I seem to be doing a lot of waiting these days. Waiting for summer, or even something resembling spring, to arrive in New England. Waiting for my daughter to land at the airport for her first visit home in a year and a half.
And waiting for the galley proof of my novel Horseshoes and Hand Grenades. I’ve been waiting a month for that one and it’s killing me. I need to see the proof to reassure myself that HAHG is truly being released by a traditional publisher in September.
Can’t they just whip out the galley and get things moving? (Obviously, I know nothing about the traditional book publishing process.)
I’m not always an impatient waiter. Sometimes, I like to let the anticipation build because it sweetens the prize. As a kid, I only peeked at the Christmas presents in my mother’s closet once. It ruined my Christmas to have no surprises under the tree, and I never peeked again, even though most people don’t believe me when I say that.
And I didn’t learn the gender of my two children while they gestated away in my belly. In my mind, that moment when the doctor says “It’s a boy!” or “It’s a girl!” is the ultimate Christmas present. I didn’t want to deprive myself of that awesome gift and luckily, my spouse agreed.
Sometimes waiting is true torture, and I’m not talking about waiting for the galley proof of your book to arrive. When you’re waiting to hear something important concerning the health of a loved one, or whether or not you got a life-changing job, we can’t help but be impatient to move ahead and learn the outcome.
In all cases, I find the best distraction from the torture of waiting is, well, distraction. Find something else to focus on and whatever you’re waiting for will come. In it’s own sweet time.