Patience is a Virtue and Silence is Bliss.

Says who?

I’m not good with either of those two things. I struggle with patience—I tend to go the way of immediate gratification. It works for me. If I want something, I buy it. Save up for it, you say? Oh, that’s poppycock. If I want you to do something for me (pick up your socks, put away your toys, take a look at the broken  whatever) I want it done now. Not later.  Don’t say “In just a minute.” That eerks me to no end.  Just do it.

Silence isn’t bliss either. It usually means someone it up to no good (a toddler smearing diaper cream all over his baby sister’s face and body; a child flushing perfume bottles down the toilet; or child coloring on the walls). Now, don’t get me wrong, I do like my silence. When I am blessed to find some, I hold onto it. I treasure it. I envelope it.

Now, as a writer, I find silence to be a necessity. I need silence so I can listen to the little voices inside my head and write their story. This is a good silence. (And just for the record, if you happen to see me anywhere, doing what appears to be “nothing,” nine times out of ten, I’m writing. I’m figuring out plot lines, or character development, or thinking how to create a sequel. My little voices are constantly nagging me).

And as a writer, patience is needed as well. The whole act of writing requires patience. The whole process of submitting queries and cover letters to agents and editors requires patience. So what’s a non-patient person, such as myself to do?

Suck it up. That’s about all the advice I’ve got. Suck it up and keep busy, keep writing.

Right now, my manuscript for Desert Rice is out with publishing houses. Will they like it or won’t they? I don’t know. Since submitting the final edits to my agent and having her telling me she will prepare the manuscript to be sent out after Thanksgiving, I’ve heard nothing. Not one word. Not one email or phone call. Nothing.

Email her, you say? I can’t. I don’t want to look needy or pushy. Agents hate that (just check out their blogs). So, I sit here “patiently” waiting in silence. This is tough for me. Very tough.  I hate it when my future is unknown (okay, technically it is known—either the manuscript will be published or it won’t. That’s all there is folks). But still. It’s hard to wait and wonder and hope and dream.

It’s hard to wait in silence.

BUT, I’m grateful I started a new project in the meantime. Being busy writing my latest novel really does help to keep my mind off the current situation (except for now since I’m blogging about it). I’ve had several people ask, “So have you heard anything about your book?” And the answer is no. Nothing.  Not yet.

I guess for now, I should be grateful I haven’t heard anything. It still means I have a chance, right? No news is good news, right? Because once the news comes rolling in, there’s no going back—good, bad or otherwise. It will be what it will be.

So, fingers crossed as I silently wait, trying to learn these valuable traits of patience and enjoying silence (Yuck. I’m still working on it). I will continue writing my latest book , which is a few chapters from being a completed first draft. This is a good thing, a helpful thing. I suggest that while you query one book, be writing your second. That’s probably some of the best advice I’ve ever been given, so I pass it on to you.

Keep busy. Keep writing. That’s what I will do. I will press forward.  

As soon as I hear anything, you can bet your bottom dollar (I love Annie) I will let you know. That’s a given.

Well, I still don’t have an agent—not officially, as of yet. But I do have an agent who is willing to take a chance on me.  So that’s good, right?

I mean, she doesn’t want to fully represent me because my book, though “intriguing and involving”, is going to be difficult to place with publishers. The books that young adult publishers are looking for are ones with a fantasy twist to them. I do not write fantasy. My book is just  a plain ol’ character driven story, nothing more.

So even though this particular agent has taken a shine to me, has asked for revisions, and seems to like what I have written, she has said: “The new ending is better -- a touch too long, but it can be edited down.The bigger issue, for me as an agent, is that a YA novel such as this one is difficult to place with a publisher, even with the new ending. If you look at the YA that publishers are buying, whether it's dark or it's frothy light, it's mostly fiction with a fantasy element of some sort. So, here's what I propose. I can't offer you full representation, because I know there are going to be severe limits to where I can submit this. But I'd be willing to try four or five publishers on your behalf. If we get lucky, we can celebrate and I can have you sign the agency paperwork at that time. If I can't find Desert Rice a home after trying four or five publishers, we part company after the initial submissions, and say, at least we tried.”

Once again, it’s not a no, it’s a maybe. I’ll take the maybe, even though it doesn’t sound very promising.

Exciting? Umm, I’m not so sure. Yes, she’s willing to submit to a few publishers for me, which is wonderful and more than some hopeful writers will ever get, but still . . . I don’t have an agent. Four or five publishers really isn’t very many to submit to either.  But four or five publishers is still more than zero, right?

