After a quick skim of The Last Track yesterday and today, I emailed the manuscript to the agent. Very strange feeling watching 3 years of my life shoot down the pipes towards a unknown mail server in NYC.

While it might have been an odd sensation letting go, knowing that the pages were in the pocket and required no last minute intervention was a huge relief. Usually when requests for material arrive, I have to talk myself out of tinkering. There is the tendency to doubt the project. And even where I overcome the urge, I still feel like there are more fine tunings that can be done.

Not this time. Oh no, not for this agent. Part of this ease draws from the thorough deliberateness of which Oriana scoured the manuscript; she really neutralized the minute oversights that though relatively innocuous in trace amounts, when they persist and gather over the span of a narrative, greatly undermine the writing.

Though I had a few expletive laden mental conversations with her to get to that point when implementing the fixes, it was worth the piece of mind.