Oh me, oh my, literary agents--Yikes!

I've got a list and I've been checking it twice. No, I'm not working for Santa or the Easter Bunny. (Wait, does the Easter Bunny keep a list of naughty and nice kids? Hmm...)

Anyway. My point. Over a year ago, I read somewhere that when you begin the search for a literary agent, start with the agents of your favorite authors as opposed to choosing lit agents willy-nilly from the latest reference edition of a Guide to Literary Agents by Chuck Sambuchino. The premise behind the idea is that you might be more likely to find a better fit with an agent of an author whom you adore since your writing style might be similar to that author. Or something like that.

My list has 14 agents. Now that I'm seriously working on getting my completed manuscript published, I'm reviewing this list and checking it twice as the old saying goes, trying to narrow down which agent will be lucky enough (or not) to be The One. Sometimes, I feel like this process is similar to online dating. Your checking out pictures and bios of dudes you don't know from Adam, trying to figure out if the man is decent or an ax-murderer hiding behind a cocky grin.  (Not that I'm familiar with online dating. In fact, my husband and I met the old fashioned way: college. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about.)

So. The agent that I preferred the most is not currently accepting new manuscripts. (Boo.) Aside from being mightily scared of the query process, here's my dilemma: do I try for the next best agency, hoping beyond all statistical probability that my query will get a response or do I query a smaller, lesser known agency to test the waters, so to speak. Maybe it won't hurt as bad if a smaller agency rejects me first. Maybe I'll net some feedback that will help me to polish my manuscript so that it will be ready for The Big Lit Agency.

No matter how many how-to articles or advice I read from published authors, why do I feel like this whole getting published process feels like I'm standing on a cliff, peering over the edge into a tumultuous ocean crashing against sharp boulders at the bottom. If I don't jump, then I will be pursued by regret for not trying. If I jump, I might drown.  Then again, maybe not.