The Waiting Game

The deadline is passing for the agent with World of Mirrors to get back to me. I have visions of an aged Grapeshot pushing along in her walker to accept the kudos of another book finally in print. To say that the endless waiting and rejection is making me crazy is an understatement. I have never been a patient person.

In high school, I remember waiting, waiting, always waiting and anticipating an event, which, when it finally arrived, was always a disappointment. First date, first kiss, first prom, never lived up to the billing. Everyone always said, "these are the best years of your life." Lies, of course. Actually, who would want to peak at 16? I've always felt sorry for the early bloomers who had their best years back then. Nothing to look forward to but drudgery and diapers. A boring mate. Reality television.

My first rock concert did live up to its billing. College did and did not. Better in many ways, worse in others. I like high school reunions better, though. Go figure.

Back to this writing business. With a couple BIG SCENES just written, I have a scene or two of moving the plot forward before another big scene. The trick is to make the moving the plot forward scenes dramatic in their own right. Conflict? Yes. Violence? No. Implied violence? Sure. Make everything go wrong for the characters? Easy. My character is as impatient as I am.

This week on the culinary front, we are eating home grown tomatoes. Yum. The gazpacho will be history today as will the by now very soggy bread salad. There is leftover cold chicken and pasta salad from a Wall Street Journal Recipe. The Wall Street Journal's recipe's rock on Saturday in the weekend edition.

Do you know what schadenfreude is? Grapeshot is not as sad as she should be seeing the prices of all the McMansions and real mansions tanking. What were these people thinking of? What goes up and all that. The stainless appliances, the fancy European brands, the slate countertops holding the cooling takeout pizza. Kitchens where no one ever cooks. Bathrooms the size of bedrooms. Reading rooms where no one reads. The media rooms with tiered seating. To watch television? The obscenity of it all, and now with falling prices. Ha ha.

I read the paper and wait. Write my scenes and wait. Scribble this blog and wait. Maybe I should have a writer's walk build onto the top of the house, to watch for the mailman each day. Or a software agent to screen the emails.
Waiting. Waiting. Arrrgh!

Suck it up.