On the Boiling of Watched Pots

Currently I’m waiting on partial-manuscript critiques from two different people whose opinions I value highly. Both will likely be a few weeks yet. I’m both excited and nervous to hear what they say.

I’m also struck by just how much of the writing and publishing process is simply waiting.

Not a new insight, I’m aware, but still: waiting on critiques from beta readers, then waiting on agents to reply to queries, then to partial manuscripts, then to full manuscripts, then waiting on a publishing contract, then waiting on the long process of actually getting a book published. And then, waiting on the reviews. I’m getting far ahead of myself here (personally I’ve never gotten further than step 4), but I know where the road leads.

And then there’s waiting on yourself, to finish writing. Watching the progress bar move like frozen molasses at a How Slow Can You Move convention. This, at least, you can control. This, at least, you know exactly how it’s going (or you think you do). But still: waiting.

The antidote for waiting is, of course, to do other things. It’s been a good weekend for that. We painted the computer room, mowed the lawn, took out the recyling, ordered new carpet, and finished our income taxes this weekend. (And can I just say, Columbus, your tax forms fail in ways I didn’t think it was possible to fail. Line 9: Enter the amount from line 8. They’re right next to each other. They’re the same number. You know why they’re the same number? Because you told me to write the same @$#%!@$@ number!!)

So, lots of good things getting done in Chez Buckley, especially with weather that thinks it’s summer. (Though, this being Ohio, I am not surprised this morning to hear a storm blowing outside.) And thus the waiting is bearable.

But still.