That evening, I logged on for an online seminar I had signed up for the day before. My search for an agent had hit a brick wall and I was quickly running out of options. I saw an advert for this seminar on Facespace that promised to give the 'Best advice to get an agent', at least that's what they said. It was run by a so called 'Agent Expert' that was there to help us and quash some 'urban legends' around agent searches. If I was honest, I was kinda doubtful. After all, if anything looks too good to be true, it usually was. But then again it was free, so the only thing that I would lose would be my time. I had to use my noise cancelling headphones for this one, due to the usual drunken wankers in the street outside. I double checked to make sure the curtains were closed; last thing I wanted to do was attract the attention of some pissed up knobhead that might throw his glass at me!
My suspicions were confirmed – it was the biggest waste of time ever! That was an hour that I was never going to get back. Even though I didn't pay anything, I still felt like asking for a refund! I won't go into detail as to all the crap they spouted, but it was crap I can assure you.
The woman who ran it looked like one of those hipster grandmas that you saw on all the trendy movies these days – pink hair, piercings, flowers in her hair; the type that you often saw at protest rallies. She claimed to have years of experience in this field, having worked for one of the top agencies – I noted that she didn't mention what agency; someone asked her in the comment section, but she avoided answering it. That's a red flag right there for me if they can't even name who they work for! But it was this one particular fact that triggered me.
Remember how I said that they were here to clear up some urban legends about getting an agent, saying that on;y a few get signed in a year? Well, at the beginning, they stated that, in the last year in the US, eighteen thousand new authors were signed. Sounded like an encouraging statistic, right? I mean, hearing this, any new author would think they're in with a chance.
That's until you realise that there are about three hundred and thirty-one million people or so in the US, according to a quick search I did online afterwards. I did a further calculation, and from what I could see that didn't even come close to 1% of the population of that country alone. Ok, I know not everyone in the US wanted to be an author, but I imagine a good million people are trying that.
But let's just say that we applied that to the UK, which had about sixty-six million according to a quick search. Again, eighteen thousand doesn't even come CLOSE to 1%, so those numbers don't even mean shit!
And as far as their 'top tips' for finding an agent – they were things that anyone that did even the slightest bit of research would know that to do. Find the agent for your book, write a good letter, sell yourself, keep to the point – everything I had already done! Hell, I had learned more from watching a 10-minute MyScreen video from a published author than I did watching this bollocks! I had done everything this seminar had talked about even before I logged on. I did my research, followed all the rules, tidied up my queries, searched for all the right agents that would do well for my book. I even changed my main heroine to a BAME just to be on the safe side...
And I STILL failed!
You can play by all the rules and still lose. There was only one thing you really needed.
Luck.
Despite everything, it all came down to luck in the end.
But then again, luck didn't help sell courses, did it? Which funnily enough, I found out that the reason for this seminar was to encourage you to sign up for a course and spent hundreds of dollars to try and get you published. Money I could easy take to self-publish if I wanted to.
This seminar didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, except for one thing.
For every author that succeeded, thousands failed.
Let's face it, no one wants to hear that your choice of career will end in failure. No one wants to hear about the ones that didn't make it, only success stories make money for these people.
I came away from that seminar even more pissed off than this afternoon. I guess I was still fuming after meeting with Julie. I logged into SpeakEasy for a bit, hoping that Gayle could help me.
Gayle, I met my sister today.
"Oh, that's wonderful, Adam. How is she?"
It's not a good thing. I hate her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Adam. Is there anything I can help with?"
It had been a while since I had expressed anything about Mum about anything. At least with an AI there was some hope I could be given some form of advice.
She wants me to see Mum again.
"Why, what's wrong with your mum?"
She's ill.
"Oh I'm sorry to hear that."
I'm not. She deserves it. I can't believe that she expects me to go back to Mum after everything that happened, and that she's so blasé about the pain that woman put me through.
"I'm sensing a lot of pain in your voice (yeah, no shit, Sherlock!) Would you like to talk about it?"
I guess this couldn't hurt. During the whole Charlotte Tyler thing, I would often come home crying, and Mum couldn't care less! I once told her how much I was being bullied, and she told me to ignore them! It was easy for her to say, she didn't have to deal with the torment like I did. She even told me it was my fault this happened, because I wrote those letters to Charlotte. My own Mum tried to gaslight me!
"Oh, Adam. That's horrible. I'm sorry that happened."
I get it; I was her punching bag for when Dad left. But I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't have a chance to prove that I wasn't the same as his. I was just there to be abused by Mother. That bitch. And the idea that Julie wanted me to make up with her made me sick to my stomach. She had it lucky, Mum always took her side. For example, one time I was playing on my games console, she literally removed my cartridge from the game so she could play her own game. When I complained to Mum, she banned ME for the rest of the week! Do you see now why I want nothing to do with her?
"I get that, Adam. I'm sorry you had to go through all that. But maybe you should try talking to your mother? Maybe it might make things better?"
Weren't you listening? I never want to talk to that fucking bitch ever again.
"Adam, I understand you are angry, but please refrain from using words like..."
"Oh fuck you!"
Even AI was basically telling me to get fucked! I shut down SpeakEasy and ran to the fridge, hoping that I had some apple pie left. I was down to my last slice. Fortunately I had another appointment with Dr Eve in a few days, so I could get some more. I took it from the fridge, forcing it down my throat. Nothing else I ate or drank these days tasted anything near as sweet as this. As the smoothing taste ran through my throat, I felt my anger subside. Soon I was calm again. I mean I couldn't forget earlier, but at least I was calm for now. Maybe a bit of writing would calm me down.
