We’ve all had odd, strange, hard to explain experiences, right?  I mean, it certainly can’t just be me, can it?

Like the time I was mistaken for a hooker – oops, no that happened twice actually and in a twenty year time span.  Or the time I shut my hand entirely in the car door and somehow managed not to scream but more importantly not to break a single bone.  And when I managed to completely melt the inside of the $600 microwave, so badly the walls dripped and the fan lay on the turntable.  There was the full sheet birthday cake I baked twice, too.  That smelled much better than the melted microwave, at least.

Okay, those are all embarrassing - and true. 

But did I ever tell you about the time I . . . e-mailed Catherine Coulter and asked her for the name of an agent.  Oh, not her’s, of course.  No, I knew I’d have to start with a hungry new agent, (very sadly, I do believe these are close to my exact words) someone willing to take on a diamond in the rough.

Yep, I did.

Yep, she answered.

Nope, she didn’t give me a name.  She’s smart.

She was very gracious in her personal reply, thanking me for my compliments on her books and telling me that the path I had already told her I was on – joining RWA and my local chapter, GSRWA – was the right way to eventually find an agent and publisher who could believe in and support my work.

I still can’t believe I did that.  Wait – yes I can!