I've Been Waiting For This Moment For All My Life...Oh Lord

As a novelist, I do a lot of waiting. Sometimes it seems I'm a waiter, not a writer; I've trained myself not to want, nor to hope, nor be to impatient, because that would be the death of my work. Because isn't anything wonderful worth waiting for?

Sometimes, the waiting takes on the form of a snarling dog that rips away at a your insides, making you want to finish the project as soon as possible so you can dump it in the hands of the publishers, thus ridding yourself of the the pain and difficulty of writing. This is also a time when impressing people seems to take center stage: "I've got to finish my book/story soon, or nobody will take me seriously! Hey you, wait--it'll be good in a year, two years--please, don't give up on me!" To writers melting under this horrible impatience, I say--learn to love the dog, pet the dog, bring the dog into your heart and perhaps then it won't overstay it's welcome. (Sorry about the excessive metaphors) I was at this stage about six months ago, when I felt that my novel was heavy and dead; a mere anchor dragging me backwards to my old mistakes. Now I'm at the stage (see my third point) where I'm learning to love my novel for itself, flaws and all. Time does that sometimes, and the benefits wouldn't come without the waiting. Good Puppy.

Other times, the waiting takes on the slow, monotonous motion of constantly dripping water. Drip...drip...drip...drip. It splashes onto your head, your desk, your computer, making you wish you didn't have this f-ing rain cloud of work hanging over your head. Every day is the same: get up, go to work or school, go home, sit at the computer, and type for long hours. Perhaps your day is a bit more varied, but you get the point. The impatience is more annoying than enraging; in the back of your mind, you feel this tangible duty, this chore. The water never stops dripping. To these writers, I say, just fix the leak already! Remember why you became a writer in the first place. Instead of having monotonous days of a normal occupation, you have monotonous days of the world's most fun job! (or hobby) Isn't there peace and freedom in monotony as well as boredom and impatience? All you have to do is change your mindset to the "Waiting For Summer Stage."

As the above name implies, the last stage occurs when the waiting resembles the passing of seasons. I dont' know about you, but I absolutely adore spring and summer...and detest fall and winter. But I've learned to deal with the long days of snow and sleet, the fizzled grass under my feet, because my cold northern state is the most wonderful state in the USA, and the seasons are what makes it my home. Writing is the same way. Although sometimes waiting almost kills me, I've learned to slide into this seasonal mindset and to ride out the impatience for publication, to push back the desire to have something tangible to show for my hard effort. Because it will come, just like summer. *Brings to mind Wayne's World: If you book them, they will come* (And no matter what, writing is still the best job in the world.)