Waiting is the worst.
Waiting for a shift to end, waiting for an obnoxious guest to leave, waiting for a baby to come, waiting for the doctor to see you, waiting in line for your turn to come, waiting for the journeys end…
I think the worst waiting has got to be waiting for an agent or a publisher to finish with your book. Your mind does loopty loops, while your stomach does flips. You want to scream out to the world, my book is being looked at, this may be the day; however you quietly anguish while you wait: will he/she like it? Is it interesting enough? Did I nail the ending? Did I mess up the timeline big time? The internal dialog is painfully endless and blissful but fleeting are the moments when it’s not on your mind.
How does one manage while watching the clock? It seems that everything takes longer; but that’s okay, because today I am one step closer to being a published author. Then the new anxieties can begin. Will it sell? Is it good enough for a following? Will I be able to peg the next book as well as the first…? Ah, the pain of it is never ending.
Is it worth it? That remains to be seen.