I’ve never been very good at waiting. If I’m going out somewhere, I usually get ready hours early and end up frustrated with the time I have to put in. When I decide to buy something, I go out right then to get it. Waiting through my pregnancy for my daughter to be born just about killed me.
Even in my writing, my impatience comes through in the break-neck pace of my stories.
Now, with six short stories out for query at various Magazines and anthologies, along with my novel, The Glass Man, sitting in two publisher’s queues, the wait has been agony.
Each day that passes without a response seems to strip away a little of my confidence, as if I need those little validations to fuel the inspiration that keeps me writing. Even the negative responses give me a boost.
Silly, right? I feel like I’m watching the proverbial pot, waiting for it to boil.
My solution is simple: distraction and avoidance. Close the email instead of checking it every five minutes. Immerse myself in another story. Take my daughter swimming every day she’s not in school. Mock up some fun covers for my stories.
Huh. Suddenly the week slips by without my notice. What? It’s Friday again? How did that happen?