It’s kind of bittersweet when I finish up a story and get it ready to submit. That’s what I’m doing this week, making the final tweaks and changes and edits. Polishing it up. Writing the synopsis, which I hate, and then composing the email to send it off.
At that point I’ll have a flat out panic attack, wringing my hands and barely able to breathe until the best friend, who will be holding my hand, gives me a smack and tells me just to do it.
And that’s when I’m still worried and scared–because no one wants to face rejection right?–but I also get a weird sort of calm. Because it’s out of my hands, I’ve done what I could, and now it’s up to others to decide if it’s going to be published. I hate the waiting to hear. It’s sort of excruciating. But at the same time, I’m half removed from it because there’s nothing I can do. (That’s not to say I don’t have random panic attacks during which any number of people in my life have to say “dude, chill” though I am not a dude and I am almost never chill. Heh.)
But I’m ahead of myself, a bit. I’m not quite there yet though I’m hoping to be by the end of this upcoming weekend. I’m still tweaking and editing. And then I have to read it through, start to finish, to try and make it the very best it can be. And then I can get to all that other stuff. That’s my goal for this weekend…to get to the worrying.