I’ve never considered myself a very patient person. I hate waiting for things: holidays, important events, the release of a book I want to read. I couldn’t wait nine months to find out the sex of either of my children – quite the opposite: I counted down the weeks until I could find out. Why then did I choose to be a writer?
When people find out I’m a writer their response is usually, “Oh, how exciting!” I don’t think exciting is the word I would use to describe the life of a writer (aspiring or otherwise). Sure, there are moments of excitement, like when you pen the last words of a manuscript, or send your manuscript off to a publisher, or when you finally obtain an agent after years of trying. But after the initial high wears off you’re back to where you started: waiting.
Waiting for your critique partner to get back to you with all of her suggestions so you can start re-writes. Waiting for inspiration to hit as you struggle with re-writes. Waiting for quiet moments to write. Waiting to hear back from a publisher or agent. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time you know that the writing process is a long and arduous one. You know that I have written and re-written my completed manuscripts more times than I care to remember. You also know that I’ve spent a good portion of my time waiting.
Well, I’m waiting again. I have finally finished editing my “Engraved” manuscript and just last week finished the dreaded synopsis (don’t even get my started on that) and I’ve sent it all of it to Cheryl. So, now I’m waiting for confirmation that it has reached her. Then I will wait as she shops it to publishers.
I pray that soon my waiting will pay off!