Titles with meanings, even obscure ones, separate a memorable blog from one I can’t recall writing a month later. This blog is the former. I hope.

The title �Bury the Wil Wheaton Within� doesn’t mean hey, somebody go hurt Wil Wheaton. No, that would be wrong. If you really must, it’s on your own karma. Don’t email me any details in advance or afterwards. And note that I abhor violence towards anyone. Cream pies at gala public gatherings are much funnier.

Wil Wheaton Within is a generic name for a serious disease. This is not a disease that afflicts just a fringe celebrity who’s less famous as an adult than as a child, or a writer who spends more time preparing for auditions and acting than writing. Those are personal time management decisions. It is a disease that afflicts many; famous, semi-famous and unknown.

The primary and most severe symptom is a self inflicted denial of what one wants. A review of Wil’s blog suggests that he wants to act. He blogs about acting and possible jobs often, more than any mention of writing, or book signings. No one suffers the relentless and grueling heartbreak of auditions without wanting, perhaps even needing the job at the other end. Yet for all the ink to the contrary, I suspect that acting is not what Wil wants. I sense the real want is approval, approval for something that is entirely out of his hands, thus more often than not disappointment follows.

Why do I think this? Because for quite awhile I’ve had the Wil Wheaton bug, taunting me like a monkey on the back. In the end of the day, I like writing more than most anything. No one pays me to do it, still I write anyway. Whether or not anyone ever pays me for it is out of my hands. All I can do is write and submit. Recently the plain truth of this hit me. Nearly everything about a writing career is beyond the writer’s control. My say ends at the page. Denying this holds me back, but accepting this renders any disappointment moot. All that matters is that I write.

And so this moment of reckoning buries the Wil Wheaton Within.

Coincidences are not always the business of chance, for sometimes fate plays a heavy role. Take my lack of an agent dilemma. Friday marks eight weeks since submitting the manuscript with no answer in sight, despite a nudge. The absence of a reply is a reply. A passive reply, in my opinion, but a reply nonetheless.

So before I go cry me a river, I check my mailbox. A letter sent months ago suddenly appeared. A request from an agent for the first 50 pages and a synopsis.

How you like them coincidences, eh? 😉

A winter cold rode me down for the count. I hope to return in better spirits Monday.

Friday I sent an email to the prospective agent. Eight weeks is a reasonable amount of time for a reply, considering a self addressed stamped envelope was enclosed. Without speculating on an outcome – since anything is possible – I’ve learned one important lesson about agents. The time between initial contact and a response often reflects their interest level. The less time passes, the more encouraging the results.

Reviewing the spreadsheet of agents contacted is also revealing. After a year, 45 percent of agents queried have yet to respond. So are they a no or a yes? Good question. It’s a hard call to make. Fourth months ago, I double tapped a subset of those who hadn’t responded after six months, and one replied. Maybe a triple tap is in order. 😉

Reviewing the last few blogs suggests the phrase fumbling towards coherence. The Wife even roasted me in the comments. Thank you. Thank you for your support.

Like much The Wife says, the point is valid. The past few blogs were a bit left of center. However, this was deliberate, deliberate by design. An experiment at different writing styles, the exercise forced me into different thought processes. Obviously more time is necessary refine the technique. I’ll get there. Each day is another step.

I’ve shuffled the schedule around again, so writing comes first in the day. This has bolstered productivity. This idea hails from Joseph Heller. He rose at 4am to work on Catch 22 before catching the 7am train. Ten million copies later the day job was history.