I’m starting to feel like I’m nine months pregnant. The ninth month of pregnancy is the longest month. You mothers out there will know what I mean. When you get to a few weeks from your due date, people start calling you up to see if you’re still pregnant or whether you’ve got a baby in the cradle yet. As you pass your due date (as I did every time) you get even more concerned calls. All the affectionate interest begins to get a little wearing. You want that baby out more than anyone else, and every well intentioned question emphasizes the delay. You watch the days pass on the calendar and when the next person asks if you’re still baby-less, you want to scream, “I will ensure the whole planet knows once junior has arrived, please leave me alone to agonize in peace over this miserable delay!”
Welcome to my experience with publishing! I hear I am not the only one who has discovered that those in the publishing industry have their own time vortex. They say ‘2 weeks’ but that really means ‘2 months.’ They say ‘soon’ when they really mean ‘later.’ I hope having named a month, they don’t mean the one NEXT year, since the one named has already passed.
I once heard of a writer who was waiting to hear back from his agent. Being used to long delays and poor communication, he just waited patiently. He didn’t want to be an irritating pest, after all. Eventually he wrote, and discovered his agent had been dead for a year already! Oh dear.
It’s a waiting game, and I’m in the longest month. Pretty soon I’m going to have those contracts in my hands and the adventure will be undeniable.
Or maybe I’ll be sending flowers to a funeral.