Two approaches to finding an agent

I have just read a wonderful piece in the Guardian on one of my favorite writers, Elif Batuman.  I learned that she never had to look for a literary agent.  She simply published an article about a Thai kick-boxer in the New Yorker, and the agents began pursuing her.  So far, the New Yorker has rejected my stuff, so it’s door number two for me.  What does the sign on the door say? “Abandon all hope…”?  No, it doesn’t say that.  It says “Find your own agent.”   It’s a dispiriting, endless (so far) quest.  In fact, I feel dispirited just thinking about it.  I’ll write more about my quest when I get my spirit back.

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