I just hit the send button.
And I feel like I’ve come out of a tense interview. I reread the synopsis, the blurb, the query letter, and the whole manuscript. And then I reread the query. Again.
I found typos, Canadian spellings, minor formatting errors. But I’ve reread it so many times, I’m afraid to touch it anymore. What if I wreck it?
And at the same time, I know it’s good. They will want this one. I shiver thinking about it. Thinking that after all this time, I will finally produce something worthy. Still, I feel the fear of letting it go.
I hug my husband who I have been avoiding for the last five hours. I tell him, this one is really good. It’s so good they might actually like it. And then . . . it won’t be mine anymore.
“Isn’t that the whole idea?” he asks.
Well, easy for him to say. He’s not a writer. I’m the one who is sending my creation Out There, where it will no longer be mine. It will be at the mercy of editors and marketing people and the wizards of Making Something Saleable.
Oh my god. What if they like it?
I tell myself to Calm Down. To Breathe. I tell myself it’s part of the process. Like launching a child. Like cutting the apron strings. Like ripping your heart out.
It’s almost easier to get the “Sorry, not for us” letter.
Can anybody else relate to this?
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