I do know that even IF I had a contract with an agent that it still doesn’t mean I will get published. Lots of things can happen—publishers might not like my book anyway, for one thing. The whole writing world is subjective.

All I know is that it would have been excellent to say, “I have an agent! A real live agent!” But I can’t. Because I don’t.

Now the weird thing—which makes me feel hopeful, though I don’t want to be—is that this agent knew from the very beginning that my novel has NO fantasy elements to it whatsoever. She could have easily rejected me after the initial query, but she didn’t. She could have rejected me after the first 50 pages, but she didn’t. She could have rejected me after reading the whole manuscript, but she didn’t. She could have rejected me after I submitted my revisions, but she didn’t. That has to mean something, right? (Notice my need for some sort of validation?)

I want to be happy, but I can’t. I don’t want to be a downer, but I don’t know how else to be. This wasn’t the news I was hoping for, but it is much better than what could have been (You suck, Angela. Move along)—does that make sense?

So I will tell her, “Yes, please try submitting to publishers on my behalf”—I would be a fool not to.

But I don’t expect much to come from it—I’d be a fool if I did.  

Anyone out there ever hear of Alanis Morissette’s song called “Ironic?” It’s kind of a funny song with lyrics such as: “It’s like rain on your wedding day. It’s the free ride after you’ve already paid. It’s the good advice you just didn’t take.” (It’s a very weird video, by the way. I may see if I can add it to my blog for the full effect).

Anyway, irony is a funny thing—a very, very funny thing.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I whined about writing and the sucky aspects of doing it? Yep, it was yesterday. I posted my blog yesterday morning, being a whiny baby and talking about how I wasn’t sure I was any good at writing or if I even wanted to continue to do it. I was in a mood (a funk I was told by my very good writing buddy and friend of mine). I hadn’t been sleeping well either, so minor criticisms of my work really took their toll on me. They shouldn’t. I have to have a thick skin to be in this business. But at that moment in time, my skin was paper thin.

Here is where irony comes to play . . . I went to the League of Utah’s Writer Convention this past weekend and had my work judged for a contest. The comments made by the judge made me feel less than happy and so, therefore the reason for my “funk.” (Okay, here comes the irony . . . )

It wasn’t even a day later after I posted my whiny blog for all of you, more like a couple of hours, when I received a very promising email from a literary agent I had been waiting to hear back from (one I had my fingers crossed for). In this email she said, “I'm not quite sure what to do with Desert Rice. It's intriguing and involving. For the most part, I see it as a Young Adult novel. But the ending is far, far too graphic for Young Adult . . . Would you be willing to revise the ending so that most of the events now chronicled in that section are suggested but not described in detail . . . If you think you'd be willing to revise, I'd like to talk to you about representation.”

Just to clarify, the graphic details are not graphic details, per se. More along the lines of PG-13, maybe a hint of R. I’m not a graphic details kind of person.

BUT did she just say what I think she just said? Representation? Ahhh, I will revise this novel and give them rainbows, kitty cats, and pretty little ponies—HECK YEAH! My heart flutters like crazy every time I think of it.

Actually, the issues this agent brought up were issues I have had concerns with all along—it reads Young Adult because the characters are 12 and 15 of age, but the trials they face are heavy adult issues. This agent helped clarify what I had known. I have no qualms with revising at all.

But isn’t that ironic? I was ready to toss in the towel over what some dummy judge of a writing contest said about my work, when an agent (who means more) saw the potential of my work and may want to take me on as a client.

Yeah, that’s irony for you. (I’m starting to like irony, I think).

Don’t get me wrong, this can all still fall apart. I am a realist/pessimist. Things happen. Wait a minute . . . I think I like irony, unless of course I write and post this blog and then the agent emails me and says, “Whoops. I change my mind. I thought you were someone else”.

Now that would be irony and I wouldn’t like it one bit. That would suck.  Okay, let’s all hope that irony decided to stop where it’s at and that irony doesn’t decide to twist things up again. Yeah, let’s all chant, “No more irony! No more irony! We like you just the way you are!”

That just might work. Keep up the chanting guys. Cross your fingers and toes too. Let’s cover all the bases.

All I know, is that after I received that email, that beautiful golden nugget of opportunity, my spirits have been heightened. I will keep writing. I will work on my confidence. I will not let others determine my worth (okay, that one I will still need to work on, because I’m a sucker for letting others determine my worth—I’m a fool). I will continue to hold onto hope and possibility.

Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?