Okay, so cover letter number two was far better than cover letter number one. With the help of my lovely wife, the really rubbish sentence that I didn’t realise was shithouse until far too late, was excised from today’s submission, and the wording of the personalised paragraph was taken to pieces like Britney Spears circa 2007 being fed into the Hadron Collider. Jo and I quid pro quo the destruction of important correspondence (letters for me, CVs and emails for her) and it works very well. If they could hybrid us together, we’d be dangerous. Or hilariously inept, depending on the specific skills combination used.
So yes, today another submission went out and I was very happy with it. That confused me. I shouldn’t be happy with these things. I’m a tortured artist, dammit, I’m meant to suffer for my art! Oh, how dramatically irritating. But I’m left with the interesting realisation that if the submission I sent tonight is rejected, it’s not a reflection on me, merely a subjective decision by the agent concerned. It may not sound like much, but that’s actually quite a leap for my self-doubt. Of course, if the other one goes tits up then I’ll agonise over THAT SENTENCE forever. Such is life. And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is. It’s too painful a memory.