Neurotic Thoughts and Rabid Dachshunds

Oh, boy. This waiting thing is about as much fun as having your tonsils removed via rabid wiener dog, but slower. Now, I am certainly in no place to complain. My novel has only been on submission since April 2. I know several folks who have waited much longer (Hi Aprilynne!).

Thus far one editor has rejected it, and it only took two or three days. The comment I got was that she felt it “was a bit weird to see over Easter.” While her comment may have a few eyebrows doing pushups, it seems like a perfectly respectable reply to me. I guess that’s because I wrote the book, and I knew some folks might not care for the concept. Oh, well. Can’t win them all. Luckily there are other publishers out there, several of which are holding my story in their hands.

We have not heard anything from the others. I can't help but think this is a good thing, but my experience in the publishing business could best be summed up by the following two words: Total Noob. I tend to believe that the longer it takes an editor to reply, the more likely it is they are interested in the book. But of course that is not always the case. Editors get busy, too. I’m sure they get buried in manuscripts, even those sent by agents.

The worst part of the waiting, to me, is the second-guessing. I find myself fighting back the urge to ask my agent questions that, if I spend a few minutes thinking about, I can answer myself. Here’s a few (some of you who are in a similar position might be able to relate, or this could just be David of the Fragile Ego experiencing his own unique brand of neurosis):

1) Do you think my book is really good enough to be published?
2) Do you really think that so and so editor at so and so house will like it?
3) Do you think it has a chance?

Ad infinitum.

Yeah, thoughts like those keep worming their way into my head like larvae (I dunno why, but just hate the word “maggot”) on roadkill. At those times, when the Insecurity Monster rears its ugly head, I have to sit back and remind myself that the answer to all of the above is yes. If the lovely and wonderful agent who is shopping my book around couldn’t answer YES to any of them, she would not have taken on the book. It really is that simple. Agents don’t rep work they don’t think they can sell.

Period.

What would be the point? They don’t make any money if they don’t sell your book, unless they are Stylus Literary or some similar outfit (mine is not, BTW, she’s legit and has a nice track record of sales).

So, keeping that in mind, I wait as calmly as possible. My rear hurts from all the pins, needles, and other sharp objects I am forced to sit on. I avoid contacting my agent because I don’t have anything useful to say or ask, and I’d rather not make a nuisance out of myself. I know she has other clients (some quite well-known) and has more important things to do than reassure my frail ego.

I’m just keepin’ my fingers crossed, hoping for the best, and trying to forget the rabid wiener dog analogy.