Waiting is hard.  It’s hard for patient people.  And I’m not very patient.

When I hear that little glass ting sound from my laptop, I run.  It means I’ve gotten an email with the word ‘query’ in the subject line.  And an email with ‘query’ in the subject line means I’ve gotten a response from an agent.

Lots of those responses taste like sorry-not-for-me-thanks-best-of-luck-to-you.  Some of them come in a different flavour — my favourite flavour:

“Please send me the full manuscript.  I’d love to read more.”

I wish I could bottle that taste, that moment.  If I could, I’d share it with the whole world.

What I’d keep to myself, however, is the aftertaste.  That flavour’s called waiting.  Waiting for the agent to read the manuscript.  Waiting for that sorry-not-for-me-thanks-best-of-luck-to-you.  Waiting for — maybe, just maybe — the email that says:

What would be a good time to ring you?

No, I won’t be sharing the anxiety of the wait with you.  Not ever.

They tell me pictures say more than words.  Okay.  I’ll bite.  Here are two for you.

This is me when I get a request for my full manuscript from a literary agent:



This is me for the next day, week, and month:

Slowly spiraling downward to the depths of insanity...

Slowly spiralling downward to the depths of insanity…

Take-home message?  I don’t have one.

I’m too busy biting my nails.