A Break Out Book? A girl can dream

My husband is of the opinion that an artist (or writer) should simply know when a work is done, or right, and I admire the notion, respect the theory.  But there is also, for me, something peace-giving, something necessary, about a trusted reader's response.  Late yesterday, at the end of an angst-filled many weeks, my agent called to let me know that she had read this wholly rewritten book of mine—this book that began as one kind of adult novel, became an utterly different kind of adult novel, and then, in the fury-heat of this past summer, was rewritten for a different audience and sold on the basis of early July pages to Egmont USA.  I have cared so deeply about this book, believed so thoroughly in it, and yet, to be alone with your own raw book is to be alone with your own raw self, and sometimes the soul seeks ease. 

I now have the ease of Amy Rennert's words to me:  Beth, this is your breakout book.

Perhaps number 13 will be lucky number 13.

I would really like that to be so.