I have begun what I am told will likely be a soul-destroying search for an agent to represent my series of early reader books called Sweet and Salty Crackers. Here’s the first of five stories that I have completed:
SWEET AND SALTY CRACKERS:
NO YOU CAN’T EAT MY FURRY FEET
It was raining cats and kangaroos on a cold and clammy day
“Let’s sing the silly ‘I love’ song to chase the clouds away,” said Silly Sally.
Rah Rah Ronny, a rowdy, red-headed rascal with fuury feet, roared, “I love lazy lions and I love licorice.”
Rah Rah Roony’s twin sister, Bon-bon Bonny, bellowed, “I love giant giraffes and I love juicy jam.”
“Juicy jam?” asked Silly Sally
“Juicy jam, juicy jam, juicy jam, juicy jam!” jabbered Rah Rah Ronny. “I’m doing the juicy jam dance!” Then they all did the juicy jam dance!
“I love funny froggies and I love French fries,” sang Silly Sally
“I love funny froggies and I love my furry feet,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny.
“Hee hee hee, ha ha ha, ho ho ho,” everyone laughed, pointing at the red-headed rascal’s furry feet. “Furry feet, furry feet, furry feet, furry feet,” they all sang.
“Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, ho ho ho,” they all laughed.
“But we can’t eat your furry feet,” sang Silly Sally.
“No, you can’t eat my furry feet,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny. “No, you can’t eat my furry feet, they’re not meant for you to eat, Silly Sally, Silly Sally, Silly Sally, silly girl ”
“I love laughing llamas and I love lasagne,” boomed Bon-bon Bonny.
“MMMMM! Lasagne!” mmmmed Rah Rah Ronny.
“Nummy nummy, yummy yummy, nom nom nom,” they all mmmmed
“I love laughing llamas and I love my furry feet,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny.
“But we can’t eat your furry feet,” laughed Silly Sally.
“No, you can’t eat my furry feet, they’re not meant for you to eat, Silly Sally, Silly Sally, Silly Sally, silly girl,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny.
“Furry feet, furry feet, fury feet, furry feet,” they all sang.
Silly Sally sang, “I love mini monkeys and I love moo moo milk.”
“I love mini monkeys and I love my furry feet,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny.
“But we can’t eat your furry feet,” laughed Silly Sally.
“No, you can’t eat my furry feet, they’re not meant for you to eat, Silly Sally Silly Sally Silly Sally, silly girl,” laughed Rah Rah Ronny.
“Furry feet, furry feet, fury feet, furry feet,” they all sang.
“I love you and I love you and I love me,” boomed Bon-bon Bonny.
“I love you and I love you and I love me,” roared Rah Rah Ronny.
“I love you and I love you and I love me,” sang Silly Sally
“I love me! I love me! I love me!” sang all three.
“Ha ha ha, ho ho ho, hee hee hee,” they laughed, with glee.
Then they looked out the window and it was not raining cats and kangeroos anymore. It was not cold and clammy. The sun was smiling. All the love and laughter had chased the clouds away.
THE END
In my research, I have discovered that agents do not like simultaneous submissions. I can understand that, but can they seriously expect unknown writers to wait six or more weeks for a decision before sending a query to other agents?
There are hundreds of kid lit agents, so a writer could spend years doing nothing more than trying to get one to represent a book.
I have also learned that publishers generally are not interested in picture books that are already illustrated, unless the artist is a recognized professional.
But that would mean that a writer would either have to: leave a picture book without pictures, in the hope that a publisher will contract the rights to publish the book; or hire a professional artist to illustrate the book, at great expense; or pass up the opportunity to self-publish it as an ebook.
And what happens if a writer does decide to publish an ebook and then captures the attention, and adulation, of a publisher? Will the publisher insist that the writer just drop the artist that has done so much work? That’s not fair.
I don’t want to start what I hope will be a long career as a writer of kid lit by angering the professionals of the industry – that’s trouble, with a capital T, and that rhymes with D, and that stands for “don’t-quit-your-day-job” – but I think I have legitimate questions about real problems.
Good golly, Miss Molly! What’s a girl to do?
When Dr. Seuss Meets Mother Goose, Things Get Grimm 