Literary Agent Who-What-Where-now?

Dear sir/madam,

I think I need a literary agent — someone to barge their way into publishers’ swanky offices and wave my incomplete manuscript above their heads while screaming maniacally that it will be the novel of the century.

That’s what agents do, right? If you don’t do this, then I feel compelled to inform you that you must be doing it wrong.

So would you like to represent me and take a (minuscule) cut of my (behemothic) future royalties?

I hasten to add, I am not one of your typical soi-disant novelists. I am different, I assure you. I possess both style and substance.

Let me present my evidence: I know how to correctly use “soi-disant” in an essay. I am sure this immediately qualifies me as a writer worthy of recognition.

By recognition, of course, I obliquely refer to the recognition that causes one’s bank account to incrementally increase until one simply has to buy a yacht.

I look forward to hearing from you at your nearest convenience.

(I wouldn’t leave it too long, though. People are saying I’m definitely going places. All sorts of people you wouldn’t imagine. Really intelligent, important people. So don’t take my word for it. These people know their stuff.)

J