But, along with the teeth-grinding, the frowning, the cursing, and the occasional weeping with sadness and joy --- the actual day-in, day-out writing -- you need patience for a whole lot more. Finishing a book is almost easy in comparison with what's ahead.
I've already covered the research part of finding an agent. I've written dozens (a lot discarded) of queries, synopses, blurbs, and made sure I was personal enough with my emails to touch the heart of even the toughest agent. Stupidly, I now understand, I even thanked them when they sent me sharp, rote, rejections.
Getting an agent is a stupendous task. I don't care what you've read about it, that so-and-so found someone through a friend of a friend, or met someone at a writers' conference (I've never even been to one of those...), or had three frenzied agents plying a contract. In real life, in my life, it doesn't happen that way. It took me two years to find a good one.
But you plod on, try to stay optimistic, start on another book. Tell yourself that it will all come out right in the end. You have supreme patience. What choice do you have, after all?
I've heard from my agent at last. She tells me that The Place of Dreams is doing the rounds of editors as I write this. I'm grateful, of course, and a little awed by the idea, but I should be terribly excited too, shouldn't I? It's just that I've grown so used to the time involved in every aspect of this journey. I control the urge to whoop and holler about this new phase because each time I've even whispered a low 'Hurrah!" under my breath, I've had to wait so long for something else to happen. Had I been receiving a salary for the amount of hours I put in just on the agent-chase alone, I would be able to make a downpayment on a little cottage somewhere.
If an enthusiastic editor is found, the next hurdle will be the publisher's editorial board. How scary does that sound? I wonder how long they take? Finally, if they find it print-worthy, a book will be produced. I think this process could be upwards of a year or more.
I read somewhere that it takes, on average, three times the amount of time to publish a novel, as it takes to write it. My first manuscript was hanging around for a decade, but the time I spent on it -- the actual writing - was probably under two years. Therefore, if the above is true, it should take up to six years to get it published, assuming it has any sort of literary merit. Hmm. I finished the total re-write for it back in 2008. I still have another three years to go.
So, there, I've finished today's rant. I know you guys can take it. You're dedicated writers, right?
Remember that old song, 'Life Gets Tedious, Don't It?' (The full lyrics are here. and Carson Robison sings it here. It's really, really old.)
Hound dog howling so forlorn
Laziest dawg that ever was born
He's howlin' 'cause he's settin' on a thorn
Just too tired to move over.
Well, I'm a bit like that dog. Life does get tedious, but I'm darned if I'm going to move off this painful thorn called Writing. I'll put up with it, but it's not from laziness; I simply have no choice. And I'll remain as patient as ever, even if I grumble about it from time to time.
Talk to you soon. Oh, and sorry for the forlorn howling.