I don't have an agent. Well, I do, but she's a talent agent, and she hasn't gotten me a damn lick of work in the past almost three years. But I don't have a literary agent. If i did, it might actually push me to write a little more. So instead of writing about how much I want an agent and how much I need an agent, and how much better it would be if I had an agent, I'm just going to give a WIP preview. Please, feedback will be appreciated.
VENUS IN FURS
They handed me this pad of paper and a pen. I guess I'm supposed to just write whatever comes to mind as a kind of therapy, so I can figure everything out. I only remember the last week or so of my life. I woke up in a hospital bed coming out of surgery to remove a bullet from my head.
They had to cut off my hair.
It was apparently down past my shoulders. They kept it for me, gave it to me after surgery, after I woke up. It isn't mine. I threw it away. MY hair is just a little shorter than a pixie cut. I like ti.
I've looked in the mirror. I know I'm somewhere between twenty five and thirty five. I've got grey eyes. I'm pale, but now that I think about it, I'm not sure if that's because I've been inside a hospital for the last week or not. I have light brown, almost red hair.
And that's everything I know about myself for sure.
The detective says that I don't have any fingerprints on file, but that only means that I've never been arrested in Douglas County. I guess that's a good thing. If I don't start remembering who I am soon, I think he's going to go through a national database.
I'm trying not to think about the bullet hole in the back of my head. The surgeon said I'm lucky that the bulled didn't go through my skull, it just stopped. I guess i have a pretty hard head. I've gone through about a million different scans and xrays of my head, and other than some "unusual heightened brain function" there's nothing wrong with my head. So they can't figure out why I don't remember anything about myself. From the tyee of injury I've got, they say I shouldn't have even so much as a migraine, much less complete amnesia.
I guess it's so rare that a couple of doctors don't believe that I cant remember. I just look at them and ask why anyone would choose this... nothingness. I don't know if i have friends who miss me. Or a family. Do I have a child? Is there a little boy or girl out there wondering where mommy is?
Why would anyone pretend to live in a hell like this?