I found my literary agent in Target. And why not? I can find everything else there –

tangerine and lime sparkling water, liquid mascara that doesn’t smudge when I rub my eyes in

peer exhaustion, a super bouncy Starbucks squeaky toy for my dog. So why not the perfect

literary agent?

Or, maybe he found me?

If you read my previous post (if you didn’t, do it now. I’ll wait…), I explained my very

research-intensive process for finding an agent: read about all the book deals made to

comparable books with envy-green eyes, made a spreadsheet, then prayed like hell. Somehow,

it worked. Quickly.

I sent my first set of queries (about ten) out between Friday and Saturday. Early Sunday

morning, one of my top pick agents emailed me back asking for my manuscript. I danced

around my sectional couch for about 8.5 minutes, then emailed him back with faked

nonchalance. I allowed myself to be excited for another few minutes before I did my normal:

talked myself down.

That internal conversation usually goes something like this: Chill out, Meg. Just because

he emailed you doesn’t mean anything. Most likely, he confused you with another query he read

late last night.

I forced myself to not think about it after that. Ok. That’s a lie. I tried to force myself to

not think about it. I sent out a few more queries and I started researching my next novel.

Cue Friday. Exactly one week after sending out my first queries, I took the day off to go

shopping with my mom. Before heading out the door, I checked my email to find a message

from said agent. It was one line: greatly enjoying it so far.

Well. That was it. I was completely undone. I called my husband. I called my best friend.

I talked of nothing else on the drive to the mall with my mom. I wanted to talk myself down,

but how can you argue with “greatly enjoying it so far”?

Cut to me wandering aimlessly around Target with my hands full of a Christmas mug I

certainly didn’t need and art supplies my daughter definitely needed. My phone rang. It was a

New York City area code. In the middle of Target’s health and beauty section, I had a 20-minute

conversation with my top pick of literary agents.

From 750 miles away, I felt truly seen. He described my book back to me with all the

words I used in my head, and some words that I didn’t because I would never say such nice

things about myself. He compared me to one of my favorite writers (Leon Freaking Uris). He

saw that the setting of Prague was just as much a character as Hanna or Samual.

The craziest part was that he was trying to sell me on him. Clearly, he could not see that

I was practically salivating at the opportunity to work with him. Obviously, I signed with him,

only after making myself wait as to not seem too eager. But who was I kidding? I was extremely

eager!