The drunkenness outside had escalated, and I think a fight had broken out. I put my headphones on and hoped that my writing could come to my rescue. I think I did about ten minutes of actual writing before I hit what I called the Writer's Wall, which was my own form of Writers Block. When I hit this it was really difficult to get back to it, so I just gave up. Maybe I could read something to give me inspiration.
It was then I realised I still had Mysti's book to read. I'd totally forgotten all about it. Mysti had been begging me to read it all this time, so might as well give it a quick read. It was only a couple of hundred pages long, so it would be a quick read.
Now, let me make that clear, I like Mysti. She's a sweet girl and I'm glad I inspired her writing. But this book was... there was no way to sugarcoat it – shit. The main heroine was an obnoxious Mary-Sue that was able to 'girl boss' her way through everything without any weakness or long-term problems to herself! Whatever problem she was faced with, she blasted through it without any suffering at all. And of course, all the male characters were either dumb, obnoxious or cowardly – another trend in fiction today. The whole thing read like some stupid wish fulfilment fantasy rather than a story, when did this become the standard of writing?
Now I think about it, there was a lot of similarities between this character and Mysti herself, right down to the character having the same ethnicity as Mysti. Did she just self-insert herself into her own story? Really, Mysti? I thought you were better than that! Honestly, that is the worse crime any author can commit in my opinion. Any author who does that deserves to be castrated!
By the time I'd finished it I wanted to erase that filth from my mind. How would I be able to tell Mysti that when I saw her? Did I spared her feelings, or just tell her the truth?
Ah, I'd worry about it tomorrow, my eyelids suddenly felt heavy. It must have been later than I thought as I was struggling to keep my eyelids open. I had a rehearsal tomorrow, which I was not looking forward to, but I should have probably gotten some rest. As I pulled myself to my feet, it was like my body was weighed down by a ten-ton weight, each step I took I felt my body sagging downwards. My eyes drooped as I fought to keep them awake. Man, I must have been more tired than I thought.
I went to brush my teeth, my hands limply trying to get the toothpaste on my brush. Even a tiny thing like this seemed to weigh a good hundred tons and I struggled to hold it still. I must have gotten more toothpaste in the sink than the toothbrush. I looked in the mirror, noticing how dark under my eyes they were. I had so many bags I'd have to charge for extra baggage allowance! Had I been sleeping so badly? I mean, I'd been feeling tired a lot more, and maybe a bit hungry, but I always went to bed on time. Then again, with the noise outside it was difficult to get any sleep at all.
I shook my head, trying to keep upright. I saw that there was a line of toothpaste in the sink that slid down into the plughole, like a snake disappearing into grass. It was weird, I thought I heard a hissing sound in my head.
I closed my eyes for just a second as the fatigued clasped over me. The noises of the drunk rabble sounded so far away now. Darkness filled my vision – before my strength returned and I was able to open them again.
I was out in the middle of a field, surrounded by trees and grass.
What the hell?
"Adam?" growled a familiar, deep voice. "hWhen you're ready."
I looked up. Gavin and the rest of the Hamlet cast were staring at me. I looked to the side and saw Sandra standing there, arms folded and with that annoying scowl.
Had I just teleported? I don't even remember going to sleep. I just closed my eyes – and now I was here? I mean, I didn't feel tired anymore, but still...
"Gavin?" Richard squeaked. "We've all got homes to go to you know?"
"Sorry, sweetie," Gavin apologised, "as soon as Adam gets his arse in gear we'll continue."
I tried to supress a grunt from my mouth as I stood up. "Um, yeah. Sorry." I shook my head, trying to keep my thoughts on the moment at hand. I joined Sandra on the 'stage', clearing my throat and preparing to speak. "Um, sorry... what scene are we doing?"
"Act 3, Scene 5," Gavin snarled, moving his glasses up and down somewhat aggressively. "The same we have been for the last hour!"
I could tell that Gavin was pissed, so I decided to do the scene. I would try and work out where the last few hours had gone afterwards. I did the scene, constantly waiting for Gavin or Richard to jump into criticise me like they always did. Surprisingly they waited until the end of my speech.
"Mmmmmmmm," Gavin grumbled, "Adam, you're too stoic. I feel you need to be a lot more hwhinny here."
"Whinny?" I asked. What the hell did he mean whinny? Claudius wasn't the type of character that I would say was a whiner.
"hWhat I mean is that you need to make it all about you," Gavin replied. "Be more hwhinny, annoying. You're trying to tell your wife that the whole world revolves around you. It's all about YOU! Just like a typical hwhite male!"
Sandra chuckled and I heard a snigger from twat-face Richard. "Knowing Adam as I do, I think whining should require no acting whatsoever!" he laughed.
What the hell was that about? And what was with that white male bashing? It had nothing to do with the scene, so it felt like Gavin added that in out of spite. But I couldn't be bothered to argue, so I agreed to do it the way he asked me to. I did the speech again, this time more whinny – or hwhinny as Gavin wanted it. I felt so embarrassed doing it this way, almost like Gavin was actively trying to embarrass me.
"Better," Gavin replied. "I'd love you to do all the play this way. Remember, Claudius is a typical hwhite male; so make him complain all the time. Understand?"
"Yes, Gavin," I replied, wanting to roll my eyes back into the back of my skull.
What was wrong with it wanting to be about you anyway? Surely that's what we all wanted as human beings.
I only wish it could be about me once in a while.