Although it's only been a couple months since I started submitting queries, poems, stories, and essays in earnest, not counting the huge batch of poems that I mailed last April, I'm a tad impatient as I wait for the magazines' responses.
WARNING: vast understatement detected!
Since the beginning of August, I've submitted to over 20 publications. Of those submissions, one has been returned. The others float amid overwhelmed editors' slush piles.
Meanwhile, I feel like a horse that has grabbed the bit in its teeth and runs off in spite of its rider's best efforts to rein it in. Like a bit-grabbing horse, I don't want to wait -- in this case, I don't want to wait for God to give me exactly what I need; I want what I want, now. The logical, faithful side of me know publications will come, and they'll come at the right time. For whatever reason, this apparently isn't the right time yet. The irrational, panicky side of me wants to make it happen. Now!
God must think it's pretty important for me to learn patience first. And I of course respond with, "Oh, yes, I'd love to learn patience, but couldn't we condense it into a five-minute lesson? I haven't got all day."
But as it turns out, I've had several months to spare.
I don't quite know why I'm struggling so much with this: I've believed writing is what I am called to do ever since I was five years old. That doesn't mean I'm supposed to be a regularly-publishing author before I hit 23, I guess, but I don't doubt that it's still what I am meant to do with my life. What I've got to do now is just let go of the bit -- keep working -- keep submitting -- keep waiting -- and start following wherever the reins lead me.
And learn patience.
After all, publishers have learned so well how to wait (and wait, and wait) before dashing writers' dreams.
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