Every writer knows about the voices in their head. The unremitting voices hammering away as we try to tackle the laundry pile, carry on a conversation with our spouses, or even watch TV. They are rarely silent and most of the time, unless I’m at my laptop, they drive me insane. As much as they disrupt my day, I love that I’m able to pull these crazy people out of my imagination and tell their story. That’s the easy part. The hard part is waiting for the yes, waiting for validation from the publishing world that you are in fact a writer.
I’ve had some luck with a couple contests and words of praise from my readers keeps me going, but the one thing I want more than anything is to hear from an agent that my stuff is good—that I belong on the shelf next to authors I admire. But waiting stinks.
My first completed manuscript is out with a literary agent right now. She’s a new agent and she’s sifting through the many other wannabes, who want the same thing. She’s signed a few, but hasn’t sent out rejections to prolong the torture, I guess. I’m expecting a no because I’ve heard it before, but a girl can dream, right?
I’ve had some luck with a couple contests and words of praise from my readers keeps me going, but the one thing I want more than anything is to hear from an agent that my stuff is good—that I belong on the shelf next to authors I admire. But waiting stinks.
My first completed manuscript is out with a literary agent right now. She’s a new agent and she’s sifting through the many other wannabes, who want the same thing. She’s signed a few, but hasn’t sent out rejections to prolong the torture, I guess. I’m expecting a no because I’ve heard it before, but a girl can dream, right?
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