Every writer will tell you that finding an agent is nearly as hard as selling your book. And I have to agree. My first go round with a Chick Lit manuscript some years ago found me signing with a big agent known for her stellar clients and killer deals.

As it turned out, the fit wasn’t precise, my need for someone in between a shark and a friend making for a lousy business relationship. To add to the discomfort, I fell into the habit that many new writers do of deferring to the agent on every front, losing sight of what was right for me and my work in favor of buying into the all-mighty agent act.

The excitement of being agented had turned to disappointment and regret. I talked with many writer friends who encouraged me to part ways with the agent, no agent being preferable to the wrong agent.

Writing the letter that would cut ties with her was hard, mailing it even harder.

If it had been the right thing to do, why did it feel like I’d just taken a giant step backwards?

It took some time to regain lost confidence, but I did, turning to writing historical romance with a passion and excitement that I’d not felt for my writing in some time.

And then I met Jennifer Schober of Spencerhill Associates at the Romance Writers of America conference in Dallas. She was approachable and down to earth, clearly very intelligent and professional without an ounce of ego or stuffiness. And funny. Really, really funny. Talking to her was like talking with a good friend.

She asked to take a look at my work and handed me her card. I taped the card to my desk and looked at it every day while I worked.

And then I got the flu.

And then I got pneumonia.

And, well, life just happened and before I knew it spring had sprung and I’d failed to pass on any pages.

Sure that she’d say no thanks but hopeful all the same, I emailed Jennifer and reminded her of our meeting oh so long ago.

She was still funny, still down to earth, smart as a whip, and willing to look at my work.

So she did. And she signed me.

And I’ll always be grateful for having had the courage to let go of what I thought I wanted in order to look for what I really needed.