And what have I done? Well, lately, I’ve submitted my manuscript to a contest and to a small publisher who only publishes horror. And now I wait. The results of the contest will only be divulged in late October. Their guidelines didn’t specify a timeline for the publisher, but I’m giving them three months.
It’s the most challenging part, waiting. It’s not my favourite. I distract myself by writing essays, but I always find myself checking my email multiple times a day.
Countless rejections I have had, and I’m expecting many more. It’s part of the gig, isn’t it? Of being a writer? You have to get used to, heck, even comfortable with rejections. If you don’t, well, you’re in for a rough ride.
To wait and see has been a recurring theme in my life. Like an old friend, I greet it with a calm familiarity. I sit with it and let its quietness fill the room. It follows me like a shadow teaching me patience and airiness. Part of it is knowing that once I click that send button, it’s out of my control. Doris Day was right, que será será.
Whatever the outcome of this whole process, I rest in confidence that my novel will be published one way or another. Would it be nice if it was picked up by a publishing house? Of course. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for, validation? Validation that these words we lay down on this white canvas mean and are worth something to someone. That we have, in fact, created art?
But either way, whether my work is validated or not, it’s something I did. I wrote a novel. How many people can say that? And with that, I leave you with a favourite citation by one of my favourite storytellers:
English translation is done by Litscape.com.