I’m not telling you where I am in my quest for an agent, but suffice it to say that I am waiting again. I’m not complaining about the length of time I have to wait – it’s just part of the process. I get that and accept it.
But. “And there is a but” (as judge Nigel Lythgoe said on one of my favorite shows, So You Think You Can Dance, which is about to start its new season – squee!).
But. Butterflies have set up permanent residence in my belly. I am driving close friends and family a bit crazy with my manic moments. My house is cleaner than it has been since we moved in (well, maybe not today. One child spilled his snack on the family room carpet in about the same place the puppy peed a few hours later). I’m having a hard time talking about anything other than the Search.
In my previous post about waiting, I mentioned playing my oboe and handwork projects. Alas, I finished my latest knitting project and have no desire to start a new one. Although I missed having such a project on Mother’s Day when I spent 4 hours as a passenger in the car. I really should play my oboe, however. Vivaldi, Mozart and Marcello might calm me down.
Of course, the best thing I can do right now is to work on another writing project. And I am. I’m working on a new draft of Sophie. It’s slow going; I haven’t yet found my steam. But I will.
In the meantime, guess I’ll carve out a little time for some of my favorite dead men. There’s nothing like Baroque oboe music to tame the butterflies.