In general, I can be pretty patient.
Last two weeks of my pregnancy, I was a bit antsy. Especially since TOG was TWO WEEKS overdue. Hmph
When we closed on the house last year, the last two weeks of paper gathering was infuriating. I didn’t believe I was a homeowner until the keys were in my hand.
But nothing compares to the book wait. It’s now been six months since I sold my book. Four months since I got the contract and got the nerve to actually announce it to the world.
I should be used to the hurry-up-and-wait. There have been several instances of ebb and flow in the celeb memoirs I’ve written. Checks get held up. Lawyers have questions. I signed a contract to write a rapper’s memoir a YEAR ago. He still hasn’t signed off on his copy. Editors get busy with other projects. Things happen.
But this is different. This is my name on the title. No sharing.
And I still do NOT believe this is real. I just don’t. Every day I think my editor is going to call and say, “y’know what? This title isn’t really right for our list. Thanks.”
My agent is the official hand-holder. He’s explained to me more than once that my editor’s workload has increased since they laid off folks. This mean orphaned books are now on her desk.
I get the logistics. But it doesn’t calm me.
I need to know so many things: which characters does she love? Hate? How can I make it better? What does she want me to change? When when when will I get that glorious package of marked-up pages that I can attack with aplomb?
I’d settle for any contact. A phone call. An email. A Tweet. A note from a carrier pigeon. Something that proves to me that Sulay Hernandez really exists and still plans to publish my book.
(I am fully aware that I sound like a spoiled ingrate right now).
I met with Ryan for lunch last week. I moaned and groaned over a very lovely lunch of losbter bisque at Markt. Ryan was firm. But sweet.
“It is what it is baby,” Ryan said. “You gotta chill.”
And then. The Very Next Day….
I jumped out of my office chair and let out a whoop of relief. And then, of course, I immediately wrote her back. Sounding like a big old doofus.
And there it is. She exists! My book is real! And um, people, did she say my book is the star of her summer list?
This makes me want to vomit. I am officially jinxed. And by putting it out here in cyberspace for all my dear readers to see. Well, now I’m absolutely doomed.
Even my folks who love me dearly will now read the book next summer and say, hmph. Wasn’t all that. Wasn’t worth no it’s my book of the summer status.
I am absolutely, categorically terrified.
Not just because I feel pressure.
But because I’m sharing it here! My god in heaven what’s wrong with me?
If it flops, this post will live in infamy. ‘Member last summer when Sulay thought her book was all that? Hmph. See how that turned out, right?
But this is my mission. It’s why I blog. Ten years ago, I would have really appreciated being this up close and personal to someone at this stage of their journey. I would have absorbed it. Probably would have never commented. But I would have printed and posted all pertinent posts. (Say that three times twice.)
My goal on this blog is to have you finish each post and walk away with some tool for your writing life. (Unless, of course, I’m talking about weight gain, the Grammy Awards and other minutiae).
So I have to woman up and share this. Sulay loves my novel. And I have to believe this is utterly real.
I will continue to share these moments–from now til August, 2010. When this joint hits stores.
I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits. I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.
I don’t even know what to do with myself until Sulay tells me what to do with myself.
I mean, it’s not like I don’t have other gigs. Got a story on technocheating due in two days. Still working on an investigative piece I hope to get placed soon. And I’m a Yummy’s-shilling-fool. (Cracks me up when I see some of my dear readers following Yummy’s on Twitter. I see y’all figured me out ha.)
But besides the usual, there is this undercurrent running through my every thought. the edits I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.I. can’t. wait. for. my. edits.
Dear readers: Just one question today:
WHAT THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MYSELF UNTIL MY EDITOR SENDS MY EDITS BACK?!
I’d love to hear from you. No. Scratch that. I NEED to hear from you.