Another mid-week without word from any of the four agents, or the editor at my old publishing house, who are considering my new novel.
It's a mixed bag, this lack of response. One one hand, there is a relief that comes with silence--a cessation of anxiety, a freedom to dream of new stories, new projects, new work. On the other hand, it's too easy to wonder what it all means. Is the manuscript being read carefully? Or have some agents read it, and are considering thoughtfully whether to take me on? Or, has it been considered and discarded, leaving me in limbo evermore?
Luckily, I'm not as dramatic as all that, but I do wonder when, and what, I'll hear about The Tree Museum. Is it going to find a life outside my computer and the kind hands of friends? Do I dive back into it and refresh it in the hopes of sending it back out, or do I let it sit, and let it go, and instead discover just what Nina (a new character) is going to do with Peter (her best friend's husband) after all?
That certainly feels more titillating than all this sitting around.
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