Yesterday afternoon I sat on my bed, bargaining with myself. If I just edited one chapter I would allow myself to watch an episode of Scandal. It used to be baking. If you just work on one more chapter you can bake some cookies. Now it's TV.
So I set up shop on my bed, readied myself for some serious editing, and then Beans jumped up on the bed and started whining at me. I said, "Kiddo, I really need to edit. You can either curl up in a ball and nap while I work on this or go sit in the window and look for birds." I kid you not, she looked me in the eye then looked over at the window with a resigned look of, I guess I choose bird watching. And I thought, wow, she totally just understood me. But then... she walked around the computer, plopped her bum down beside me and start chirping and headbutting me. So clearly I've lost my mind if I think my cats understand me.
In other news... I sent out my first query letter this morning. I haven't queried a book in two years. Querying makes me anxious (thank goodness I've cut coffee out of my life). I feel like I'm sitting down with a guy after dating for a while and broaching the "So... where do you see this going?" conversation. Gah! I just want to crawl under my covers and say, "Someone wake me up if you want to represent this book, otherwise, don't bother me."
Rejections are the worst. Actually no. Rejections are awful, but when you don't hear back from an agent at all (negative or positive response) it's like getting The Fade from a guy. And that is a really awful feeling, is it not? The irony of this is not lost on me (regarding the content of this manuscript).
So... cue some constant underlying anxiety for my foreseeable future.
~Stephanie
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