A few weeks ago, the agent who'd been reading the revised version of my novel called. She'd read an earlier version of "The House of Eli" last year, made some suggestions, and over the succeeding months, I'd incorporated many of those suggestions--and some new ideas of my own.
We talked for about an hour before the conversation lagged. Holding my breath, I waited for her to say, "I think you've done an incredible job revising the book. Unfortunately, the market for fiction's terrible these days, and as much as I like your novel, I don't think I can sell it."
Instead, she said, "So, do you think you're finished?"
I told her yes. And then she said she'd like to represent me.
I was floating for days afterwards.