The term “fiction novel” ought never to appear in them if you want to be taken seriously as a writer. Ever.
Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I’ve got Rexroth, and Trixie, and two of publishing’s cutest dogs, plus some of the greatest clients an agent could ask for. I get to go to fun conferences in great places like San Francisco and enjoy the company of my peers, while sharing my insight on the publishing process with eager authors who welcome my opinions. But that’s not why I feel so particularly lucky today.