I’m at that moment in time–the severely frustrating moment–where I am dangling in limbo, awaiting word from a literary agent. I know patience is a virtue, but anyone that knows me would be quick to tell you that ‘patience’ is on a long list of virtues that I don’t employ. I hate waiting … always have.

Anywhere from two to eight weeks, that’s how long it might take. More than likely it will take longer, seeing how I am now on the bad side of three weeks, but literary agents are busy. Think of all the other prospective authors–I tell myself(my inner self is much more in tuned with reality than my outer self)–there has to be millions of other writers out there. Think of them all, sitting by their computers or mailboxes, waiting to hear that the words that they had painfully jotted down and tortured themselves over had sparked some glimmer of interest in the mind of an agent.

Oh, huzzah! That great, exulting moment … I can almost feel that thrill spiraling up my spine, my voice edging at the back of my throat … waiting to scream out. One step closer to my goal–a goal shared by and vied for by millions. Waiting, waiting, waiting … waiting for those words that I slaved over to be finally set free.


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