There’s a line in my manuscript that goes like this:
… I wait for his judgment like a gladiator in the ring, wondering if my performance gets me a thumbs up or down; live or die; mercy or none.”
And that’s pretty much how it is now that I’ve queried a few agents and a number of them (OMGOMGOMG) have asked for the full manuscript. Like, within 15 minutes. That means they could be reading my stuff RIGHT NOW. This very second. Judging. Evaluating. Researching. They could even be looking me up online and reading this sentence. *goosebumps*
And if you know me at all, you know I’m absolutely freaking out. (But if you are an agent reading this, by “freaking out” I mean acting in a professional, adult manner befitting someone you’d like to represent. Yes. That’s what it means.)
So here are the things I am NOT doing:
- Having bipolar-like mood swings of “OMG so-and-so top agent requested my work/They’re all going to tell me no and I KNOW I should have thrown away the first chapter and started again because it’s clearly the weakest part and they’ll never get past the info dump to the rest of the MS which is actually quite decent and funny and sexy and heart-rending *runs out of air*
- Circuitously surfing e-mail, Facebook and Twitter on and endless loop lest I miss an important message regarding my MS or Agent X, who just read something SO HORRIBLE she threw her Kindle across the room.
- Staring at my current WIP, thinking, “I couldn’t care less about you right now, you bratty, needy piece of drivel! It’s all about my first word baby, who I love MORE THAN YOU, number 2!”
- Selfishly calling my parents and asking them to “talk me down” from an impending panic attack. Or bombarding my poor husband as soon as he walks in the door with, “GUESS WHAT?!” And then (again) selfishly blubbering on about my day and who requested a full and who hasn’t gotten back to me, and maybe each time I get a rejection, I’ll send out another query so I have the same number up in the air at all times, thus guaranteeing sustained freaking out time.
- Pacing the house late at night. Then finally taking a Tylenol PM, only to STILL be groggy at 1:30 the next afternoon.
- Picking up a book. Putting it down. Picking up another book. Putting it down. Looking out the window. Staring at the wall. Replying, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. That’s great, honey” to everything my kids say because I’m too preoccupied to form anything more coherent.
- Just WAITING for the inevitable migraine to strike.
- Realizing that it is, indeed, possible to be so worked up that you can’t eat. I thought that only happened in movies and books.
So while I’m NOT doing any of the above, I AM counting my blessings; thanking God we moved from Ohio to Mobile, where there’s such an active writing community; thinking warm-fuzzy thoughts about my critique group members; and dreaming of the college fund I could start for the kids if I do sell a book. Also, a desk. I really need a desk so I don’t have to write at the kitchen table.
And now, I need to step awaaaay from the computer and go get in the carpool lane to pick up DS from kindergarten. Where I’ll be constantly checking my Blackberry for new messages. *facepalm*