The Cat at the Door

I know I have written about Kitty O's patience as he sits outside, waiting for someone to open the door. It's the sort of patience I yearn for when I am in a writing slump. But just yesterday he meowed, very loudly, and there he was, sitting outside, no longer the epitome of patience. He had let me know he was there and that he wanted in.
And then it struck me: as Kitty O's person I get to open the door for him, but as a writer, I need an agent, an editor, to open the doors of the world to my book.
I decided to self-publish "The Girl Who Went Missing" and am eternally grateful for this new platform that does not have me sitting outside a door, writing an agent, calling said agent, hoping to be noticed. You see, agents are inundated with requests for representation and they are very picky, so picky, in fact, that most say they have to 'love' a book before they take it on. I ask you readers, how many books do you really, truly, and fully, 'love?' I like a lot of books, yes, but in the course of a year, I can't say I love twenty, thirty novels. And the agent has to feel the love in order to push the novel at a publishing house.
So I will continue to open the doors on my own, and will be self-publishing the next novel in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series. Right now it's entitled "While the Children Slept." And yes, it's still sleeping outside, waiting for me to open the door.