In my august and just opinion, this is a fucking tempest in a teapot. For crying out loud… I mean, don’t we *all* have better things to do than sit around and bitch abt this sort of shit?
Oh, I don’t know, like writing books, writing and sending queries, and frakking selling the books on the agent’s side?
Agents: so you let your tail get up over your back because a whole bunch of eejits are whinging that you didn’t pick them?
And writers: you are whinging that an agent didn’t pick you?
Eff me. Here’s a newsflash, writers: if nobody picked you, consider the fact that the entire lit world is fucking subjective, grow a pair, write a new book, make sure you’re query’s golden, and try again.
For the love of the gods.
Agents: Don’t let angry agents that are not successful whip you up into a froth! *shakes head*
Do we really have to go over this? Spare me!
LEDA AND THE SWAN by WB Yeats
A SUDDEN blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
