Waiting.

I emailed my book Thursday evening and the editor very kindly emailed me back Friday to let me know she got it. So now I wait. And check my email every thirteen seconds. Because you never know when the editor will respond, even though--yes, okay, she's only had one full business day to look at it, and if her Mondays are anything like mine she spent 99% of her time doing stuff she didn't have time to do Friday afternoon (and 1% of her time wondering what to have for supper). And let's face it, a manuscript trawled from the slush pile is probably not at the top of her must-read list.

But you never know.

Times like these, when I'm waiting to hear on a story I'm still very involved with and that I think is perfect for the market, I feel like I'm mentally whining pllllleeeeeassse, pllleeeeeeasse, like a demented puppy. It won't be long before I'm so exhausted from hoping that I'll be relieved to hear back even if it's a rejection--at least I can relax. I am so totally not a patient person.