You know him you love him, you’re familiar with his cry, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my Father. Prepare to die," but less known are these even more impactful words he utters, " I hate waiting."
Waiting. I don’t think about it until someone asks about my writing, then it seems all I do IS think about how long I’ve been waiting. And waiting. Waiting to hear if an agent wants to represent me, waiting to hear of a publisher wants to offer me a contract, as Vizzini said to Fezzik, I’m waiting.
And as I wait, there’s part of me that worries that there must be something wrong with my email address. Sometimes I believe my reply is trapped in the junk mail filter. Other times I think my ISP is on some kind of spammers list so whatever reply I sent was simply bounced back to the sender. Then reality hits and I remember waiting is the nature of the game. Once I waited nine months. The next time I waited eleven. There was one instance a rejection letter was sent out to me in May, but it took until October for me to receive.
Waiting. I hate waiting.
Patience, you and Yoda say. Ok Fine. I’ll be patient. I’ll learn to move the rock with my mind raise the X-Wing from the Fireswamp, but an ROUS is nibbling away at my resolve.
Yes, I’m mixing up my genres and the only word I can think of to describe my frustration is Humperdinck!