that I made (rather, my bundle of queries) and now I'm dancing with the hunk of the school and feeling pretty damn good. Confidence beginning to unfurl.

Next step... pig's blood and terror.

Fortunately, I'm not pryokinetic. Nor do I have a freaky Jesus-loving mom who refers to breasts as "dirty pillows."