Oh, hi guys. I took a quick break from blogging, but i’m back now. And better than ever!

Or something like that.

For a bit now, S and I have been house hunting. We love our apartment, but it’s getting expensive and we’d really like a little home of our own. Where I can paint the walls. And have 7,000 bookshelves (with moveable ladder, a la Beauty and the Beast). (Clearly I have priorities.) Last weekend we actually went out looking at houses with a realtor instead of simply perusing Trulia. It was weird, to say the least.

Perhaps it’s my background in literature, but I love to compare situations, make analogies as I go along. So as we went from house to house, I kind of realized what a literary agent must feel like.

Think about it.

Hundreds of people send agents their queries, small snippets of their greatest works, just as our realtor sent us tons of houses with small descriptions. We only chose the ones we really liked to go forward with, to ask to view. Of those, some we were really excited about and wanted more. Others, we rejected right away, annoyed with being tempted with promises that weren’t quite true. Eventually we came to one we just knew was perfect. We loved it, couldn’t get enough. Went back to it, just to be excited again. And now we’re going to make an offer.

And wait for the reaction.

And wait.

And wait.

Going through the query process was hard. Rejections are hard. But I never really thought of what it must be for agents. They get so many queries a day just to be tempted by a few. And then maybe one every now and then catches their eye enough to make them fall in love. It’s a lot of hope and let down for them, too.

Which, really, makes me so much more thankful for my agent. For picking me out of the possibilities. For liking me enough to visit again, and finally make an offer. And then wait to see if I’d say yes. And wait and wait and wait.

But things happen for a reason, I like to think. So of course I said yes. And I hope the seller will say yes to us, too.