When people ask if I have an agent, I invariably reply, “Yes, I just don’t who it is.”
Answering this way affirms that the right person is out there; it’s just up to me to find her. Or him.

I liken this agent search to that oft-retold story about the toddler who, day after day happily digs through a mountain of horse poop with her little toy shovel. When asked why, she replies, “Well, with all this horse poop there has to be a pony in here and I’m going to find it!”

NOT to imply that literary agents are akin to equine excrement but to acknowledge that inevitable rejections are the poop I have to dig through to find my pony — that man or woman who is as excited about my novel as I am and is as determined as I am that SWALLOWING GLASS sees the light of day, the light of Border’s, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, book clubs, indy booksellers et al. The (stage) lights on Oprah.

So come back updates, advice, a link or two that I find useful. If I can, I’ll even share the number of rejections a certain author received before finding their own pony within the poop.
(Can you sayJ.K. Rowling*? Can you say Dr. Seuss?)

*Twelve according to lulu.com.