Naked Truth

Two hours of my morning were spent trying to send out a single query. For some reason, my Mac turned against me. The formatting was all wrong, and I couldn't figure out how to fix it. If only I were technically inclined instead of writing inclined.

Since I couldn't do shit about querying, I decided to get more organized. In doing so, I found numbers that hopefully work in my favor. Up to date, I have sent nineteen queries. I have received eight personalized rejections, four form rejections, two non responses, one yes-send-me-the-manuscript, and the rest are either pending or I won't hear anything. Nineteen queries and one request to see more. 

I stood in the shower and let the numbers sink in. I usually stay so focused on the business I need to tend to, I rarely have time to feel. And, boy, did I feel. Those days when I'm so focused I forget to eat sat at my feet and licked my toes. The feeling of wanting it so bad landed on my chest like a plane making an emergency landing. Tears fell for all the agents who took time out of their busy schedules to personally tell me no. And the agent who currently has my manuscript? My chest fills with bricks when I let myself really think about her. I feel like I could fall down drunk off possibility, my legs no longer able to support how big an event it truly is. 

There is a reason I don't allow myself to feel all the time. The enormity, the sheer magnitude of being one step closer to meeting my dream face to face (which has transformed into a goal), would drive me insane. So I focus on the day to day. After all, the day to day is all I can control.