I found an amazing review of UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO online today, courtesy of my Google Alert. One of my favorite paragraphs reads:
“Why I LOVE this book (and author): Matthew Dicks’ and his characters’ thoughts about the world are unique, refreshing and, often times, incredibly funny. His main characters are both borderline fantastical and achingly real. They do strange things, but one can’t help but see oneself in their strangeness and their humanness. When you read UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO you will feel eerily compelled to pop the pressure seal on jelly jars, and you will believe in Milo’s journey. The situations his characters find themselves in never fail to be outrageous, but also so perfect, and the opening scene of MILO is a great example.”
But then I read the next couple sentences and my heart sank.
“Matthew is an elementary school teacher and a wedding DJ, I found him in the ‘slush pile,’ and sold SOMETHING MISSING for six-figures. It’s one of those author dream stories, and it couldn’t have happened to a better man…or a better writer.”
“Oh,” I thought. “My agent wrote this.”
Don’t get me wrong. It’s great to know how much your agent adores your work, but this is like a compliment from your sister.
Your agent is supposed to love your work.
A stranger gushing so eloquently about me and my book Would’ve been an entirely different thing.
