We all hate waiting. Only yesterday I had a conversation with another children’s author about waiting. About being a mother and hanging around. Waiting for someone to need something. Needs that come at irregular intervals, just close enough together to stop you getting on with something.
It’s about not knowing. Uncertainty. Start stop. It stops you focussing.
I remember that one of the worst things before I had both agent and contract, was waiting. Waiting with hope, daring to hope, deciding not to hope. Getting an email, not getting an email. It was all agony. Every time I sent something off, I hoped, told myself not to hope. Pretended I didn’t care when I did, deeply.
You might assume that after publication this doesn’t happen anymore. It’s like taking exams, something you do at the beginning but not later on. But it doesn’t quite work like that.
I have two fantastic editors, and a brilliantly lovely agent, and they are never rude. And they don’t take longer than they need to and I know that they will get back to me in the end. It’s not the same as wondering if your manuscript has ended up in a lost pile in a sorting office, or slipped unseen into the junk box of some agent’s email.
That’s much worse.
And generally, I’m pretty good at making sure these things overlap, so that I’m busy doing something else, not just waiting. And I’d rather they took their time over it than rushed to get back to me. And I’m sure that sometimes they’re waiting for me.
But today. I’m waiting.