Sometimes, I look at my students on their phones and I can’t even say anything. Because I get it. That need to know what’s happening, when it’s happening. The inability to wait, because waiting means not knowing and not knowing means potentially missing something awesome.
And nobody wants to miss the potential for awesome.
So I get it. I get them. And I’m liable to get tendinitis in my thumb from refreshing my email account over the next couple of months. Because I’m headed back to the query trenches, and I’ll never know when something exciting might happen.
For those of you unfamiliar with the publishing world, querying means sending my manuscript into the ether of agent inboxes and, well, waiting. And not knowing when they’ll respond. If they’ll respond. Whether they’ll want to see more.
I’ve done this before, and I know what I’m getting myself into. But still. The thumb twitches. The inbox calls for refreshing. The hope never truly fades.
And it’s a weird kind of hope. It’s the kind of hope that knows I’ve worked my ass off during Pitch Wars over the last two months, but wants to do it again. Now. Later. Whenever anyone wants me to.
Because I know I’m climbing out of the Pitch Wars bunker with a much stronger manuscript than when I went in. But this week, I’m standing in no-man’s land, waiting to propel myself into the query trench with no guarantee of success, but all the hope that I’ll make it out. That my manuscript and I can battle for an agent’s love.
That, this time, I’ll find a partner for this publishing journey – that my little manuscript of sisterly-love and will find its backup for all the publishing battles to come.
But I don’t know that it will. There’s no guarantee.
Well, none except my thumb. Swiping at my email inbox. And hoping for something awesome.