I Reckon.

Pulling out all the stops with "The Scorching," especially the first 3 chapters. Figure if I can hone them to a sharp edge, I have more of a chance of attracting an agent, so I'm really trying to get them right.

I'll probably try the old scattershot approach--a bunch of agents. What the hell. There seems to be about a 60% response rate, even for rejections.

I'm also going to send it to a couple of publishers who take unsolicited manuscripts. Again, the competition is fierce, to say the least. But no harm in trying, except to my ego.

I reckon my ego can take it. I reckon the odds are long. I reckon I can always go my own way. I reckon it ain't all about me. I reckon I got enough irons in the fire to take a few rejections. I reckon I'm fucked to start with. (And before anyone says, be positive, I'm sending off my manuscript to be judged, so there!) I reckon its all luck, timing, and who you know. I reckon either I'm good enough or I'm not, and I also reckon that whether I'm good enough or not, the chances of a fair judging are small. I reckon there are more writers than are needed in this world. I reckon that's just the way it is. I reckon sour grapes is a very unattractive attribute. I reckon it ain't sour grapes to believe the game is rigged. I reckon that in some parallel existence it happens, and maybe it's this one.