Double agent day went well.
The estate agent was much more reasonable in the flesh. Saw how well the house was kept and said the landlords'd be mad to increase the rent above inflation and risk losing us, even though they could get more.
Long discussion with the literary agent in the afternoon about my novel. The first time I discuss the characters with somebody as if they're real people always feels so peculiar. I do it in little snatches all the time in our writing workshops, but this is somebody coming at the whole picture from scratch, as a reader would. Up until then, the characters have been people in your head you've been constructing on paper, so part of them IS you, or me, but several times removed. They're fleshed out in your mind, but not in the air, in serious discussions. I find myself wanting to say, look, she's not real you know, which is stupid, but the feeling of peculiarity is there. It's also very exciting. Anyhow I've now got a rewrite, taking on board the spectacularly useful advice given. It's scripty in part, too much dialogue. In my fear of getting too introspective and reflective, I've gone too far the other way, and my trick of turning 'tells' into dialogue hasn't come off. The other big problem is the emotional arcs, which aren't central enough at the moment, replaced by too much sex. Scarily I fear that could actually be a part of me, the non-emotional coldness, not the sexual overkill (sadly), eep. Anyhow, I'm looking forward to receiving her marked up script. I'll be taking it to France on Saturday, along with a few charity shop commercial fictions I'm going to pick up this afternoon to write all over as I deconstruct a few others' emotional developments. Ready, hopefully, for a full-on rewrite storm-through in September.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.